jubilexe

Latest Posts by jubilexe

sometimes I wonder how y'all are obsessed with specific characters and I'm like "why them" but then I remember that sometimes its literally not your choice you just look at them wrong and all of a sudden they're taking up your every thought forever

"open the door or im going to throw rocks at your windows you dumb whore"

ᵃˡˢᵒ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉˢ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᶦⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵏᶦˡˡ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵒˡᶻ

Saw some people doing DD: Born Again bingo cards so I figured I'd make one for myself, I am READY.

tis the season for my annual Red Thread re-read

@pastafossa

"... were they always so red?"

inspiration - I saw a rowan tree covered in snow thank you for your attention, Matt Murdock you're so miserable I love you

This artwork is also available on Inprnt! Link in bio🤍

ТГК: kameyasart

Inst/Twt: kameyasart

Being a girl is: wanting to go to bed early but deciding to just get on tumblr/wattpad/Ao3 for a little bit and then end up finding a fic series that you really like and read until well past your usual bedtime then keeping on because it’s already past your bedtime. Then being mad when you wake up in the morning because you overslept your timer.

when y/n does something so bad/embarrassing you have to facepalm and close your eyes for a minute

the holy grail types of fanfic

name an anime character that has more raw sex appeal than satoru gojo challenge impossible edition

Oh my god

"How can you like these very toxic and horrible characters that have done despicable and unforgivable things?" oh it's quite simple actually, this is fiction and I think with my dick.

texas red | joel miller x reader, 18+

summary: Joel ain’t used to lovin’ like yours.

warnings: dbf!joel, married!joel so cheating, cowboy!joel, college!reader, big girthed up age gap (unspecified age for reader but somewhere in early 20s, 56 year old joel) mutual pining, yes there is angst, yes there is guilt, yes there is a lot of smut (unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, mentions of choking, spitting, etc etc etc.)

a. note: not spell checked :) started this as a smut piece and really just fell in love with what I had cooking. prob one of my fave pieces to date. hope y'all enjoy. love you <3

You loved on him like a summer’s day. No, not that kind of summer’s day.

A hot, thick, long summer’s day, the kind that clung to your skin even inside the air conditioning, so thick on your body that you just couldn’t forget about the humidity clamoring about outside. The kind of day where the sun beats down against the pavement and creates waves around sheets of metal, the kind that has you panting and gasping for air if you walk more than ten steps in any direction.

You loved on him the way a flame loves on a log- fiercely, unapologetically, brightly.

You loved him like an Austin, Texas summer day.

Home from college, a close family friend offered you substantial pay if you helped him out on his ranch. He had no help, was fifty-six years old, and found himself awfully lonesome. Sure, you weren’t much of a cowgirl- but for your dad’s best friend Joel Miller, you’d be anything he wanted you to be.

You suppose that’s how you got into this situation.

Skirt hiked up to your thighs, panties hanging off your ankle, and his cock buried deep inside your wet, impolite pussy.

“She’s takin’ me so good, ain’t she sugar? Always so good for your daddy.” His teeth sunk into your shoulder, fingertips grasping greedily at the dimpled skin of your ass. Joel was panting like a dog, crushed by the weight of your chest, your skin sticking together like fly traps.

Every so often, a gentle breeze would rummage through the windows and rustle about on the sheets of his bed, but it wasn’t enough to satiate the fire burning hot between your bodies.

Drool was dribbling at the corner of your cherry red lips, thick with the gloss that you had forgotten you applied. You were too concentrated on bouncing on his length, drunk on the feeling of his swollen tip melting into your g-spot with every grind and thrust of his jutting hips.

Your neck fell back, and his umber eyes seared holes into the soft skin, wet with a sheen of shining sweat. As Joel dragged his tongue along the edge of your jaw, his hand holding your chin in place, your thighs clenched around his own, the grip you had on his shoulders tightening at his gentle assault.

He was everything to you in this moment. You were breathing him in, taking him in, loving him in.

How could you not?

“Joel.” You begged.

“What is it, darlin’? Tell me what’s on your mind.” His voice was nothing but a coo, teasing in a way that barely got under your skin, but managed to just enough so that it left you craving more.

"Please, Joel."

You weren't too sure what you were asking for, what you needed most in this moment. What you craved was something you couldn't have. You felt it rumbling and tumbling in the confines of your stomach, that cloak of guilt slowly creeping up from behind you, but you never let it reach your face, never let it linger on your tongue.

Hush. Hush.

Focus on him. On this lovin' that he's giving you.

Lovin'? You could have laughed. This wasn’t love. This was lust. An illicit affair that neither of you ever put much thought into, because thinking lead to guilt.

And right now, with his balls slapping against your ass and his cock buried eight heavenly inches deep inside your leaking cunt, guilt was the last thing you wanted to feel. So instead you focused on the way his hot breath felt fanning across your sweat covered chest, focused on the way his finger tips felt digging deep into your skin, so deep it felt as though just a smidgen harder and his blunt nails would cause blood to spill.

His teeth were clamped around your neck like he was a hungry wolf in the pen and you were the prettiest sacrificial lamb, a dangerous mark forming beneath your ear from where he suckled.

You could feel that string.

That impossibly tight string that bound you two together, physically, mentally- in every way possible. That red line of fate that somehow tangled around your bodies and forced you together. If you had a pair of scissors, you wouldn't even be able to cut it, your hand wouldn't allow. There was something enigmatic about the cowboy Joel Miller that drew you in, something brewing beneath the surface that you could never turn away from.

His gravelly voice, low and Southern, snapped you from your thoughts.

"Please what, baby? Use your words. Lemme hear ya." He grunted like an animal as he grasped hold of your ass, bouncing you harder on his rigid cock, the sounds of your bodies loud against the walls of the room.

"P-Please. Wanna cum. Wanna-wanna feel you."

"Ain't feelin' me enough, girl?" He chuckled, nudging his face between the valley of your breasts. Joel's voice was muffled as he sucked on your nipples, allowing them to harden beneath his teeth in a way that made you shiver. "Alright then."

With ease he lifted you off, and you watched his sweaty biceps shine beneath the steady coming sunshine. Years of work beneath the blazing Texas heat, loading and unloading hay bales, wrangling cattle and fitting horses for new shoes made him impossibly strong. Strong in that cowboy sort of way, where his tummy was soft from hundreds of nights of homecooked Southern meals, and his thighs where thick and always so pretty looking behind worn denim. Strong in the good sort of way, strong in the way hard working men with good manners always are.

He tossed you on the bed, bending your legs against your chest as he mounted you, filling you impossibly deep once again. He could feel you tight around him like a vice, beckoning him further in, warm and soft against his throbbing cock. The noise of your wetness rang through his ears like church bells, and there was something deeply intoxicating about the knowledge that he was the one who made you come undone like this, that he was the one making your body shake and shiver and leak for him.

It was the best thing Joel Miller had ever felt before, and you were the prettiest thing he had ever laid eyes on.

His chocolate colored eyes, honeyed by the hazy mid afternoon glow, stared down into yours, soft yet demanding. A sentence twitched on his lips, words he would never be able to get out, affection he would never be able to voice. Talking about things, really talking about things, was not how Joel operated.

So instead, rather than communicating with you the way an old, grizzled man should have learned to do by his big age, he fucked you. He filled you up with him cum and would hum she's so fuckin' pretty, drippin' with me, or he'd take you by the throat, let you taste his tongue and his spit, let your teeth clash against one another as you bounced yourself on his cock. He would wipe you up with the bandana he always wore around his neck, would let you sip on his black coffee while you came back down to reality, even though you always made the same face with your nose scrunched every time you tasted the bitterness.

Those little moments, those little pockets of normality, domesticity, the little sparks of something that felt dangerously close to a relationship, were how he told you his true feelings.

You were looking up at him now, mouth gaping, eyes wide and glossed over with tears of pleasure as he rammed his leaking tip against those soft, spongy parts that made you whimper and whine for him. Your dress was wrinkled now, bunched up against your waist, and your nails were dragging so hard down the expanse of his button down you were sure you'd tear it.

"Come on, darlin'. Come on. You're takin him so well for me. That feel good, don't it? Daddy's cock." He purred his words, equal parts arrogance and filth, reaching down between your legs. The rough pad of his thumb found your clit, swollen and throbbing, begging for his attention. "Christ woman," Joel groaned, "you're going to be the death of me."

You arched your back off the bed, grasping hold of his thick neck, and shook your head. "Don't die on me just yet, Cowboy. Not done with you."

"Yes ma'am." He was more than happy to comply with your request.

You could feel your pussy contracting even tighter against him, you could feel your orgasm steadily brewing in the pits of your belly, and you knew it was going to be a loud one.

Joel's skin on yours was burning, sweat dripping down your bodies, melting your chests together in a tangled heap of limbs and sex.

"Look up at me. Look." Joel grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes on his. "Want to see how pretty your eyes roll when you soak this cock."

Your breath caught in your throat, and you buried your fingers in the strands of hair by the nape of his neck, pulling him closer until his mouth met yours for a kiss.

"Prettiest damn woman I've ever known. Y'know that? You're jus' a pretty little thing. Best fuckin' pussy in Texas, and it's all mine."

"Just Texas?" You moaned through a breathy laugh, his thumb still brushing across your clit. Soon, you were going to snap. You could feel it running through you like a freight train.

Joel nipped your shoulder, his laugh getting lost in your hair. "The whole world, darlin'."

You wanted to smile, but your orgasm ripped through you out of the blue. You felt your cum soak Joel straight through, felt your clit twitch beneath his thumb, your little bundle of nerves becoming sensitive beneath his tender assault, thighs shaking and throat restricting as your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

You wanted to speak, wanted to tell him how good it felt, how good he was fucking you, wanted to cry his name for the whole world to hear- but no words could form. Not with an orgasm that good.

Joel felt you squeezing around him, and his grunts and moans- more animalistic than human- told you he was close.

"God damn, girl." His teeth were gritted now, and he propped himself up on his hands to watch himself disappear inside of you. In and out, in and out. Your pussy was creamy, swollen, pulsating against him from all the pleasure he was giving you, and he couldn't hold on much longer.

Joel grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling you towards his chest so you were watching with him, watching the way he wrecked you, split you in two, reduced you to a whimpering slut just for him.

"See that? You've made a fuckin' mess on me."

"Sorry daddy." You moaned out, and if Joel didn't know any better, he would have thought your words were laced full of pride.

You did that to him. You.

Joels hips were rutting hard into yours now, fast and unsteady, a rushed mess of skin on skin as he felt his cock leaking, twitching with his oncoming climax. When he finally came undone, he snarled your name like a hungry dog, growling into your hair like a madman as he shot rope after rope of cum deep within you.

You felt him deep, felt his cum leaking against your walls as he slowly rolled beside you, his fingers dipping down into your pussy to push his dribbling spend back inside of you.

You turned to look at him, and in a moment of tenderness, you gently brushed the stray strands of curls out of his forehead, your fingers lingering against the deep set crows feet beside his honeyed eyes. They sparkled in the golden light, their umber hue set aflame by that pretty summer shine.

"Did you have a nice lunch break, Cowboy?" You words were soft. Too soft for the nature of your relationship. Neither of you seemed to mind.

The air was quiet now. The sun was still filtering in through the open window, those sheer curtains still billowing in the wind. The faint mooing of cattle could be heard, the soft tweet of a song bird, the bark of a herding dog. The noise of your bodies grinding, your skin slapping, had now all but ceased, and the little hum and sounds of both nature and domesticity filtered in and out the sunny room.

Joel reached for your hand, bringing the tips of your fingers to his mouth. His lips were dry and cracked against your skin, and the stubble of his graying beard pricked into your knuckles. It caused a smile to tilt at the corner of your messy lips.

"Best kind of lunch break." He conceded, untying the bandana around his neck. He leaned forward, softly wiping at your damp thighs, your belly, your cunt- drying you off from your previous rendezvous, before shooting you a wink and tying it back around his neck. When he worked late into the evening, he wanted to smell you. A little nudge to end the day on a high note, to end the day quickly- so he could see you in the morning and start it all from scratch.

He stood up with a groan, the kind of groan old men always let out when standing from their recliners or getting up out of bed in the morning, and readjusted his jeans. You always loved those jeans. The sun-kissed fade that stretched deliciously taut across his thighs, the little Levi tag on the back. They fit him perfectly, in more ways than one.

You watched Joel's fingers work the buttons of his shirt, a simple green flannel that brought out the richness of his skin, watched him slide through his belt with that big silver buckle depicting a steer, the one your father had gifted him when they graduated high school. He hadn't even had time to take off his shoes before he buried himself in your pussy, so he clicked his steel-toed boots together with a sense of finality and kissed your temple, grabbing his rope and wallet from the bedside table.

"Could you do me a favor?" He hummed, his eyes glancing at the bed. The duvet was soaked through, dirt from his boots and traces of your shared cum lingering through.

You grinned, knowing the question he was about to ask. "Already on it."

Joel watched you for a beat too long. Watched the way you looked bending over in that sundress, gathering up all the blankets and pillows to throw in the wash. Watched the way your hair became tousled in the breeze, the way it stuck to that pretty cherry color you had on your lips.

If Joel was a younger man, he would have bent you over again and fucked your brains out like his life depended on it. The thought caused something to stir in his stomach, and his cock. But he was old, and his back hurt, and he had a few dozen flocks of wandering sheep he had to wrangle back to the barn before night fell across the expansive miles of his ranch.

His eyes flicked to the clock.

3:47 PM.

She would be home anytime soon.

"And, uh, after that you can head on back. Alright?" He knew the words were a bit cold, knew they always stung right through to your heart, but what else was he supposed to do?

You nodded without looking at him, humming out a simple response. "Yeah." Your voice was barely a whisper as you pushed gently past him, making your way to the laundry room.

It wouldn't have really mattered if she showed up, to be realistic, it would have only raised a few questions. His wife knew you were working for him. But, that was the issue. You were meant to be working.

And right now, you were in a summery little dress- and doing manual labor wearing that was pretty much impossible. The first few weeks you showed up in jeans and a shirt, got your hands dirty, let the mud splatter on your face- but when things started heating up, when Joel started flirting more, looking harder, and you started pining more, yearning harder- that's when things changed.

He started letting you watch while he worked. Started telling you he didn't want you to get all gross and ruined on his farm. He would sit you on a thick fence post, talk to you while he shoveled shit, picked up hay, cleaned out pig pens, and he'd let you hold the newborn chicks and pet the piglets and play with the goats while you discussed anything and everything, laughing until your sides hurt.

It was through those little conversations, you realized how deeply attached you had grown, how the highlight of your work day was talking to him.

Then, you started showing up right after his wife would leave for work or shopping or whatever it is she did, always in those sun dresses that drove him wild. Your hair would be done, makeup all nice and pretty- both of which would just get ruined, later. You'd sit on the porch, watch him out in the field wiping the sweat from his brow, watching him unload the bed of his truck. You'd watch him pet every dog on his property, talk to his horse, feed his cows.

And halfway through, Joel would march right on up, grab your hand, and take you to the bedroom. Sometimes he wouldn't make it very far, and that old, rickety porch swing would get more action in an hour than it had ever gotten in its existence. Those breaks that were supposed to be lunch turned into something completely different, and his wife was left wondering why he ate through house and home by the time dinner was made and set on the table.

Joel followed you out of the bedroom.

He wasn't coy, or quiet, either.

The heel of his leather boots were clicking and clacking against the linoleum floors that hadn't been renovated since the 70s, ringing against the walls full of family photos, artwork, and Rodeo certificates.

"Look, you know if I could keep ya here-"

"I know, Joel." You dumped the duvet in the washer, turning it on. You turned to face him, gently resting your hand on his bicep. Thick, soft- it felt perfect against your hand, spilled out of the cup of your palm, warmed you just with a touch. You blinked the thought away. "I know. Really. It's okay."

He sighed, shaking his head. You walked out to the kitchen, grabbing the pitcher of lemonade, and the cowboy was right on your heels, following you like an obedient retriever. "No, really. If I could just-" he stumbled over his words, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I ain't good with words. You know?"

You rocked on your heels, sipping at the drink as you watched him from behind the rim of the glass, your eyes narrowed and head tilted with thought as you let him work out what it was he really wanted to tell you.

Joel sat down with a huff, his legs spread wide, thighs broad and inviting. He rested his elbows on his knees, focusing his attention on you.

He could get used to this, he figured. Watching you drink lemonade, helping you with the laundry, coming in after a long day of work to see you all pretty and waiting for him. He would spin you around to the deep voice of Johnny Cash, sing along in that stupid voice you hated just to make you giggle as he dipped you and buried his face in your chest. He would help you stir whatever pasta sauce you had had simmering all day, or he would go out back to grill you a ribeye cooked just the way you liked, then watch as you dumped way more sugar than what was needed into your nana's tried and true banana pudding recipe.

Joel could imagine it, clear as day.

If he was younger, thirty, thirty-five maybe, he would ask you to go off birth control. He'd fuck you every morning, twice in the afternoon, and twice in the evening, flip through every baby name book and buy every swaddle you would point out in town. He'd sit there, trying to figure out if Colton or Ashton was a better name for a son, hope and pray that if it were a girl, she'd get your heart and tenacity.

He'd marry you. He'd let you plan the wedding, force him into whatever tuxedo you wanted him to wear, and he'd let his stubble grow out to that length he knew you loved, let you smudge a piece of cake against the tip of his nose but refuse to do it to you and ruin your makeup- only to get you back later with something much better than icing.

Joel blinked, swallowing thickly.

He was back in the kitchen, boots resting on that god awful linoleum floor. Your lemonade was nearly finished now, and you looked at him with a mix of concern and intrigue, eyebrows furrowed together tightly.

You had never seen him like this- so lost in his own head, stuck in his thoughts.

"Joel?" Your voice was soft, a song on to his ears, and for a split moment it calmed his thoughts. You rested your hand on his shoulder, tilted your head ever so slightly so you were eye level.

"Sorry." He was almost bashful, clearing his throat as he adjusted the collar of his shirt. "I just, uh... you know."

You nodded a bit. In a weird sort of way, you understood. You knew what he meant without the words ever having to be spoken.

"I get it."

"Do you?"

"Mhm." You fingered the fabric of his shirt between your index and thumb, eyes tracing over every part of him. The curve of his strong nose, the lashes of his eyes. You wished you could wake up and trace over him every day, wish you could memorize him so deeply and know him so intimately he was forever burned into the imprint of your mind, forever tangled up in your ribs and lungs and heart, a piece of him left so deep within your body it became apart of you. "Maybe in another life, right?"

Joel's forehead creased, his top lip catching between his teeth as he let the words roll around in his head. You counted the wrinkles on his forehead, four deep set lines, and slowly moved your fingers to his temple, brushing your nail across the smile lines.

"Another life." He parroted, swallowing thickly. "Yeah. Yeah, sure. Another life, I think."

Joel stood, impossibly broad and tall, and stared down at you. There was a longing twinkle shimmering in his eyes, something deep and sad, something that he swore he would never, ever speak of. Not to you, to Tommy, to his wife- to your father.

Father.

A pang shot straight through his chest.

He let his rough palms fall to your hips, let you readjust the messed up buttons of his shirt, and he finally let himself close his eyes.

Let himself imagine a life where you did this every day, a life where you were his wife, his young, beautiful wife who everyone talked about, his young, beautiful wife that all the old men at his baseball games and football Sunday's would wonder and hum about out loud, wondering how the gruff, mean, sturdy Joel Miller ever managed to pull a sweet angel like you.

When he opened them, you were smiling up at him, and when he kissed your cherry colored lips, they tasted faintly of lemonade.

Joel smiled, his stomach twisting as you smiled back.

You gently dragged your hand down, let it rest on his soft stomach for a moment before you patted him away.

"Go on then, Cowboy. You've got some sheep to track."

He nodded, humming out, and as he turned on his heel to walk away, he wondered if you felt it too.

That string. That terrible, awful string that bound you two together, that unraveled like yarn and tripped him over his own two feet time and time again.

And when you walked into the laundry room and took the duvet to throw it in the drier, you wondered if Joel felt it too. That string. That terrible, awful string that had knitted itself within the very sinew that kept you together, that bound your wrists and imprinted deep within your bones until it left you aching.

On the drive home, you watched the sunset cast itself across the horizon. You watched the orange bleed in to the blue, watched the purple kiss of the approaching night blot itself behind the clouds. And in the distance you saw your cowboy, rope high in the air, whooping for a calf that had wandered too far away from his mamma, and the setting sun reflected against the faded leather of his hat, hit against the metal side of your car, and for a moment you could smell him. The smell of pine shavings, tooth paste, tobacco. It lingered in your nostrils no matter where you went.

Johnny Cash was crooning to you from the radio.

But your people have always been my people, And you have always gone wherever I go. And when it's all over, I hope we will go together I don't want you to be alone, you know.

You caught one last glance of Joel from your rearview mirror, off his horse and petting the scared calf, and a soft smile spread across your face, despite that deep gnawing that rested beneath the cavity of your chest.

Tomorrow, you would wake up and do it all over again. You'd wear your pretty sundresses, smack your cherry lips, flip your perfect hair- and you and Joel would both pretend through stolen glances and heavy breaths that whatever it was between the both of you was casual, that love was nowhere near.

Sometimes u just gotta make yourself a quesadilla and move the fuck on

as much as i understand being a hater you have to offset that shit with genuine, sincere enjoyment & wonder sometimes lest YOU become the one who is corny. and sad. imo.

Bro remember when OBX was also about economic disparity and classism? (one of the first few lines in the series is tht this was a place where u either had 2 jobs or 2 houses) and about the profound impact it had on the characters' choices and behaviour? Or about how the justice system was weaponized against the poor innocent PPL by someone richer and more powerful to save their own skin? Remember when it had more dimensions than treasure hunting and still managed to have an actually interesting and much better treasure hunting plotline compared to the ones in the later seasons? Yeahh good times

i thought my suicidal late teens were the hardest years of my life but nothing could’ve prepared me for my 20s waking up everyday with no purpose, feeling so lost, unable to keep up with friendships, watching everyone move on with relationships and careers and being unable to catch up. and I’m such a “life is not a race” type of person but damn I’m losing so hard rn

Duality of man

the front seat of the car is a type of confessional

i need infinite money forever so i can get everyone so so so many little gifts

pov: you’re scrolling trying to find a cute little fluffy fanfic to read but everything you get is smut 

no smut hate, i just want to giggle :(

oh he was for sure giving everyone 1 star

People from other cities: How can Batman keep training these child soldiers for his crusade? It's child cruelty and he should be investigated!

Gothamites: The children yearn to fight crime. At least the birds have adult supervision, cause I sure as hell didn't.

What if he just dies like next week

"undoing this character's death would take away his sacrifice and character arc" girl I don't give a shit. I'm bringing him back through the power of ao3 fix-it fics and there's nothing you can do to stop me x

my kink is seeing money go into my bank account

Megan Thee Stallion as Starfire for Halloween via instagram