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granolawriting · 9 months

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"To make you forget."ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

pairing: no breakout!Joel x fem reader

Summary: The day after having your long term boyfriend put an end to your relationship, you find yourself in a complicated relationship with Joel, a friends family friend. He invites you out for a drink after a shotty first impression, and the rest is history. sequel to a change in fate

Content warning: 18+ NSFW, age gap, you're 21 and Joel is mid 30s to early 40s. Enemies to lovers, unprotected piv, praise kink, strong Joel carries you multiple places, pet names (princess, darling, doll, sweetheart), oral (f!receiving), fucking in his clothes, drinking, drunk secret kisses, sleepy kisses, aftercare, spooning.

word count: 5.2k

A/N: Thank you for all the love on the last one <33 please send me requests if you have any idea for what I could write next! enjoy ;)

“No. Fucking. Way.”

… … …

You sit across from your friend once more at the same table that held a much more, comfortable conversation the night prior. Eyes catch hers, and an agape mouth is what greets the information just relayed to her over morning coffee.

“No, no okay I must be thinking of the wrong one.”

“Your dad only has one friend named Joel I thin-”

“I KNOW!!!”

…

“It’s just. I’ve known him since I was a little girl. It's just a little, crazy, is all, that you’re now going on a date with him.”

“It's not a date-”

“It so is.”

You scoff at her implication.

“You know, there's a thing called ‘southern hospitality’. And he's not wrong about me needing a drink after everything I’ve been through. Maybe he's just good at reading people, trying to get back on how he treated me the other night now that I’m someone he has to be nice to.”

Your friend purses her lips, trying to think of a counter but coming up short. You were right, there wasn't anything inherently odd about going out for drinks with someone. Especially when you’ve earned it.

“Though I can't deny, he is kind of cute. For an old guy.”

And the tower comes crumbling down.

At the sound of your confession your friend goes into a fit, a groan followed by very exaggerated, nonexistent tears that whine into the floor that her head now faces along the lines of complaint of his age, and the jeans that predate your birth.

your hand touches her hair, stroking it as to try and ease her out of some melodramatic stupor, telling her that it'dve been bound to happen the moment she tried to push her old guy agenda on you. Kindly telling her that perhaps, she's just a little upset you got one before her. In the process however, admitting that a part of you feels as if you’ve got him-- but pay that no mind of course. It's purely for the joke, to antagonize her. There's no means for you to feel as though you’ve won anything out of a simple night out with a guy who, in the right clothes and lighting, looks kind of okay.

---------------------

A clock glares at you at a 6:30 timestamp as you stand in your bathroom. There's an array of clothing sprawled across the counter as the attempt to multitask becomes futile in the face of your absolute cluelessness on how to dress to get drinks with a 40 year old man. Was he 40? Who knows, maybe it's stress. Regardless, jeans of all cut from short shorts to flairs stare back at you, and patterns of all sizes leave you helpless. You spit out a bit of toothpaste in your mouth, and as you feel stumped looking at the clothes before you, you can't help but be slightly grateful that your hair and makeup were finished before you had to get dressed. Otherwise, you wouldn't make it out the door til 8. At least.

Though as you look upon your options an idea sticks to you; some odd desire to dress, a little western. Perhaps not the full hat and spurs, but what could a little plaid hurt? And as you piece together an outfit consisting of low-cut frayed shorts, some simple boots, and a front-tied plaid button-up, you felt ready to perhaps line dance. I mean, who fucking cares anymore. Otherwise, you’d still be stuck in limbo. Better this than nothing.

Putting on your first earring, a clock now showing 6:43, you hear a knock at the door, followed by said knock being answered by none other than your friend. Curious and afraid of who it may be, but unable to really go down and check as you hinged on being late as is, your questions are solemnly answered at the shrill “UNCLE JOEL!!!!” bounce upon the walls of the house as though she hadn't just seen him the day before.

The indistinct conversation is held downstairs as you feel horrifically embarrassed to not remember that most gentlemen, arrive 10-15 minutes early. And you, haven't experienced anything but a 10 after honk outside your house your entire life.

As you hurry to dress, the low pitch of his voice, the drawl of his words that you can barely discern from the distance between you two but is still everpresent leaves you with a pit in your stomach of unprecedented anxiety. You had been trying so hard to convince yourself that this was normal, casual, to you, but internally you knew it was nothing but that to you. And that scared you shitless. You've failed to go on a date with anyone else since maybe, 8th grade? The graduation dance? Your whole life you remember one man, and now another seems to blow him out of the water, with unbelievable ease. You worried you wouldn't impress him, that this was your only opportunity to seemingly get something good, that he secretly still has disdain for you after what happened to you two the night before, that he-

“HEYY!!!!!!!!! ARE YOU COMING DOWN OR WHAT! DON'T KEEP HIM WAITING!!!!”

You witch.

Secondhand embarrassment overwhelms any other emotion you had at that moment as a means to get you out the door, as soon as possible. Hurried steps fall down the stairs as you finish putting on your jewelry on the go, holding some within your pocket to finish up in Joel’s car.

“Hi- oh, I'm sorry I didn't think you’d be here early uh,”

Eyes lock on a vase of flowers new to the living room, that had not been there when you had last descended the stairs.

“Well, I didn't want ta’ show up empty-handed. Though it nice ta’ get somethin small for the pretty ladies.”

A shy smile creeps on his face as he explains the origin of the plants in the house, and a ring of surprise leaves you speechless for a moment. your friend pipes up;

“Isn't that so nice? Well, y'all better have a good time tonight. And don't bring her home too drunk Joel, then she’ll start telling me all her secrets, and I definitely don't want to hear that.”

A smile and nudge hits him as she finishes her statement.

Does she always have to be so corny?

You look him up and down. He wore a faded blue button-up top, with the top few trailing down his chest being unbuttoned. What fell on top of that was a faded brown jacket, a darkened collar, and a sturdy material as its makeup. Jeans that seemed omnipresent on his body, but instead of working boots did he wear what seemed to be brown boots underneath the cuff of his jeans. You could tell he tried a bit with his appearance, seeing traces of gel lining his hair that fell aside his face, and a scent of cologne softly present but still enough to put on an air of intention to impress.

Joel leads you to his truck, and as you enter it you realize just how much it smells like him. You smell sawdust and gas, with hints of his cologne. It was an old car, but with those scents combined it makes perfect sense to you. You took in the small things as he drove, anticipation welling in your body made everything seem so much more noticeable and intense, every sense in your body heightened at the sight of an unsuspecting Joel sitting to the left of you.

You notice as he bites his fingernails as though it's a habit, a strain upon his fingers down to the very skin of them that coats every finger on both of his hands.

Both hands fall upon the wheel as he turns into the bar.

“Finally here. Feelsa lot longer than it did when I was younger, funny thinkin of cause’ when I was ‘bout your age, you couldn’t pull me outta this place.”

Hahaha when I was about your age. Damn you old man.

“That mean I’m gonna have to pull you out of here tonight?”

You look at him with a little smile, but he seems to begin getting out of the car before you can give him a direct look in the eyes. However when he goes around to your side to open your door, as you step out of it with a small jump onto the loose gravel of the parking lot, his eyes trace your body with noticeable intent. He looks at you for just a moment though, and as his eyes turn to meet your own, he just smiles and says;

“Don't worry sweetheart, I can take my liquor nowadays. ‘Spose that cant be said fer you though, your little friend told me ‘bout yer habits when you drink.”

A satisfied chuckle leaves him that lands you in a pit of fear. What did she tell him.

Story upon story of less-than-elegant scenes of your drunken stupor flash within your mind before the need to shake them off is immanent as he follows up;

“Now no sense lookin like that hon, she aint tell me nothin too bad. Should she have? ‘Spose they’ve got virgin drinks now that this place got all prettied up since I last saw it. Just don't want ya pukin in my truck alright?”

“Oh don't worry, I’ll be fine. I doubt I'll drink all too much anyways.”

------------------

“ I doubt I'll drink all too much anyways “

That's all that's able to ring through your head as you demand another shot at the counter. Sure, you drank but,

"you hold it well!"

Or so you thought. But you never really noticed until now how badly you were hurt by what happened to you in the past few days. And when you lose someone you’ve known for 3 years, the inclination to drink past your limit grows ever stronger with every downing of liquor that's not on your tab. And as that realization becomes tucked into the back of your mind with every glass, more does an unfamiliar part of you comes out. One of loud unruliness, in the face of a man you otherwise strived to impress to the greatest degree.

At this point in the night, he’s had what, 2 beers? The first already probably already having worn off. He was a smart drinker, and you could tell he stayed under the threshold where he couldn't drive anymore, as a means to stay safe for you. And as the drinks poured you made it evident to him how much you appreciated that. Many many times. He wasn't like any man you’d ever been out with anymore. He didn't judge you, or make fun of you. He endorsed whatever made you happy.

Until, of course, a woman comes out of the bathroom to inform him the lady he came with has been nauseous near the toilet bearing on ten minutes.

“Alright doll, we’ve got to get you home.”

Drunken slurs of disapproval at that notion dispel from you in the way of elongated “no’s” and “please’s” fill the bar as Joel felt within himself the karma of every man who had needed to do this to him, now having to do this for you.

“C’mon you know fightin me wont work, I'm much stronger than you darlin’.”

And with flailed arms still being swung in the general direction of him, he finds this means to deal with you the old-fashioned way.

That being, just picking you up and taking you home that way. And thus, with one fail swoop of an arm and shoulder, you were slung over him in a fireman's carry. Too flushed and furious for a reason you can't quite discern, you throw weak jabs into his back as he takes you out of the bar as though you were nothing but a small child; treating you as though you were no weight at all upon a back hardened by muscle and grit. But even as he brings you to his truck, he lowers you into its passenger seat with nothing less than utter precaution. As though you were a porcelain doll that could break at any sight of rough handling.

“Alright princess, in you go.”

Is what’s mumbled under the breath of this gruff and barely buzzed man, now taking care of you as though you were a princess. At least you felt like it, as his arms wrapped around you with ease to shift you into a bridal carry that was a better means of getting you inside with.

All you can do is say indiscernible things towards him as he says that to you. Not being able to process, at least in the moment, how softly he treated you. And as he closed the door on your side, and opened his own side to drive, you found yourself slowly drifting into a sleep wedged between the truck door and its window. Quite a comfortable situation for the moment, it seemed.

What awoke you briefly was the feeling of his warm body against yours as he carried you out of his truck once more. This time taking you inside somewhere comfortably warm, inside home. He lays you on a couch that finds much greater comfort than the previous sleeping arrangement. As you lay down there, more than ready for rest he comes by once more to lift your head, a pillow to meet your head as you lay back down. And a blanket to cover you evermore, he made sure your body was tilted sideways. With that, you drift into sleep once more.

-------------

You wake up, checking a phone clock that shines at you 3:04am against the darkness of the house. Looking around, you quickly notice that, this isn't your house. This is absolutely unfamiliar, from the kitchen to the furniture to especially, the man who slept across from you in a cushioned chair. With strained eyes and a brief flash of your flashlight, it becomes evident that it's Joel. hands crossed across his chest and a slight snore leaving his person with every breath, a pang to your head reminds you of the night you allowed go to waste in the face of drowning your problems. Cursing to yourself the lost potential of a night like this, you also thank whomever above that he chose to take you to his home instead.

However, the liquor still seemed to have a hold on you as you looked across the living room at the dimly illuminated face of Joel through the moonlight that shone through the window.

You approached him, slowly. A wobble in every step that when paired with unfamiliar territory meant a lot of close calls on your part, but nonetheless you walked the few feet with no major issue. And there you stood, just inches away from him. His chest rises up and down to the rhythm of his body and the peaceful eyes of a man whose body soaks in any moment of rest it can muster. His mouth was slightly open as he slept, you studied it. Slightly parted were two brightly colored lips that were covered on its top by the growth of his mustache, and its bottom being overgrown by a quarter-inch beard that coats the lower half of his face.

You lean in closer, something overtaking you that can only be explained by drunken lust. So close in fact, that you can feel the heat of his breath upon yours. It's intoxicating. You haven't felt this kind of feeling in your heart for years, this desire to do something you didn't know the consequences of. The excitement of something new overtook you. Without any more thought, you close the gap. Feeling his lips against yours as he’s non the wiser, all but a simple kiss against his lips is all you needed to satiate this urge you’d had bubbled within yourself since you first heard his voice downstairs while you got ready.

At least, you thought. But as you tasted the liquor on his lips and smelled the remnants of cologne on his neck you couldn't help yourself. One kiss became two, to three, to fo-

A mumble stopped you in your tracks. You shot up what seemed like 10 feet, stumbling far enough away to absolve suspicion from your highly odd acts, to say the least.

His eyes slowly flutter open, followed by a groan and a stretch of his arms and legs wakes him up enough to address you. With fingers rubbing his eyes, he asks;

“Hey, are’ya finally up?”

Groggy, raspy, deep, whatever the fuck you want to say. It was everything. A just woken Texan man with the rasp and the drawl all together could finish you off right then and there.

You search for words, excuses, anything to respond to him with. Panicked, you say the first thing that comes to your mind.

“Oh yeah, I uh. I wanted to ask if I could take a shower maybe? Soak off the rest of this drunk. Is that, would that be alright?”

You look for his eyes in the dark of night, and as they meet yours he forms a reply,

“Course ya’ can. It's uh, just down there to the left. In my room.”

“Thank you”

Making your way down the dark corridors you find his room, and an entrance envelopes you in a part of his life. You see the things that he values enough to keep within his room, the set of sheets he sleeps on every night. The mementos that make his life fleshed out before you. And of course, the guitars. Of course, he plays the guitar, I mean what the hell else is he supposed to do.

You stumble into the bathroom, impressively kept for only housing a single man. Within there do you mindlessly strip your clothes, opting to shower as soon as possible just to not make him any more suspicious of the things you’re doing in his own home.

---------

Stepping out, however, having used his shampoo and body wash in an oddly exciting experience of smelling exactly like him, do you grapple with the uncomfortable realization you have no clothes to wear after you do all of this. You step out of the water, turning it off, and grabbing a towel to wrap around you a few things pass through your mind. Whether you go, and ask him for clothes. Or, if you just take them for yourself. Both have quite interesting endings to them, however, the latter seems to be more enticing. And you begin to realize perhaps it isn't the liquor that’s making you act like this, it's pure unadulterated lust.

Walking into his room once more do you rummage through drawers and closets looking for something wearable. And within it do you find an insanely dated rock shirt, and a pair of his boxers to suit your desired amount of cover.

You walk into the living room once more, a new wardrobe adorning you, you notice that the light is now turned on; he’s stayed awake. With a bit more caution in your step you watch as you round the corner of the living room he’s stood in the kitchen, cooking some sort of tea. Wearing little else than a pair of plaid pants to sleep in.

“Ah he-”

Turning to face you does he stop in his tracks as he observes you. Smelling like him, dressed in his attire, you realize that there's no man alive who could properly see that and act normal about that. Even the southern gentleman stood before you. He places the container of honey he held for his recipe down on the counter and approaches you slightly;

“I see you’ve found some clothes then? Was thinkin a’ bringin some of Sarah's stuff in fer ya, but I’ve got to say that this is a bit better of a sight.”

A smirk grows on his lips as he looks at you, a sense of desire that he had previously covered came to the surface as he saw you within his clothes. Assuming that was the only reason as to why.

Walking towards you does he move a stray piece of hair from your face to the back of your ears, looking at you from above he speaks again in a deeper, more domineering voice;

“Now I won't play stupid with you sweetheart. I felt all that stuff you were doing ta’ me, didn't think it’d be the first thing you’d do wakin up in a stranger's house. But can't say I'm all too mad at it.”

He cups your face with his palms and lifts your chin to look up at him.

“And now yer standing here in all my clothes, covered in me. Wasn't plannin on saying anything ‘bout it til you walked in here lookin like that. Now I don't think I can rightly resist darlin’.”

Before you can let out a word edgewise, he takes you into a kiss of his own, making sure to taste every part of you as you did him, down to the back of your neck where his tongue quickly traveled where traces of your night still burned your taste buds.

You let a moan escape, purely out of shock are you so vocal. Closing your eyes, you let the brush of his beard on your face, and the rough kiss of his lips guide you to wherever he’d want you to go.

After a few more moments of this, he lets up. For breath, but also to talk to you for a moment. His hands still cupped to your face, some of his fingers tracing their steps from the roots of your hair he had been grabbing just a moment prior.

“You wear all that pretty getup, and then you get all drunk on me. Spewin ‘bout how great I am, how kind I am. How you’ve never been shown anything like me. But let me tell you, sweetheart, I’ll make sure to show ya how a real man treats a woman like you.”

He grabs you by your thighs, lifting you up in the air to wrap your legs around his waist. He walks you over to the room you’d just left moments prior and doesn't fail to kiss you every moment he can in the small walk to his bedroom. Kicking open the door cracked open, he’s finally able to dump you onto his bed as he crawls on top of you.

“Spread yer fuckin’ legs, baby”

You listen intently. Doing just what he asks, do they fall to the side of you with as far apart as you can make them. Feeling his calloused hands as they trace your waist from beneath his shirt, until he slowly teases the waistband of his boxers. Pulling them down slowly reveals only your naked body beneath them.

“Such a pretty sight aren't ya? And so much for me already, what a good girl.”

He wastes no time to dip his face within your heat. Sopping up every drip that seeped from you from the moment you’d first kissed him. Feeling his tongue venture to every crevice, every fold inside of you makes your hands grip onto his sheets as a means to hold yourself down at the feeling of his tongue all around you.

Moaning filled his room as he pleased you, an empty house allowing the echo of your sound to make the neediness of his tongue on you to sound even greater.

He grips onto your thighs a bit harder as he lets up for a moment.

“Now listen, I'm gonna need ya’ to stay still alright darlin’? I'm gonna change it up a bit for ya.”

Going back in, you feel his tongue enter you entirely. Inside of you, up and down did he hit every part of you that made you weak and spazzed under his grip. The shake of your legs was only stopped by the iron grip he kept on them to make sure they stayed open no matter how badly you wanted them closed instinctively. The feeling of him inside of you sent shocks like lightning across your body at every flick of his tongue, at every hum to your clit while he relished in your stomach growing concave and your breath hitching and whining at every slight moment he made towards you.

“Joel- fuck. Fuck I feel like I'm going to cum.”

You plead for him not to stop. To never stop to please you to climax.

And he does exactly that. He toys with you and fucks you until you’re nothing but a screaming mess with him inside of you. Grabbing onto his hair, to the sheets, everything you can as your body convulses entirely by the work of his mouth alone.

He slowly lets up, not forgetting to tease your sensitive clit for a moment longer before going to look at you. A face coated in your juices, he looks upon you with a toothy grin and a sense of satisfaction upon his face.

“Been a while since I've done all that. Glad ta know I’ve still got it in me, sweetheart.”

He stands up, and what greets you is a bulge that comes purely from his adoration for being able to please you as he just did. He loved watching you like that, losing yourself at his touch, being able to do nothing but scream his name until your brain went numb to anything but the thought of him.

Out of breath with beads of sweat covering your face, you sit yourself up to better face his heat. Palming it with his hands before he could say another word, you watch his head buck up to reveal a neck and shoulders coated with tense muscle at the feeling of your hand on him.

“Fuck darlin;. Been a while since I’ve felt any a’ that either”

A voice interrupted by the pitch shifts of a man insanely desperate for your touch makes you well aware of what you need more than anything else.

You continued to paw at his bulge, feeling out how big he was just by the crease of his pants beneath your hand as you toyed with it, up and down. Slowly stroking it and toying with its base. His head, and watching as each motion elicited a harsh breath to escape him as he bucked his knees ever so slightly as you continued.

He looks down at you, and as he watches your eyes look up at him from his waist, he takes you into his arms once more. Lifting you to turn you on your back, does he lay right on top of you as your stomach lays on the bed and his body atop of yours.

You feel his bulge between your ass, and ass he makes quick of removing all other layers, you feel how solid he is right against your back. Heavy breath met in your ear before he did anything else.

“I’m going to make you forget feelin’ any other kind of way. The only thing you’re ever gonna remember after tonight is my cock, alright princess?”

He takes that as a means to move it to right between your thighs, right outside your entrance do a few strokes to feel how wet you are, giving way to his tip right on your clit, up and down. That alone could finish you for a second time, but as his cock entered you you saw as his eyes rolled in the back of his eyes at the feeling of being inside of you.

He was big, almost too big. You felt as though he was almost ripping you apart, in the best way possible. It felt so fucking good to have him slowly go into you. Feeling as with every inch closer to completely inside of you it got harder and harder for him to keep a steady pace with how badly he wanted to fuck you.

“Fuck you don't know how badly I’ve wanted this darlin’. Can’t have even imagined how tight you’d be. You’re perfect for me.”

As he got completely inside of you, you felt him curl over you and use one of his arms to grip your upper body as a means of support. When he went in and out of you, curling you upwards to arch your back and feel completely every thrust he put into you.

He couldn't control himself anymore. The kind gentleman you had let open the door for you when you entered the car now dripped beads of sweat upon your naked body as he fucked you like a toy. Grunts and moans fill the room to complement the incessant moans that you scream at the feeling of him inside of you. Using you and fucking wrecking you. You felt yourself getting close again at the feeling of his cock inside of you, until you felt his free hand make its way down to your clit to please you even while he fucked you.

“I want to make you cum again. Feel how tight you fuckin get on my cock. Think you can do that for me baby?”

That was more than enough for you. Only after a few strokes were you a shaking mess on top of his cock, just like he commanded of you. At the feeling of your climax wrapped around his cock, he quickened his pace until he pulled out just in time to cum all over your back. Feeling it drip down every crevice of your body as the feeling of his cum shooting on you seemed to go on forever.

Jagged breath from both you and him is all that fills the silence of the room as you two were both too tired to even speak for a moment.

“‘Supose I’ll go clean ya up. Least I can do darlin’. You just stay right there, and I’ll get you all cleaned up.”

And there he goes, into his bathroom. And so you let yourself lay there for a moment, dripping in your own cum as well as his. As you hear him come out from the bathroom you feel the grist of a towel meet your backside as he makes sure to take care of every spot that has him on it with much care as to not leave you uncomfortable. The doting, loving Joel came back the moment it was all over. You could feel it in the soft stroke of the towel upon your bare skin, and the quick tonal shift in his voice as he offered to get that for you in the first place.

“Sure you need these too.”

He hands you his boxers, and as you put them on he continues.

"You can sleep in my bed fer tonight, think that’ll be alright. Though, might have’ta join ya, the chair aint all that comfortable. If, ‘course that's alright with you.”

He just fucked you and is asking if it’s okay to sleep in the same bed. …

All you can muster is a pat on the side of the bed next to you, at which he greatly obliged and meets you beneath the greeting sheets upon his bed.

And as you drift into sleep once more, mumbling compliments and thanks within his ear as you grow conscious enough again to speak, he greets you in kind with sweet kisses over your face, and eventually, a big spoon to hold you until night's end.

…

Epilouge ?

#joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal #x reader #joel miller #the last of us fanfiction #pedro x reader #joel tlou #tlou #joel x reader #joel smut #joel tlou x reader

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ptvpolls · 2 months

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result from a flair for the dramatic best song was...

yeah boy and doll face!!

time for selfish machines 😝😝

im gonna cry there's only 12 slots so i cant do kissing in cars 🙁💔

#ptv #i love ptv #ptv vic #vic fuentes #random polls #tumblr polls #polls #ptvpolls

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judgementdaysunshine · 27 days

Text

Slobber Knocker

Pairing: Rhea Ripley x Fem reader x Charlotte Flair

Description: The girls are left stunned when they find out who your dad is after a big win

Things were a bit weird tagging with both of your girlfriends at once rather than one of them or standing ringside during their matches. The match had been nothing but chaos from the moment it started as you and Charlotte deal with Bayley and Tegan while Rhea was in the ring with Candice, you ran and did a drive-by while the ref dealt with tegan and rhea before charlotte tagged you in leading to an all out brawl between you and candice for the next thirty minutes leading to a powerbomb and a win for you and the girls as you noticed your mom in the crowd while walking backstage and showering which helped your aching body before walking out in the hall only to hear a familiar southern voice talk to the girls, "You all did damn good and you should have Shawn give you more matches like that" you smile and jog down the hall before hugging your dad and placing his cowboy hat on your head with a laugh which makes him chuckle as always. "Still taking my hat like you're a little girl again" the girls watch the interaction between you and JR seeing just how close the two of you were but what you say next leaves them speechless, "You said it yourself Daddy, no one but my little girl can wear my hat" you burst into laughter seeing the looks on the girls faces as they realized just where you get your accent, humor, and quite a bit of your personality from as a voice says in shock "JR'S YOUR DAD!?" you laugh and turn around to find a shocked Damian Priest leading to him and Finn talking to your dad before you, the girls, your dad, and mom had dinner enjoying the childlike nostalgia rhea was having while talking to your dad before seeing him and charlotte get reintroduced to each other since it had been a few years since they last saw each other. The night with your parents was wonderful before you were in your shared hotel room laying in bed with a face mask on while watching movies with the girls as each of you wind down from the long, chaotic, and exhausting day and the past few draining weeks of traveling and training, the night ended with Freaky Friday playing as the three of you sleep wrapped up and tangled together.

#rhea ripley #nxt x reader #nxt #charlotte flair x reader #charlotte flair #rhea ripley x reader #rhea rioley x reader x charlotte flair #charlotte flair x reader x rhea ripley

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mayakern · 6 months

Note

your recent post about allene's ball outfit redesign has me Clamoring for more of your thoughts regarding fashion inspiration in the world of spitfire! i know there are significantly fewer characters from places besides nadara/voswain, but do you have fashion inspirations for laruze/ogren/szerenfold/domina as well? (assuming domina is not just Only Dragons Who Probably Do Not Worry About Clothes)

oh i’m so glad you liked that post! i saw your tags and they made me smile :’)

i have some thoughts i can share, but a general rule of thumb for fashion inspiration in spitfire is that it should be eclectic in both region and time period and that when drawing inspiration, the first consideration should always be climate, followed by other considerations like thematically appropriate shape language or other through lines of design, like garments that are made from draping and pinning/tying large swathes of cloth.

there are exceptions and ofc the fashions of more rural areas in the more traditionally “developed” countries will be different from court fashion. like, voswainian court fashion may lean to french and british inspiration, but the more rural areas (where the weather is more extreme and where they don’t have magical heating) has more scandinavian, german and russian inspiration.

for laruze, most of the fashion ideation i’ve done is specific to the ballards and their followers, which actually draws significant inspiration from modern runway fashion and sci-fi (tho obviously altered to fit the greater context of spitfire), especially where halwynn is concerned. because they are drawing inspiration from a more modern source, there are fingerprints from a lot of cultures in these inspirations, esp japanese fashion and other robe styles.

i wanted it to have elements in common with both voswainian and nadaran fashion (voswainian bc it’s a former voswainian colony, nadaran due to proximity) as well as have its own flair, so for court clothes there’s french and italian with the doublets and gowns etc, and then there are also styles that focus on the use of wrapping/tying large bolts of cloth, tho these do have some sewing (think similar to kimono).

these 3 below were my primary inspiration for halwynn’s fashion specifically

while lysithea sticks closer to voswainian fashion for… personal reasons lol. and also because she is, essentially, a dandy.

i have some fledgling ideas on szerenfold but haven’t totally developed its fashion identity. it’s a quite warm and swampy area. me and my editor have been jokingly referring to it as the florida of the fantasy super continent, so i’ll most likely end up looking to sub-tropical climates like southern china, ethiopia, ecuador, greece, jamaica, etc.

and for ogren… all logic is thrown out the window and literally anything can be inspiration. ogren is a place where i could probably get away with having someone wear jorts, if i really wanted to, but it wouldn’t be a widespread trend. the main story of spitfire won’t get into this as it’s not ogren-centric, but there are actual world building/lore reasons for this.

i would say in general tho for ogren, it is the most eclectic of all the countries, since there is no centrally enforced cultural identity. it takes some bits from all the other fashions on the continent, plus its own flare. this is not wholly appropriate in terms of climate, but one of my big inspirations for ogrench fashion is actually turkish fashion. don’t ask me why, it just felt right.

there are also elements of indigenous inspiration, esp from the first nations regalia.

#ask #spitfire #long post

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creative-frequency · 3 months

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Raphael x Reader: Act II: The Dinner, pt.2

Summary: Your patron Raphael invites you for a dinner with multiple ulterior motives. Part 2 of 2. Word count: 3853 Notes: Dinner date with Raphael at House of Hope. Some romantic tension finally relieved, making out with the devil.

Previous part

“I’ve been looking forward to spending an evening with you,” Raphael mused just as you pulled your hand back from his. His warmth lingered, burning your fingertips.

He had brought you into a grand foyer. Nervous about the new situation and Raphael’s company – and not really knowing what to reply – you gaped around at the decorative hall. Massive pillars stood in rows at each side and the ceiling was impossibly high. There were no paintings on the walls unlike in the rooms you had previously visited, but devilish sculptures stood amidst the pillars. No doubt sculpted after Raphael’s own visage. Deep red drapes softened the masonry.

Raphael lingered in the middle of the foyer while you paced around a bit, marvelling at the interior.

“Before we dine…”

You turned to look at him.

Raphael snapped his fingers. A sweet wave of nothingness washed and settled through you – silence.

“There. A little privacy from our tentacled friend,” he said with a complacent tone.

The Emperor was going to be extremely upset about you dining with the devil and denying it the chance for eavesdropping. It already had opinions and dire concerns of you lending your ear to Raphael. Even more so about sleeping in the devil’s bed, but that was a conversation you rather wanted to forget.

“Oh. It’s… quiet,” you said, bemused.

The whispering and humming of the Artefact in the back of your mind was gone. Not once had it occurred to you that Raphael might have the power to do such a thing. At the same time, it warranted slight worry about his motives for silencing your astral guide. What had he planned for the night that he didn’t want anyone else to hear?

“This way, my raven.” Raphael motioned towards the hallway and you stepped into pace at his side.

Your mind truly was wondrously silent, thanks to the devil. While it felt weird, a sense of bitter longing filled you. What a luxury it was to remain the only inhabitant of one’s skull. You couldn’t get rid of the tadpole soon enough.

The earlier times you had visited the dining hall of House of Hope, you had not exactly been keen on examining the interior design. Raphael didn’t seem to mind that you were taking in every detail of your surroundings now. Hells, he even seemed pleased at your silent awe as your gaze moved around from the massive painting of the devil himself above the fireplace.

There was a simple brass bell on a chain that was mounted into the wall. The bell was almost invisible in the middle of all the elaborate decoration, but something in it drew your attention.

Raphael followed your gaze and hummed in thought. “Go on, give it a ring,” he urged.

You moved closer to inspect the item.

“What is its purpose?” you asked but didn’t dare to touch it despite his encouragement.

“It is merely a simple dinner bell. Ring it and I will know the table has been set.”

You reached for the short chain and gave it a light tug. The bright jingle sound reverberated in your skull and made your teeth ache momentarily. If that sound couldn’t travel through different planes, nothing could.

“Satisfied?” Raphael spoke while you held your cheek to stop your head from spinning.

“And regretting it,” you asserted with a pointed glance and moved in for the seat he was offering. Raphael let out a low and soft laugh while ensuring you were seated comfortably, then took his own seat opposite.

The hexagonal table was once more laden with dishes that you had never seen or tasted before. It seemed that Raphael currently held a taste for the more exotic Southern flair as many of the foods originated from Calimshan. There was roasted goose and stuffed portobello mushrooms with cherry port wine reduction and foie gras stuffing, aqua-tinted Green Calishite cheese, pork sausages and honey-sauteed vegetables – the same dish you had eaten on your first meeting. He also served you a glass of trike, a sweet and strong wine made from palintrike. Oranges, apples, sunmelons and other fruits were plentiful on the table, cut into bite-sized pieces and served with a sweet paste made of dates.

Raphael took care of most of the conversation on his own while you ate. He told you about the ingredients and spices in the dishes, their preparation methods and the history of the area they originated from. While it was certainly interesting, you couldn’t figure out a natural way to bring up Astarion’s dilemma.

After five courses and three different wines to match, you couldn’t possibly eat anything more. When Raphael paused to sip his drink, you braced and went for the direct route.

“Can I bring my companions here for dinner?” you asked.

Raphael arched a brow at you.

“They’re not my clients,” he replied, unsurprisingly, and leaned forward. “You are. My most precious one, in fact.”

The weight of his words made you shiver and a wave of apprehension coursed down your spine. It had been evident that he really didn’t care for your companions, but when he accentuated it like that… You had to avert your eyes in a flush and focus on the empty plate in front of you.

Raphael placed his glass on the table and fixed a curious gaze to you.

“What is on your mind, little raven?”

You inhaled quickly, remembering why you had brought up the topic in the first place: “So, about Astarion…”

Raphael made a calming gesture and smiled knowingly. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’m motivated to help him.”

Your loyalties were already stretched between your companions and your devil patron. To both of them, you essentially owed your life. Raphael could stand to be pressured a bit more. You straightened up on your seat.

“How soon?” you questioned.

“As I’ve previously stated, I’ll think about it and get back to you. Don’t fret,” Raphael replied and, to your astonishment, added: “Until I offer the little vampling a mutually beneficial solution, take care not to tread into any perilous dens on your adventures.”

He was talking in riddles again and looked impossibly complacent.

“I don’t need your approval,” you replied coolly and sipped your wine.

Raphael hummed with mirth and spread his arms theatrically. “Certainly you don’t.” The balmy timbre of his voice sent another wave of shivers through you, but this time the sensation made you feel warm.

You swirled the wine in your glass, examining the deep red colour against the light of the fireplace. Raphael leaned back in his seat, gazing at you contemplatively.

“I was surprised to see you at Last Light today,” you said to change the subject. “A mere coincidence, I take it?”

Hells, you were apparently starting to imitate his way of speech now. That was too much wine.

Raphael chuckled, as though pleased with your question. “There are so many people ripe for temptation,” he replied. A non-answer.

Your brows furrowed as you remembered Mol. Had she already made a deal with the devil? You had half a mind to ask Raphael, but he probably wouldn’t provide an answer other than citing whatever patron-client confidentiality rules devils lived by. You sipped from the glass again, flushing down the thought.

“Does it ever bother you to make a living out of mortals’ suffering?” you questioned and watched Raphael’s reaction over the rim of your glass. He snapped his fingers and the glass filled up right in front of your eyes.

“Life is not a fairy tale, my dear,” he replied in a low tone, posture relaxed and not at all bothered by your questioning.

You paused to huff in thought before answering: “Yet mine already has the main antagonist on stage.”

“Oh?” Raphael raised a brow. “I didn’t realise I was the villain in your narrative,” he said, clearly amused. If the line was meant to taunt you, you held back any further retorts and sipped the wine.

Raphael didn’t let the silence sit for long, eager as he was to continue painting the analogy. He leaned forward over the table. “And what does that make you, little raven? The hero? The sage? The victim?”

You leaned back on the chair. “Isn’t it a bit too late to choose a role?” you mused. “I am clearly the underdog.”

Raphael laughed. “Everybody loves an underdog, don’t they?”

You hated the blush that crept over your cheeks. “I should hope so,” you murmured nonetheless.

Raphael’s eyes narrowed at the sight as a self satisfied smirk crept across his lips.

“The journey has changed you already,” he noted.

Despite having a whole table between you, the moment felt as intimate as him buttoning up the borrowed shirt on you that morning in his boudoir. Heady and tender feelings coiled inside you, and it didn’t exactly help cooling down your flushed skin.

“How so?” you asked.

Raphael brushed any doubts aside with a burgeon motion of his hands. “You’re no longer the tender bud I encountered at the site of calamity. You’ve grown, little raven. Flourished.”

“Right…” You didn’t really know how to react when he was suddenly showering you with compliments. “I hope it hasn’t been a complete waste of time for you to watch me grow.”

“At least I can’t say I’m not entertained,” Raphael said with a warm chuckle.

“Enjoying the show, then? I’m glad.” It was the wine talking, but damn if flirting with him didn’t make you exhilarated and hot all over.

“Very much so, my dear.”

You placed your elbows on the table and locked your fingers under your chin, never breaking eye contact with the devil. Raphael’s eyes glinted at the sliver of gold on your finger. His lips curved upwards. He too leaned over the dinner table, fingers intertwined, and immobilised you with a heated stare. The honey-tinted brown eyes had gained molten swirls. Your heart started drumming faster.

“How your features and string of tragic misfortune have entranced me,” Raphael said, surely in jest, but the voice. It was a lover’s voice, sensual and suggestive. A sharp pulse of desire shot through you. His attention was intoxicating. You wanted more. A flutter sprang to life in your chest.

You blinked and focused on trying to stay calm even though your head was spinning.

“Shall we enjoy the rest of the evening in a more comfortable setting?” Raphael asked carefully. The rumble of his voice set your very soul alight. Gods help you, you were hanging on his every word. A pulse of desire was pooling into a warm liquid that spread through your body.

“You’re the Master of the House, so I’ll follow your lead,” you managed to reply.

Raphael arched a brow in surprise and chuckled. He stood up.

“Undoubtedly I am. Come.”

He offered his arm to you like the perfect gentleman and walked you down to the next room. Just holding his arm threatened to turn your legs into jelly, but you steeled yourself, determined, though nervous to see the evening through.

The room was a small parlour with plush sofas and small tea tables littered with delicacies and confectioneries. You made a little gasp. Calimshan Knots, Mraed and different kinds of chocolate were on display on a luxurious silver tray with three layers. It looked almost too beautiful to break a piece from the work of art for a taste.

Raphael guided you to sit down on one of the red loveseats and sat down next to you. Exhilarated at the proximity, you had to force yourself to breathe, only to inhale his sweet scent of cherries concentrated in the air.

“Please. Indulge.” He motioned towards the sweets, but you felt the words had another underlying meaning. Your blood started running hotter in your veins.

Raphael examined your features with great interest.

“You said there was something you wanted to discuss with me…” you suddenly remembered.

“Ah, yes. There is a matter of great importance that your little group will soon have to resolve,” Raphael stated and his head tilted slightly in thought. “One way or the other.”

“Oh? What kind of matter?” you asked unsure if you really wanted to hear this. “I assume it has something to do with the Artefact?”

“Technically, yes,” he said, a hand to his chin, “I happen to possess an item of great interest to aid you in this predicament. I could be persuaded to part with it.”

You blinked. “And what would I have to offer in return for this item?”

Raphael chuckled mirthfully. “Very good, little raven. Your skills in the art of infernal negotiation are improving. But, for this particular instance, I’m willing to take a loss.”

Simultaneous feelings of unease and pride clouded your mind. “That’s… unexpected. You would lose hold of such an item for me?”

“If it means you win, my dear,” Raphael purred and leaned closer. “However, it still comes with its conjectures.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” you said quietly, “What would those conjectures be?”

“I’m willing to loan you this item, if” – Raphael lifted exactly one finger in the air – ”you promise to return it along with another trinket of my choosing.”

He could very well ask something impossible of you and do whatever he wanted with your soul in the end when you inevitably failed to deliver. So far Raphael had been fair in his dealings, but you had to be careful. Cryptic and unhelpful hints aside, you didn’t want to think about the Artefact, the tadpole or the Absolute right now.

“I’ll think about it and get back to you,” you murmured.

Raphael barked a laugh. “Indeed. Imitation is the highest form of flattery, my dear.”

The laugh left the remnants of a smirk over his lips. You swallowed. His scent of fire and cherries was making you go mad as it addled your poor, tadpoled brain. He lifted his arm over the sofa back and angled his body properly to you.

“You, my most troubled protege, will surely make the right decision,” his lover’s voice whispered with a rumble you could almost feel over your body.

Raphael’s hand dipped to caress your shoulder. The touch ignited a trail of fire in its path. He leaned closer and instinctively you leaned away. A proper smirk now curved his lips. So it became a chase; the fox hunted the raven. Your breaths grew shorter by the second.

He placed his other hand on your knee, a gesture to keep you still. The touch shot a wave of heat through you and you barely held back a wince. Thanks to the wine and your general ludacrity, you were already feeling wanton enough in his company, so you wouldn’t be able to take much of his enabling to finally snap and throw all noble notions into the fires of Hell.

That was presumably his goal.

“I’ve grown fond of you, little raven,” Raphael purred, “I’d hate to see you make the wrong choice.”

His every word caressed your skin, adding fuel to the liquid fire raging in your body. You swallowed to gather the last bits of your prudence and said: “I’m sure my companions and I will make the best decision we can under the circumstances.”

Raphael’s smile widened, his head leaned to the side. “That is most gratifying to hear, my dear.”

His hand still lay on your knee and you believed you felt it inch up your thigh while the other one continued caressing your shoulder, trekking up to the back of your neck. You couldn’t take your eyes off Raphael’s face. His gaze lowered to your lips. You placed your hand over his on your thigh and saw the delight spill into his expression. His skin was hot and you were already dreaming how it would feel wandering around your body; caressing, circling, fondling…

Did he do this with all his clients? Somehow you knew the answer. You could read it in the curve on his lips and the spark in his eyes. Mortals often held no such interest to him.

You were special.

In the back of all the lust-ridden thoughts, you wondered how it might feel to be loved by him, to wake up next to those molten saffron or darkened honey-tinted eyes.

You swallowed as Raphael’s fingers moved to the inner side of your thigh.

“Though I could use some motivation…” you heard yourself saying loud and clear.

The devil’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before they were lit with plain and clear desire.

“What a brave and naughty little thing you are. You never cease to surprise me,” Raphael husked. The words were latent with seduction and promise.

He leaned closer and you felt his shallow and waiting breaths fanning over your cheek. Only the warmth radiating from his body and his scent of sweet cherries, deep musk and smoky brimstone was registering at this point. You felt almost woozy, aching in the trepidation that he might pull away and not give you what you craved more and more with each passing second.

Raphael’s eyes were the colour of dark honey, his eyelashes so dark and beautiful, and the thought of his lips on you… The consuming craving to taste him was overwhelming.

“It’s the company I keep,” you intended to say, but in the end were unsure if the words actually left your mouth or were blocked.

Raphael kissed you with overwhelming heat and hunger.

He cupped the back of your head and pulled you right into him.

The kiss was searing, passionate and would’ve swooped you right off your feet had you been standing. His hand instantly made headway up your leg, fingers already tracing your inner thigh and unceremoniously delving closer to your aroused, aching sex.

You gripped Raphael’s shirt, pulling him even closer. You wanted him closer. You wanted him so much. How you wished the clothes on your back would just burn away.

He pushed you against the sofa back with his body. His mouth moved from your reddened and swollen lips to plant hot kisses on your cheek, jaw and down to your neck. You mewled with pleasure and offered yourself to him, indulging his every motion and brush of his lips.

Two thoughts fought for purchase in your head, but neither gained any foothold: were you really doing this with your patron and what consequences there would be. Your soul was already damned. He had been tempting you for weeks so it was about time for things to progress this way. Tangling your body with his surely didn’t actually mean anything.

“Give yourself to me,” Raphael whispered into your ear, his breathing tickling. His hand reached its aim between your legs and you gasped as he resolutely stroked your clothed sex.

Your whole body quivered from the delicious friction of the contact and you bit your lip. A tight sensation coiled in your lower abdomen, ready to burst at the next hint of touch.

You wanted more of him.

“So eager…” Raphael whispered. He kept your head still and close, turning it as he pleased to reach the sweetest spots of your skin. You acquiesced to all of it, too stunned, too ravenous for more to move. The grip of your fist tightened on his arm and at the hem of his shirt.

He claimed your lips again. You spread your legs and his nimble fingers stroked you through your clothes with the most perfect pressure, all the while his heavy breaths tickled your neck and the shell of your ear between demanding kisses. The more you gasped and moaned, the more laborious his breaths also became.

“R-Raphael…” Your throat was dry and your voice already hoarse.

Your hand wandered south with the goal of reciprocating the pleasure he was giving you, but the brushing motions of his fingers sped up and you waivered, abandoning mission. It was extremely hard to focus on anything else besides the pleasure Raphael was so expertly giving to you.

Amidst the kisses and hot breaths on burning your skin, your release was hell-bent on building fast and hard, and, frankly, it surprised you both.

It hit you like a pit fiend running into a wall at full speed.

You gasped for air, clutching Raphael’s forearm and felt the ravaging pulsing against his fingers through your clothes.

“Fuck…” you huffed, voice hoarse.

Raphael’s motions stopped as it dawned on him: You had reached an orgasm in a shamefully short time. It was certainly… surprising.

“Uh, guess I was more motivation-starved than I thought,” you managed to mumble in what you aimed to be an apologising tone. Your head was spinning from the sharp and intense orgasm, and it was extremely hard to think in complete sentences.

Raphael slowly drew back from you with a muted expression. No tender kisses, no praises, he was just staring at you in mild disbelief.

“I, uhm. Do you want to…?” you mumbled ambiguously, but couldn’t quite reach the shame waiting somewhere in the back of your mind. It had felt way too good to be ashamed.

You took a deep breath to clear your head and Raphael straightened his back.

Then he laughed, low and rough and assumed back his role. “Like I said, you never fail to surprise me, little raven.”

You blinked. He was acting as if he had not just kissed you silly and made you come with his fingers while both of you were still fully clothed.

“Hopefully the evening was as enjoyable to you as it was for me,” he continued in a cultured tone.

Heat rushed to your cheeks. So that’s how it was going to be. You hurried to settle your clothes into a more presentable state and hopped to your feet. Your legs were shaking and you felt lightheaded. There was no way your companions would not realise what had happened. Astarion would take one look at you and start either yapping or giggling.

“Yes, uh. Would you be so kind and send me back now?” you inquired, trying to reach an impassive tone but failing spectacularly.

Raphael paused, clearly deciding whether to abide by your request or not. Not a hint of the earlier lust was visible on his face. Either he hid it extremely well or your little display had not affected him at all. How frustrating. So he could make you come with a single finger, but you had no effect on him.

“Of course. Far be it from me to keep you here against your will,” Raphael said with an incline of his head. Not even a hair was out of place on him.

With a quick snap, he sent you back to camp right then and there. A swift look around told you that no one was awake. Good.

Only a moment later you realised that by ‘motivation’ Raphael probably had not meant to allow you to come. Oh well, what was done was done. You could only hope the consequences of your own actions wouldn’t come back to haunt you.

My writing masterlist

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x you #raphael x reader #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #fanfiction #the devil wears house slippers

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strikersexhaver · 9 months

Note

Hey!! I actually made this request when Western Energy came out, but I think tumblr ate my request😭 so with the release of the new episode I thought I’d try again

So, can you write something with Striker having an s/o that’s the same imp-hybrid that he is? Except his s/o doesn’t know a singular thing about their wrath culture (despite being from their), compared to Striker, who indulges in it a lot

I just think it’s a cute idea :) thank you!!

- Wrath (or the human equivalent ‘southern’) culture came naturally to Striker. It’s something he loves, adores, maybe even idolizes it- but one thing is for sure. No matter where he is, he’s a goddamn cowboy.

- He’s prideful that his other half in his genetics assists with his Hell-Wrathian lifestyle. He even uses it to fully add to the aesthetic.

- The tail rattles, the snake-like tongue- hells, even the mustache!

- But imagine his surprise when the person he started wooing, who conveniently had the same mix of imp and snake… Actually was the polar opposite.

- Entirely, everything out of the ordinary.

- Not even knowing the slang or- get that western flair in your voice?

- Nothing?

- He was a very shocked at first, but eventually realizes it’d be the perfect chance to revisit memory lane.

- Sheriff’s, cowboys, outlaws, he’ll tell you about each single one- and test you on the differences.

- Teach you how to rattle for the nice dramatic effect to your presence.

- He'll make you watch those cowboy movies with him.

- Bring you into every single ounce of the culture, no stone unturned.

- Make him learn about his other side too, if you can, he'll compare it to Wrath though... 100%

#helluva boss #striker #striker helluva boss #helluva boss striker #striker x reader #striker x reader helluva boss #striker / reader #striker and reader #striker x y/n #striker x oc

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chiriwritesstuff · 7 months

Text

Meet Me at the Farmers Market! 2. - Wager

Farmers Market! Joel Miller x Confident! Plus Sized F! Florist Reader

Previous Chapter │ Series Masterlist

Series Summary: What does a Contractor do in his spare time? Sell his wood carvings at the Saturday Farmers Market, of course! A Grumpy x Sunshine Joel Miller series collective of one shots, Updates every Saturday!

Rating: M

Warnings: Jealous! Joel Miller, Tommy is a meddling little shit, Reader likes to ogle her too-hot market neighbor (I mean, who wouldn't?!) no outbreak! Verse Joel Miller, Friendly wagers between vendors

Summary: When it's a slow day at the market, Tommy suggests a wager between Joel and Sunflower. Which of our two idiots makes a move first?

A/N: Another day in the life of Joel and Sunflower a few days early? YES PLEASE! Hope y'all enjoy!

This story takes place before the events of Pt. 1 - Jealousy, Jealousy.

Banner & Dividers by @saradika

"It's been real quiet today. How are you holding up, Miller?" you ask, your voice laced with genuine concern.

"Not great," he grumbles, his frustration almost tangible.

You gaze at your table of carefully arranged flowers, a hint of disappointment flickering across your face. "I was hoping to have sold at least half of these by now," you admit, absently tweaking a vase.

A scoff echoes from across the way. "That's a tad optimistic," he teases with a playful smirk.

You shoot back with a playful glare, your eyes twinkling mischievously. "Oh, like you're doing any better, Miller. I don't see your woodland critters flying off your table this morning."

Joel grumbles, a hint of self-deprecation in his voice. "Well, they do eventually find their way home," he drawls, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. "Today's just not our lucky day, that's all."

You can't help but laugh, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. "Right, keep telling yourself that, Miller. Maybe the critters need a bit more of your southern charm today."

"Right, it's not like you use your…" he gives you a pointed look, "assets to give you a leg up in sales," he replies, a playful glint in his eye. "I haven't seen someone wink so damn much at the farmers' market."

You roll your eyes dramatically, unable to suppress a teasing grin. "Oh, please, Miller. A little charm never hurt anyone. Besides, a wink here and there adds some flair to the whole flower-selling business. You should try it sometime."

He lets out a mock sigh, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "I'll leave the winking to you, flower whisperer. Maybe those woodland critters need a secret handshake."

You both share a laugh, the tension from the slow day momentarily forgotten as the playful banter lightens the mood in the market.

"Well, well, well," Tommy suddenly interjects, breaking through the tension as he puts his arm around your shoulders, casting a mischievous grin at his brother. "Seems like today's been a bit lackluster, huh? Sunflower's table barely made a dent, and she would have been mostly sold out by now."

You playfully nudge Tommy, a smile tugging at your lips. "Easy there, Tommy. We're all feeling the slow vibes today, aren't we?"

Joel grumbles in agreement, a hint of grumpiness in his voice. "Yeah, it's been unusually quiet. Even the critters seem to be taking a snooze on the job."

Tommy's eyes light up with an idea. "I've got it! How about a little friendly competition? A wager on who can sell out first—Sunflower's beautiful blooms or Joel's charming critters. Winner gets bragging rights and a week of free lattes on the loser!"

You exchange a knowing glance with Joel, a competitive spirit rising within you. "You're on, Tommy. Get ready to be buying those lattes," you declare, a playful determination in your voice.

Joel grumbles, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You better start practicing your sales pitch, Sunflower. Those lattes are going to be mine."

As the challenge intensifies, you notice Joel maintaining his grumpy demeanor, even as he turns on his charm with the ladies passing by. A pang of jealousy tugs at your heart, but you can't help but find his attitude endearing.

Joel grumbles at Tommy's playful antics, shooting a grumpy glare at his brother. He then turns his attention back to you, a hint of mischief in his voice. "Seems like you're getting quite cozy with my brother there, Sunflower. I might have to step up my game."

You feel a blush rising to your cheeks as you retort, "Oh please, Joel. You're the one who can't resist winking at every customer. I think you're just worried your charm might not work on everyone."

The banter continues as the friendly competition fuels a vibrant energy in the market, drawing more attention to both your stalls.

Joel grumbles playfully, a glint of competitiveness flickering in his eyes. However, as the day goes on, it becomes increasingly clear that Joel is not trying as hard as he could be. He finds himself unable to maintain his grumpy facade, particularly as he admires your dedication and passion. A sense of warmth grows inside him despite his best efforts.

As the afternoon sun begins to dip, your table starts to see more traffic, with customers drawn in by your infectious enthusiasm. Joel, on the other hand, has only managed to sell a few of his critters.

With a knowing smile, Joel arranges his remaining critters with a touch of playful annoyance, giving you an opportunity to shine. As the market comes to a close, you find your table nearly empty, a clear victory in sight.

"Congratulations, Sunflower. Looks like you've won," Joel says, offering you a genuine smile. "You deserve it. Seems like your… assets,” he motions to your unbuttoned flannel, a tease of your cleavage peeking out, you thank the stars god decided to bless you with your curves, “Really worked in your favor," he teases as he openly looks at your chest, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

You feel a rush of joy and relief, realizing Joel's subtle gesture. "Thank you, Joel. Your critters are amazing too, you know. We make quite the team, don't we?"

As the market comes to a close, the two of you share a quiet moment, the lingering warmth in Joel's gaze making your heart flutter with newfound hope. You notice a subtle shift in Joel's demeanor, as if he's holding onto something unsaid.

With a playful smile, you begin to pack up your remaining flowers, unable to shake off the feeling that Joel had been taking it easy on you. As you glance over at him, you raise an eyebrow and ask, "So, Joel, feeling generous today or just letting the lady have her moment of glory?"

Joel lets out a grumpy chuckle, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Well, Sunflower, a gentleman always knows when to let a lady shine. It's all in the spirit of chivalry, you see."

You feign a dramatic gasp, a playful glint in your eyes. "Oh, chivalry, huh? Well, I'll have you know, I'm not one to shy away from a fair competition. Next time, you won't be so lucky!"

Joel grins, a teasing glimmer in his gaze. "I'll be ready for you, Sunflower. No more Mr. Nice Guy. You'll have to earn that victory fair and square, just you wait."

You chuckle, a newfound lightness filling the air between you. "Oh, I'll be ready, Joel. And when I win, I expect you to be the one buying those celebratory lattes. Deal?"

Joel's grumpy laughter joins yours, the sound of it carrying a newfound sense of camaraderie and something more. "You've got yourself a deal, Sunflower. But don't be too confident. I might surprise you yet."

As the two of you pack up your stalls and the market starts to empty, Joel approaches you, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Say, Sunflower, how about we celebrate your victory with a dinner at the barbecue joint in town? My treat, of course."

You can't help but grin at his invitation, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of spending more time with him. "I'd love that, Joel. It'll be the perfect way to end this eventful day."

With a nod and a wider smile, Joel tips his hat and heads off to fetch his truck, leaving you with a fluttering heart and anticipation for the evening ahead.

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