#will never get over it until it's resolved

[mikkies]

「 COME ON, DON'T LEAVE ME, IT CAN'T BE THAT EASY BABE. 」

Griefer x GN! Gardener! Botanist! Player(?)! Reader

warnings: stabbing yourself with the Venomshank

notes: Are they the Player? Hmmmm.. I'm gonna assume they are.

THE JUNGLE AROUND Turitopulis was alive with the chatter of birds and the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.

You and Brad—or as he insisted on being called, Griefer—strolled through the greenery, a basket of freshly picked fruits swinging between you.

Despite his usual grumbling, he was uncharacteristically quiet, his red eyes scanning the trees. He still bore remnants of the plant-like features left behind after his recovery, vine-like patterns etched faintly into his skin.

“You okay?” you asked, handing him a bright orange fruit. He bit into it with a loud crunch, juice dripping down his chin.

“JUST T4K1N’ 1T 1N,” he mumbled, chewing. “D1DN’T R34L1Z3 H0W C00L TH1S PL4C3 W4S B3F0R3.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Wait until we get back and make those fruit shakes.”

Later, in the small clearing you’d set up as your garden, you worked side by side planting new flowers and tending to the older ones.

Griefer was surprisingly gentle as he handled the seedlings, though he complained loudly whenever he got dirt on his jacket. “WH0 C4M3 UP W1TH G4RD3N1N’? ST1CK T0 G4M1N’. L3SS M3SSY.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, brushing soil off your hands. “You’re practically one with nature now. Embrace it.”

That night, however, as the moon rose high over the jungle, a chilling whisper called to you from the shadows. The Venomshank, one of the cursed swords, was still hidden deep within the jungle. Unable to resist its pull, you found yourself walking into the dense foliage, its voice growing louder with every step.

By the time Griefer and Mayor Thaniyel found you in a dark cave, the whispers had consumed your mind. The sword glinted ominously in your hand, its influence too strong to resist. Before either of them could reach you, you drove it into your arm, its power coursing through you as your body began to transform.

Vines and petals of your favorite flower—roses—wrapped around your form, turning you into a fearsome yet tragically beautiful creature.

“[N4M3]!” Griefer’s voice cracked as he lunged forward, trying to reach you. “N0T L1K3 TH1S!”

The battle that followed was intense and heart-wrenching. Griefer fought desperately, trying to avoid harming you while fending off your attacks. His shouts echoed in the cavern, filled with a mixture of anger, fear, and determination.

Finally, with the Mayor’s help, they subdued you, carrying your unconscious form back to Turitopulis.

In the days that followed, Brad threw himself into finding the ingredients for the cure: an onion ring and a rare compound. “0N10N R1NG? TH1S 1S STUP1D,” he muttered, but his resolve never wavered.

When you finally woke, the transformation reversed but not entirely—petal-like features remained on your skin, mirroring Griefer's vine patterns. As you blinked up at him, he grinned, his red teeth flashing. “W3 M4TCH N0W. Y0U’R3 ST1LL A P41N, BUT Y0U’R3 MY P41N.”

You laughed softly, tears in your eyes as you reached for his hand. Despite everything, you knew you’d always find your way back to each other.

[makeitworse]

GIRLFRIEND

♪ 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 (𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧) TRACK #11

his girlfriend, that’s what everyone knows you as— even though jiyong still has yet to officially ask.

𝓬ontains: f!reader x jiyong. resolved tension. teasing. down bad jiyong. fluff. switch dynamic. smut! (fingering, blowjob). 18+

𝓷otes: i did not intend for the closing fic to be so smut focused but .. here we are lol. this event has been so much fun, thank u for all the love and support i adore u ♡♡

you’d hear it more than your own name.

“hyung, your girlfriend’s here!”

“listen when your girlfriend speaks, bro.”

from the bigbang boys to the 2ne1 girls, their managers and their assistants, even producer teddy— hell, you wouldn’t doubt it reached YG himself.

“haven’t you heard? they say you’re his girlfriend.”

the tension between you and jiyong had been a tug of war for months. for a while it was “will they or won’t they”, until people caught on that there’s no leaving jiyong’s sights once they’re set on you. so it become a matter of “when will they”— and you’ve been in limbo ever since.

it’s a known fact that you belong to him. unofficially, of course. you’re not his girlfriend. not actually. not yet.

because he hadn’t even asked.

jiyong let others do the talking for him. after all the push-and-pull, you’d think he’d have the confidence to say the magic words with his whole chest. but he always got cold feet around you. you were practically his, and your lips hadn’t even been introduced.

it gets to the point that one day, you wake up and decide to fuck with him until he grows some balls. dangle the idea in front his face. make him squirm until he has no choice but to actually ask you out.

once, you’d been curled up on the couch with him: his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. you nuzzled back until you pressed flush against his body. you literally felt his breath stop— his warmth pressing into your back. you stifled a wicked grin.

“why can’t we do this all the time?” you cooed to him oh so innocently.

his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed at your ear, fingers twitching on your stomach. you’ve served the opening for him on a silver platter: all he needs to do is speak it into existence.

“you tell me.” he murmured.

you should’ve just punched him.

encounters where you tip-toed over the line became the norm— but only as friends, of course. what else would you be?

brushing your lips over the shell of his ear just to whisper something unimportant. pulling him in with your hands on his neck and cupping his face with a smile.

but you don’t kiss him. no, never. what does he take you for? no pre-dating kisses around here.

he needs to ask first. you both know it. and it’s killing jiyong.

it starts how it always does: jiyong hovering near you like a second shadow.

you’ve joined them as company in the studio while the boys record, laughing with bom and sandara on the couch while you sip from an iced coffee. he’s pretending not to stare— nodding along to whatever youngbae’s saying that wasn’t reaching his ears— but you know better. you feel it. how could you not?

he’s sure you’re trying to drive him crazy. the way your lips part for the straw, tongue flicking out before you wrap them around the plastic, eyes darting up to meet his gaze. you’re checking if he’s watching your little show. and you’re grinning.

jiyong’s jaw hardens, turning his attention back to youngbae— who he hadn’t even noticed wasn’t talking anymore. just staring at him, brows raised.

“will your girlfriend be a distraction?”

“she’s not—” jiyong cuts himself off with an exhale, mouth pressing into a firm line. “no, she won’t.”

youngbae turns to the computer, running over some tweaks to the lyrics. it’s an effort for jiyong to keep his eyes trained on the screen; his ears are damn near ringing with the sound of you giggling behind him.

you sounded so cute. it’s not anything he hadn’t heard before, or got out of you himself— it’s just, each passing day, he got more butterflies than the first time you met. he thought they’d calm down once he realised the interest was mutual. but they’ve only grown more restless. and so have you.

he’s worried, you know. every day that he doesn’t ask, all the fleeting moments where it would’ve been perfect to— he’s worried about losing you.

he thinks something’s wrong with him.

every woman on the street has your face. whatever anyone says sounds like your voice. since meeting you, he’s a fool who can’t stop smiling. how can you be so pretty?

there’s footsteps passing by him. he glances over at sandara, pointing her head towards you as she walks out. jiyong glares at her. she just smirks, door shutting behind her.

everyone knows.

youngbae’s focused on typing on the keyboard, so he steals a glance at you, and you’re already looking. his knees could buckle under the weight of your gaze. your smiles says it all— like you own him, like you’re fully aware of how far under his skin you are. it’s infuriating. because it’s true.

he faces youngbae again, but overhears you telling bom you’ll be back. jiyong swallows thickly as you set your coffee on the table and get up off the couch, presence ghosting by him as you disappear down the hall.

the words leave his mouth before he can even process the thought— and suddenly jiyong’s excusing himself too.

he follows your footsteps to a lone storage room hoarding spare equipment. and you’re waiting for him when he opens the door. picking your nails as you leaned against the wall, like you’re in no rush. like you expected him.

“you always follow me.” you giggle, voice soft, eyes daring.

“you always run.” he counters, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

you shrug. “still waiting for someone to catch me.”

jiyong sighs, frustration audible. you just smile.

“i don’t want to play at this anymore.” his voice is low, rough at the edges. his jaw tightens like he’s straining to hold something back.

you hum in thought, shifting your weight as your arms cross over your chest; jiyong’s eyes following every little movement.

you close in on him with small, drawn-out steps. “you should’ve just asked.”

“you should’ve said yes,”

“i would’ve.”

you’re so close, enough for your breath to fan jiyong’s cheek. his lips part, maybe thoughtlessly— eyes darting over your face. tentative.

“then say it,” his voice barely above a whisper. “say yes now.”

you pout at him: defiant. teasing. “to what? you haven’t asked.”

he cusses under his breath, low and guttural, and then his hands are on you. firm grip on your waist, jiyong pulls you against him, the warmth of your bodies pressing together. his eyes are dark: hunger eclipsing his impatience.

“you drive me fucking crazy.”

you smirk. “glad to hear.”

“no, you don’t get it,” he asserts. “all i hear is that you’re my girl. from everyone. daesung even told my mother— and you still act like it’s not real.”

“it’s very real, ji.” your knuckles come to brush his cheek. his jaw tenses under your featherlight touch. “you just need to say it.”

“i’m getting there.” he murmurs.

your arms come to wrap around his neck, leaning in till your lips are a breath away from his. “better hurry, jiyong. might lose me.”

he stills. his fingers twitch on your side. then: “not happening.”

jiyong’s mouth comes crashing onto yours. it’s all fire, like he’s making up for lost time, every moment you hadn’t kissed. the force has your head tilting back, and you push him off just as you get the urge to kiss him back. not yet.

he blinks at you, breathless. you can feel his heart thudding under the palm on his chest. you give him a soft smile, tilting your head. you’re waiting, he realises.

jiyong clears his throat. he runs a hand through his hair, a little self-conscious for being so forward. but can you blame a man?

his hands come to hold your one resting on his chest. and then finally, softly: “be my girlfriend?”

you grin, confident as ever. “i’ll think about it.”

jiyong clicks his tongue, but you swallow the noise as you lean in, lips smothering his. he’s slower this time as he returns the kiss. patient. his mouth opens for you, and you catch a small noise escape his throat as your tongue teases his. you’re sure he feels it when your lips curl into a smile.

in retaliation, jiyong slips his hand beneath your shirt. you gasp at the sensation— his palm flat and hot on your bare skin.

your hand snakes around his neck, lacing your fingers in his hair as the kisses heat up. jiyong grows more daring, pinching your chin to tip your head back, allowing his tongue to delve deeper; taste more of you.

your fingers curl around a tuft of hair, and jiyong sighs as your nails graze his scalp. but then you pull— his mouth coming off of yours with a wet pop as you tug his head back.

jiyong’s groan blends into a snicker. foreboding is the only way to describe the sound.

you softly bite your lip as jiyong looks back at you through half-lidded eyes. you hope it might disarm him.

you stifle the urge to shudder as he leans in again, agonisingly slow, and kisses the corner of your mouth. his lips barely graze yours— a stark contrast to how he was basically eating your face a minute ago.

he trails down to your jaw and leaves another there. then down your neck, trailing kisses all the way to your clavicle. they’re all charged with something you couldn’t quite place— possessiveness, maybe. like he’s finally staking his claim.

goosebumps erupt across your flesh as he takes the skin into his mouth, sucking lightly. just enough to leave proof that he was there.

the hand on your stomach creeps downward, slipping under your waistband, and you can’t help how your hips roll at his touch. his laugh rumbles on your collarbone. you want to slap him for being so cocky. you want to beg him to keep going.

his fingertips glide over the fabric of your panties, stopping where your bikini line ends. he presses a kiss to your lips, and you breathe out his name. he cocks his head.

“hm?” he’s not even trying to hide his smug grin. “still thinking?”

you swallow down the cusses sizzling on your tongue. you don’t want him to have a change of heart, pull away when his fingertips are ghosting over right where you want them.

you snatch jiyong’s throat into your hand, fingers curling around his neck— not tight, just present. a reminder. he’s quick to suppress a groan.

“i need convincing.”

and that’s all jiyong has to hear.

confident now, his hand slips under the fabric of your panties, and you gasp as his fingertips tap your folds. his breath fans heavy on your mouth, eyes never leaving you— watching every twitch of your face as he moves his fingers.

jiyong cusses when he feels just how wet you’ve gotten for him. his mouth’s on yours again, and you whimper onto his tongue when his fingers glide over your clit.

he repeats the action, rubbing little stripes with his fingers that has your mind going foggy. you’re eager, desperate for more, your hips buck in rhythm with his hand on your clit. he stills you with a firm hand on your waist, then his palm shifts to cradle you by the small of your back. your hands fist in the fabric of his shirt.

each of your moans into the kisses only drives jiyong crazier— he trades his fingers for his thumb, rubbing quick circles on your clit as his digits come to tease your entrance.

dignity be damned, you break the kiss to whine: “ji, please,”

you choke out when two fingers stretch you open. his brows raise, watching you unravel for him with a smile on his face. he sets an unforgiving pace: ramming his fingers into you with his thumb focused on swirling your clit. you’re mumbling an incoherent string of words, the coil in your stomach tightening with his fingers working at you so perfectly.

“i’ve got you.” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose against your jaw to suck little kisses on your neck. your cries fall right into his ear.

when his fingers curl to hit that spot to make you see stars, the balloon inside you pops.

you cum like that: jiyong’s hand rocking into your g-spot, his thumb attentive on your clit, his palm on your back holding you flush against him, his lips nipping at the skin of your neck. it’s all too much. you’re not sure what leaves your mouth— his name blending with broken pleas and cusses. he’s surprised his shirt doesn’t rip from how tight you gripped it.

he doesn’t stop until you’re coherent; asking him to stop, sensitive to the touch. he (reluctantly) drags his hand off of you, holding your gaze as he pops his fingers into his mouth. you’re still hazy from your orgasm, but the sight of him cleaning up your taste with his tongue has your flame reigniting.

your hand grabs his hard-on through his pants, and jiyong nearly keels over.

he forgets himself, head falling on your shoulder as you rub your palm over his length. he’s hot, and you chuckle when you feel a damp spot on the fabric.

“your turn.” you coo.

he laughs breathlessly. “it won’t take much—”

you hear how his breath stops as he watches you lower yourself to your knees.

your palm rubs at him steadily, pulling little gasps from jiyong’s mouth. you maintain eye contact as your knuckles hook over his waistband, pulling both layers down in one tug.

he buried his hand in your hair like he’s petting you, his pupils swallowed by black in adoration.

your pretty fingers wrap around his length. it’s an effort to not buck into your hand— he doesn’t want to be impolite, but god, did he need more.

your thumb swipes over his head to catch a bud of pre-cum, and jiyong has to stop his eyes from rolling. he thinks he can’t get any harder— but then your lips press a kiss to his tip. he could cum right then from the sight.

“you’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes.

you smile in kind. it’s all that prepares him for you taking his length into your mouth.

a choke escapes jiyong’s throat— he has to still his hips, resist the urge to buck further into the damp warmth of your mouth.

he clenches his jaw, sucking in a breath through his teeth as you drag your mouth over him, wrapping a tight fist around the base of his dick.

your wrist turns on his length, and he’s moaning, holding onto your hair like a lifeline.

after you came, jiyong had planned to lift you up, fuck you against the wall. maybe he got too ahead of himself. he wasn’t going to last for much longer like this.

“shit, can— can i,” he blabbers, dick already pulsing on your tongue as your head bobs at a relentless rhythm. “let me fuck you, please,”

your mouth comes off him with a wet smack. he shudders at the sudden absence of your warmth— but that thought dissolves as your hand rides up, stroking just the tip, palm riding over his frenulum over and over. he’s shameless as he asks again. you just pout up at him.

“so soon? ji,” you coo, not even hiding your smile. “what happened to taking a girl out first?”

you don’t spare him a second to reply— jiyong cries out when your mouth latches back onto him, cheeks hollowing while your fist rides over the rest of his dick.

and once you glance up at him, batting your lashes with glossy lips, a smile curling around his length: he’s gone.

it’s all a whiney string of please’s and thank you’s falling from jiyong’s mouth as he cums. your wrist glides up and down in between sharp twists, tongue unrelenting as you suck on his tip. his pelvis stammers, his vision blinding white, and warm ropes of cum shoot down your throat.

you give him a second to catch his breath, dragging yourself off of him. he hisses when you give his sensitive tip a light squeeze as you pull your hand off.

jiyong coughs— throat raw from moaning. heat creeps up his neck, acutely aware of how loud he must’ve been. flustered, he gazes down at you, smirking up at him with a hand coated in cum.

you maintain eye contact as your tongue drags over your palm, lapping up the residue. his dick twitches at the sight of you returning the favour. fuck, give him a moment to recover, and he’ll be just about ready for round two.

you kiss the tip of his dick as it softens, before tucking it back into his boxers and straightening up his waistband. you rise from your feet. jiyong’s in utter awe.

“nothing in the world compares to you,” he reveres, eyes full of stars. “my girlfriend.”

he says it like he’s testing the word on his tongue. he repeats it under his breath as he cups your cheeks, leaving quick pecks all over your face.

you chuckle, giving his shoulder a light shove.

“took you long enough.”

Liked by chaelincl, ttt and others

peaceminusone my one and only

daraxxi OMG finally! newharoobompark was this taken in the storage room? ⠀⠀⠀teddypark__ 🤨 d_lable_official mother and father of YG family 💛

tags: @namsgyu @mashtatosworld @gds-daisy @gdinthehouseee @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @eru-vande @emmiesoverthemoon @petersasteria @breakmeoff @seungttttop @keiraryan @moontabi @mintandmuse @steponupbabe @heartubeatusalon @burningheartdetective @thanosspills @aizshallnotbefound @ttturnitup @lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ferrarifinnick @riddlerloveb0t @loveesiren @pinkpunkdynamite @madebybec @hydeonysus @szonyix6277 + this anon

ty to everyone who tuned in <3

[gothicfied]

https://www.tumblr.com/gothicfied/784292304227827712/the-devil-in-your-eyes-wont-deny-the-lies

of course we want a part two omg

I DON'T WANNA GET UNDRESSED FOR A NEW PERSON ALL OVER AGAIN

(read part 1 here)

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x fem!reader

Summary: After the awful summer you had because of a certain Jude Bellingham, you were more than hesitant to accept the invite to go to the first El Clasico of the season. You were seeing someone and you honestly didn't have the time to spare for Jude, but you felt like you had to go anyways to get things straight.

Word Count: ~4.9k

Reading Time: ~20 Minutes

Warnings: Slight swearing, Reader is still struggling with her feelings most of the time, Jude is thankfully not an asshole anymore, probably an unsatisfying ending, still hopeful ending, much more fluff than angst, not proof read (english isn't my first language)

Tag(s): @jsprien213

A/N: I'm really having fun with this little series and I'm planning on resolving everything in a third part, don't worry. I wrote this in like a day, so don't mind any spelling mistakes and sorry if something doesn't make sense. I'm personally sorry to Jude for writing him this way lolololol Inspiration was this song👇

Love is an intense feeling of deep affection. It is what builds up the world, creates new life and makes life worth living. Or, in your case, it'll completely destroy your emotions and friendships you didn't think you could lose.

That night where Jude absolutely did not want to leave your side and actually did wait for you outside the guest room until almost 3:00 in the morning was when you were sure you'd never want to see that man ever again. Eventually, though, you did open the door for him, because... well, you felt bad. Jude wasn't even asleep or on his phone and it was clear that he had shed a tear or two. He wasn't an overly emotional man and wouldn't let himself cry, even if it meant it would save his life.

You were kind of ready to talk or at least give him the time to explain himself. But, it all got out of hand really fast: You couldn't controll your emotions either and just started screaming at him about nothing and everything all at once. Jude felt overwhelmed with the amount of information leaving your mouth and wasn't able to process everything to give you a good answer. Everything he said sounded wrong to your ears, which just made you more agitated. It was late, you had been crying and you had gotten no sleep the days before, ergo: You were tired. Tired and not in the right headspace.

Jude wouldn't ever yell at you. He did raise his voice a couple of times, but never got closer to you than three or four meters. His head was pounding and frankly, he did not have a good reason why he'd rather go for someone like Amy and not you, who he treated like his girlfriend basically all his life. Since he'd known you.

You threw him out of the room. And that was that. In the morning, you didn't go downstairs for a while, fearing you'd meet Jude there. The next day you left Spain anyway. He helped you get your luggage downstairs, but wouldn't look you in the eyes. Jude wasn't mad, he was more so disappointed in himself and very ashamed of what he did to you or made you feel.

He didn't go to the airport with you.

He didn't say a proper goodbye.

He didn't call you to check up on you after you landed back in England.

And you wouldn't either.

...

Sunmer's almost over and you felt like you've wasted all your time. Back home, you didn't have the energy to get out of the bed most days. It's not like your parents or your sister cared anyway and your brother wouldn't really understand what was going on. He was only six and to him Jude Bellingham was the best football player on earth. He adored him and was always so excited to see his big sister with his idol, hand in hand and what not. Poor kid, you'd have to tell him some time that things aren't like they were before.

Thankfully, your friends were there to occasionally drag you out of bed. Your best friend Alicia was definitely ready to swing at him if he ever dared to enter the UK again. You thought it was funny how protective she was and she was just glad she got you to smile for the first time in days. At home, you didn't quite know what to do with your time. You opted for finally taking school a bit more seriously and the whole preparing for the new semester did help you clear your head from all that's happened back in Spain.

Jude still wouldn't call you. You wouldn't text him or try to say sorry, because you thought you didn't have anything to be sorry for. Sure, you kind of felt bad for yelling at him and not giving him the chance to speak, but he was still the one who messed up and should contact you to straighten it out. You banished all his football jerseys he gave you to the back of your closet. At first, you just wanted to light them on fire and throw all the gifts he gave you right into it, but Alicia thankfully made you overthink your decision.

"I hate him! Who does he think he is, huh? What the fuck—" This went on and on for a few minutes while you paced around your room. This was just two days after you came back from Jude's and your best friend, who sat on your bed, didn't know how to console you in this situation. She watched in disbelief while you picked out every single on of his shirts, didn't matter if it was a Dortmund or England or Real Madrid kit, and threw it on the ground, swearing up and down you'd tear them into shreds and burn them until they were unrecognizable. "Okay, look," Alicia stopped you, "I get what you're going through. Really. He's an asshole and I know how much it must've hurt but... come on, burning this shit won't solve the problem." You stopped dead in your tracks and slowly turned around to her, looking like you're about to cry again. "What do you mean?" Alicia sighed, "Maybe you guys make up. What then? Do you really wanna explain what happened to all of those." She pointed at the pile of shirts on your floor, to which you sighed this time. "I don't know, girl. Maybe you're right."

Your life felt weird without the most important person in it. Jude was out of the picture and that allowed you to finally peruse other people for once. While the first two weeks felt like torture, where summer dragged itself out without reason and you just wanted to go back to your normal life style again, September felt like a fresh new start.

Alicia had made it her objective to set you up with as many people as possible. Drunken nights out have gotten you nowhere the past few years, because you always wanted to stay loyal to the man who has your heart. Well, who gives a shit now? Definitely not Jude.

And, you thought you were over with that chapter for now, until your phone rang: "Hey, can we talk?" You picked up without looking at the phone screen, so hearing a voice so similar to Jude's made you jump. It was Jobe. "Oh my god, hey! Yes of course we can, how are you?" Jobe was always like a little brother to you and truth be told, you had missed him greatly. "Yeah.. yeah no, I'm doing fine. Are you, though?"

"Uhhh..." You paused for a moment, "Yeah. Yes I'm good. School's been okay, not too many assignments yet. Haven't thought about dropping out yet, I think that's the important part." Jobe chuckled at the other end of line. "You know that's not what I'm really asking you, right?" Oh great. Of course he'd tell his brother. Jude and Jobe were each others best friends and their brotherly bond allowed them to to talk about everything, even the most private stuff. "Ugh, okay. What did he tell you?"

"Not much until now. Just that you two had this huge fight. I knew he was an idiot, but I would've never thought he'd throw you away like that."

"He didn't... throw me away, Jobe. Now that I'm thinking about it, he can't control who he likes. If it's not me then.. well, you know."

"Don't lie to me like that. I can hear you lying."

It sometimes bothered you a lot how Jobe was able to read you like a book. You sighed and nodded, even though he wasn't able to see it. For a few minutes, you told Jude's brother what really bothered you and what actually happened. By the sound of his voice, he would've flown down there and strangled his brother, if he had the chance.

"Mom's been asking for you. But Jude kinda told her all that and she's too afraid she'll step over any boundaries if she called you." You sighed again. It was like family drama back home.. back with your family.

"I'll talk to her, I promise." You knew Denise would want things to be straightened out between Jude and you, but you didn't know if you could ever do that. At least not in the next few months.

"Okay. Thanks. I'll talk to you later. Love you."

"Love you too." And Jobe hung up

Now you were able to sit with your thoughts for a moment. After a few minutes, you decided against calling Denise right away and just focused on getting ready for another night out with Alicia and your uni friends.

...

It's October. The end of October and it was the most perfect time of the year. Halloween was in sight and attending a University in England seemed to be the most aesthetic thing one could do. A few days ago, Denise had called you a second time after Jobe had told you about her conflict.

The topic was — sadly for you — the first El Clasico of the season that was right around the corner. You hadn't been into football these past couple of weeks, but you did notice that Real Madrid had an unusually weak start. Gossip pages on both TikTok and Instagram had already touched on the story around Jude: He wasn't meeting with Amy anymore and you were also not seen in a while. Intern sources claim there was a fight and now you wonder which one of those new friends you made in Madrid gave the intel. You weren't mad.

What gossip pages also talked about was you. You, without being linked to a footballer. For a month or so, you've been hanging out with a new guy — Joseph — a lot. He was nice, caring, fit and you did like him a lot. On the Internet, it's already being speculated if he's your new boyfriend.. as if Jude was your last. Amy, of course, also couldn't keep her dirty little fingers out of the situation and had to post 'cryptic' insta stories seemingly making fun of you. You chose your peace and ignored them. She was pathetic, you knew that now and you wouldn't let yourself be bothered by someone like her.

"I just want you to think about it, sweetheart. You don't have to do anything you don't want to, okay?" Denise voice rang out of your phone while you were slumped over a few books for your mandatory statistics course. She asked you to come down to Spain and be there for the match and well... Jude. More so for her, if she was being really honest, because she had missed you. "I don't know if that's such a good idea." You couldn't just outright say to her that you currently hated her son, right? "I don't know if I wanna see him— Or if he even wants to see me." Denise huffed, but showed herself to be understanding. "Believe me, Jude wants to see you. He doesn't say it directly, but I can tell. A mother can always tell. He's been upset lately because of your new.. who is he?" You froze. "What? You mean Joseph? Oh, he's not my boyfriend if that's what you're asking." Later Denise told you that Jude had no right to be mad at you or Joseph, because of everything he had done with Amy and such. You were grateful that she understood that completely right. Thinking about Jude so often wasn't something you had planned, but emotions kept bubbling up. You missed him. Terribly and you didn't want to admit it. "You know what? Yes, fine, I'll be there."

"Ohhhh my god, why did I agree to this? What is wrong with me?" You were talking to yourself while you packed a small suitcase for the few days you'd be staying in Madrid. Maybe you thought this was an opportunity to patch things up.. but things needed a lot of patching. Were you ready to forgive him yet? No. No, most definitely not.

Alicia also told you it was a bad idea, but you did want to see Denise again, so whatever. If not for her son, then for her. The whole flight over you painted out different scenarios on how this thing would go. Would Jude be happy to see you? Glad even? Or brush it off and still be mad at whatever he thought he had a right to be mad at? How were you supposed to act? Congratulate him if he won? Comfort him if he lost? Celebrate if he scored a goal? Talk to him at all or just be there?

Denise had offered you to stay at their place, but you had politely declined. Not even the devil could make you go back there after the wound was still so fresh. Or maybe you're just exaggerating a lot. You couldn't really tell if you were too paranoid or if you should actually be feeling like this. At least some people were on your side.

"Look, you don't have to worry, you can go." Joseph said in his deep voice, turning the steering wheel left in the direction google maps was telling him to. "Yeah, I just. Man, I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I really like you and.. I wanna keep seeing you." He could tell your indecisiveness in your voice. Joseph was, of course, also a huge fan of Jude, if he was being honest. He didn't start going out with you just because you were associated with him, but he didn't mind hearing all the drama first hand. Ultimately, he understood he took on some kind of 'rebound' character, even though he also understood that Jude and you had never been in a relationship. "I like you too," Your date laughed, "But I think, like personally, you should go. Carrying all that weight of unresolved feelings and stuff won't be good for you." He was very mature and you definitely needed someone like that right now. You can't believe you were on your way to a very nice restaurant — a date — and you were still talking about Jude. "I'm sorry that I'm bothering you with all of this." You said after a few minutes of silence. "You're not bothering. I think it's nice that you trust me enough to tell me all of this."

On the other side, Jude, the man himself, was slightly mad at his mom that she even thought about inviting you. And he was mad that you accepted. Truthfully, he wished for nothing more than to see you again, since his feelings for you grew over the months. He kept cursing himself for realizing all of that now and not the years before. At the start of the season, he missed you being there for his first game. He missed seeing you in the crowd, he missed seeing you with his mother, he missed seeing you happy and celebrating when Real won. He missed seeing your absolutely beautiful face. He missed your hugs, your warmth, the smell of your favorite perfume. He missed your voice and talking to you the most.

He realized he wasn't playing his best, regardless of giving his everything on the pitch. It was emotional distress and he brushed it off to his friends and team mates as 'having too much stress'. Jude still woke up everyday excited to play football, but it was still a lot more fun when he knew you were watching — Doesn't matter if that was from home or right there in the stadium.

The feeling he felt deep in his bones had something to do with jealousy, longing and sadness. A mix between every negative thing in his life and he couldn't seem to get rid of it. Jude thought that maybe, if you were there after the El Clasico, it would resolve itself. All he needed is you and for you to forgive him. He also knew that he had to prove himself for it to work.

He hated that he had to prove himself against Barcelona and have you watch him. Judge him. Hate him. At least Jude thought you hated him — Why you accepted to come to his game was a mystery.

While he was busy sorting out his thoughts during the last hour before the game, you've been picked up by Denise, per her request. She gave you a little side hug in the car: "Aww, good to see you, sweetheart!" She exclaimed full with excitement. You actually were excited as well, to see her and be able to watch the game. It's not like you always only attended because of Jude. No, you've become good friends, or at least acquaintances, with most players and slash or their partners. "Good to see you, too. It's been a while, I've missed you."

You gapped about everything in your life, mostly about school and your family. Honestly, you haven't really talked to them in a hot minute since you immediately moved out when you graduated. Mark and Denise were a big help, because your parents wouldn't step up. Sometimes they'd try to call you and most of the times you wouldn't pick up. They had ignored you most of your life, what makes this specific day so special that they'd call? You didn't owe them anything. But, during these times, you wished you had a mom you could actually call and talk about it.

"Look. Jude's been.. down lately. And I know what he did and all that jazz. I just want you to know I'm on your side." Denise whispered to you while you took your seat once you were in the breathtaking stadium the Santiago Bernabéu is. On the big screen you, suprisingly, sae your face. You, who looked up and smiled slightly when noticing the camera on you. You kind of forgot this feeling, but you didn't really miss it.

"I appreciate that." You whispered back to Jude's mom, who started to laugh next to you. "I know what an idiot he can be. Oh, you have no idea how hard his early teenage years were with him."

"I do. I was there." Denise chuckled and nodded. She'd always call you soulmates, two people who couldn't be torn apart. You knew Jude better than anyone, since he'd always run to you with his problems rather than his mom or his dad. Later, Denise would bribe you with sweets or your favorite snack to go tattle on him to her. Of course, you'd never tell her Jude's big secrets or one's that could literally get him grounded for the next ten years, but it was entertaining to watch him get in trouble for small things like a failed test or for missing curfew.

"Different jersey?" You turned your head over your shoulder to check the back, as if you didn't know what kind of jersey you wore. It was blank, didn't have a name on it. "Sorry," You sighed when thinking back at the hassle that was picking out the right one, "didn't think.. I just thought this one was more appropriate."

You knew if fans photgraphed you with this one on, rumors would arise in literal seconds.

"Oh my god! She isn't wearing Jude's jersey!"

"Look, it doesn't say 'Bellingham' on it.."

"They really had a fight!"

Trying to clear your thoughts was hard here, under the eyes of everyone, so you excused yourself to the bathroom for a minute.

...

Well, this really didn't seem like the greatest season for Real Madrid. The game started off okay, with many offside goals and groaning from your side of the stadium. You tried your best not to have your eyes glued to Jude, but rather watch Vini, Kylian, Fede... anyone!

You'd tune out all the cheering and clapping once Barca had scored their third goal of the game. Jude didn't play his best, absolutely not. You wondered why that was, why this specific game? He probably knew you were coming, maybe he was under pressure because of you. Maybe he was scared to mess up in front of you. Maybe—

Wait.

This isn't about you. Is it?

You tried avoiding sounding so selfish and narcissistic in your own head, even though you didn't have to prove it to anyone. No one was there to read your thoughts, why were you so self critical? It probably was because of you. No. Or.. maybe? You definitely wished you were messing with his head right now, as somw kind of revenge. You didn't like losing though... he could've done more!

During Half Time a little before, you had spoken to Joseph over the phone:

"Dude, this is going terribly for you guys." The man quipped on the other end of the line, apparently not all that mad about it. "Ugh, tell me about it." Joseph had told you he wasn't the biggest fan of Real and you accepted that, but these kind of talks were getting really annoying. "I'm hiding in the bathroom. Like.. I don't even want to continue. He probably doesn't even want to talk to me after if they keep going like this." Joseph audibly laughed, not trying to hide his amusement. "Noooo.. come on. You have to try! Even if things don't work out.. I'm right here, baby." Hearing a term of endearment out if anyone's mouth but Jude's was cringe. "Haha.. yeah. I gotta go. I'll talk to you later." After you hung up, you stormed out of the bathroom stall, coming to a straight halt when seeing a woman at the sink fixing her makeup. Oh no, she heard all of that? How embarrassing.

To say your mood was ruined is an understatement. This sucks, the game, the opposing team, Jude Bellingham who's still not giving his all... You slumped back in your seat, hearing Denise sigh. Yeah, this was going to be a looooong evening.

...

There were no smiles, no laughing, no nothing. Losing 4-0 against your biggest rivals was also a thing of its own. You were standing at the end of the tunnel with Denise and basically everyone else who was here to see one of the players. You heart was racing, your palms were sweaty — You had sworn to yourself that you wouldn't get so worked up about this but you still did.

When Jude's eyes met you, it was like everything around him froze. He was happy to see you, happy to have you in his arms just a second and—

His last name wasn't on the back of your shirt. So it's true? The guy everyone's been seeing you with is your boyfriend? To be fair, Jude thought, he brought it upon himself. When you finally did lock eyes, you couldn't look away. He looked so sad and disappointed, in the loss of course. The tiny twinkle in his eyes told you that he was actually glad to see you.

It's like you two were connected even in a time like this. Just like you, he couldn't look away. Just like you, he wiped his sweaty hands on his shirt. Just like you, his heart was pounding. Jude was confused on what to do and just greeted his mom first, while you stood next to them, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

You had awkward eye contact with some other people around you, who apparently knew what was going on and just gave you a look of pity. Wow, why is everyone here so invested in your private life? It's not even that exciting, everyone has drama once in a whi—

"Hey," Jude greeted you rather breathlessly and stared down at you. "Hey." You couldn't do it. You couldn't look his way. That was quickly resolved anyway when he took the liberty and hugged you. Jude wrapped his arms around your torso, tightly, like you'd disappear if he let go. Because of muscle memory, you rested your head against his chest, not knowing how to reciprocate this act of affection. "I'm.. I'm," He whispered, "I'm glad you're here."

It sounded like he really needed you. Out of courtesy, and not because you wanted to, you hugged him back. After it lastet a moment to long, you tried to pry yourself from his grip, to which Jude immediately let go. Shit, he obviously overstepped a line.

Jude's eyes lingered on you, on your clothes, your hair, your slightly trembling hands. It was like the world around you two didn't exist anymore, but rather only this moment you two shared. You couldn't wait to get away from here. "Okay, let's drive you back, honey." Denise said after a few moments of pure silence.

...

The car ride back to your hotel was excruciatingly long. You kept biting your nails while Jude was busy, or at least pretending to be busy, with his phone. You saw him swipe around the weather app multiple times. Denise didn't even try to make small talk, mostly because she couldn't even really talk about the match without annoying her son with the outcome.

"We're here," She eventually said, and you thanked god for that. "It was really great seeing you again, Denise!" The woman turned around to see your face one last time and lightly pinch your cheek, before turning to Jude and trying silently urge him to say something.

"I'll take you to your room—"

"Oh! Oh no, that's really not necessary, Jude, I can—"

"Come on." The footballer stepped out of the car.

Denise mouthed a quick and honest "I'm so sorry" after you sighed. Why would he want to prolong this absolutely awkward meeting again. Oh god, if he wants to 'talk it out' you're done with him.

Silently, you followed the young man through the lobby and past the reception, where he pressed the button for the elevator. It's glass doors mirrored the two of you and how you were standing nect to each other quite uncomfortably. Jude had his hands stowed away in his pockets and you were clutching your bag to you as if he'd snatch it any minute. Thankfully, it was really late and there weren't any other guests going in or out of the hotel. The stupid hotel lobby music was the only thing that filled the silence between you two and it was starting to get on your nerves.

Finally, the elevator arrived with a little 'Ding!'. "Ladies first." Jude muttered and let you go in before him. You didn't say thank you.

"So," Oh no, what an uncomfortable start already. "You and.. that guy, huh?" Jude asked while the elevator was going up. "What guy?" You asked back, just as dryly. "You know who I mean." This made you think back to the call you had with Joseph during the game and it made you cringe all over again. "Uh.. no. No, nothing's going on between me and.. that guy."

Jude sniffled. He turned his head to you and mustered you for a good minute, before the elevator doors opened and he let you step outside first. "Are you sure?" Were you? That was a good question. But being in Jude's vicinity made you sure again. "Yes I'm sure."

"You're not.. That's.. The jersey's blank."

"Yes, I know."

"I thought, maybe it was because you're with that guy now."

"No. I just didn't feel like it. You understand, right?"

After a quick stroll through the hallway, you came to a halt at your room's door. Jude sighed, since there were obviously still things he wanted to talk about.

"Why did you come? I thought you.. you wouldn't want to see me for a while?"

"I don't know myself, okay? Jesus, I don't know anything right now! I wish people would just leave me alone with all of this bullshit, okay? It has consumed my whole life for the last weeks. I just need some peace and quiet."

"Was the hug too much?"

You paused, leaning your hand on the door handle. "No, it wasn't." In reality, you had wished Jude would've just swept you up your feet, hugged you, said a proper sorry and kissed you. A kiss would make you fold, that's for sure. You both were so sickly in love and it wss obvious.

"I really want to fix this."

"Oh yeah? And you're doing that by how? By ignoring me? By not texting or calling me?"

"You didn't call either."

"You know damn well why I didn't reach out first, Jude! You fucking hurt my feelings! You made me cry! You said you'd never..."

Jude held his breath at your words, suddenly feeling like an alien standing in front of you. "I'm sorry. I'm a coward. Please let me fix this." He begged one more time and just watched you dig around your bag for the card key to your room.

"I think you should go, Jude Bellingham."

"I don't want to go! Please just, talk to me! Communicate! We can make this work, I'll be better. I promise."

"I'm really sorry for your 4-0 loss today."

Before you were able to completely go through the door, Jude grabbed you by your arm and slightly dragged you back to make you look at him.

"I'm being serious. Because I have serious feelings for you."

"I was serious, too."

"I'll prove myself. I promise."

You removed your arm from his grip, glaring at him through your eyelashes. "You better not fucking break it."

And you were gone. In your room. And he was left all alone again in front of it.

[eeniey-past-bedtime]

Headcanons: The Vampire

A/N: My sisters, misters and kissers i am under an INSANE ammount of pressure for my classes... so naturally who's up for some headcanons?-

I don't have alot of time to sit down and write so how about some lovely bits here about him i've collected over the past 3 days, if you guys like these lemme know and i'd happily do my other monsters. This is gender neutral of course-

Wanna tip me and buy my next coffee?

.

..

🕯️ Domestic Headcanons

- He's always trailing after you like a very elegant, affectionate shadow. You're never really alone in the house. Whether you're watering the greenhouse, folding laundry, or making tea, he's never far behind—occasionally pretending to be extremely helpful by handing you one sock or standing with his arms crossed as if supervising a royal affair.

- He insists on reading aloud in the evenings. Curled up in front of the fire or in bed, he reads in that smooth voice of his. He’ll occasionally pause to whisper a line against your skin instead of continuing, especially if it's particularly romantic.

- He makes the bed every evening rather than morning. He believes in creating a ritual of comfort: smoothing the sheets, fluffing the pillows, folding his wings carefully to curl up beside you. He doesn't sleep—but he cherishes lying beside you in the dark, listening to your breathing.

- He leaves notes when he goes out at night. Written in flowing, almost calligraphic handwriting—some dramatic "Gone to haunt the moon, return before dawn", some mundane "Found a raccoon in the greenhouse again. Will resolve.", and some terribly sweet "You are my eternity. Drink water. Wear socks. Love you always."

- He tends to your garden when you're not looking. Not because he knows what he’s doing, but because he likes pretending he's helping. (He once tried to “gently encourage” a plant to grow by whispering poetry to it at midnight.)

💞 Soft & Romantic Headcanons

- He only ever calls you by pet names. "Darling," "my flame," "beloved," "little heart," "my light in the woods." He says your name like it's a secret prayer, but the nicknames are endless and chosen with affection every time.

- He kisses your wrist when you hand him something. Every time. Even a spoon. It’s reflexive, reverent, and without a hint of irony.

- He still gets overwhelmed with love at the strangest moments. You’ll be sweeping or humming to yourself, and he’ll just stand in the doorway, watching you with this look of pure awe, like he can’t believe you’re real.

- He loves brushing your hair. Whether long, short, curly, or coiled, he handles it like a sacred ritual—fingertips reverent, quiet praise spilling from his lips about how soft and beautiful you are.

- He keeps something of yours in his coat pocket when he goes out. A ribbon, a button, a tiny sketch you doodled on a receipt—he carries it like a talisman.

💋 Teasing & Playful Headcanons

- He acts scandalized every time you see him shirtless. Despite being centuries old and completely unbothered by blood and death, if you walk in while he’s changing, he’ll gasp, wrap his wings around himself dramatically, and say things like, “My love, please, avert your eyes! Such indecency… unless you mean to ravish me?” (ayo?-)

- He tries to sneak up behind you just to make you laugh. Not to scare you—he’d never—but to gently drape himself around your shoulders and murmur “Caught you…” before smothering you in affection and kisses.

- He’s deeply offended when you don’t kiss him goodnight. He’ll hover at the foot of the bed, all hurt and wing-sagging until you realize what you forgot. “You wound me, dearest. This may be my final hour.”

- He flirts with you like it’s 1784. Yes i'm being specific. Endless poetic metaphors, over-the-top comparisons, and sonnet-worthy compliments. You could sneeze and he’d say, “Oh, to be the breeze that dares to kiss your lips!”

- He steals your clothes but pretends they’re gifts. “This sweater? Yours? I thought you gave it to me—to remember your warmth!”

..

.

[themontess]

In which Emmrich has a small existential crisis about getting naked (and does it anyway) - now featuring Trans!Emmrich

After a few weeks of fucking, Rook wants to see Emmrich fully naked. Emmrich has... feelings about this. They resolve them at the Necropolis. Kinda hot in parts, mostly incredibly sweet. Rewrite featuring Trans!Emmrich and additional body dysphoria/worship.

This is a rewrite of one of my existing pieces, inspired by this post by @the-bear-and-his-sunbird on Tumblr. Trans!Emmrich is not a character I have headcanoned before, but what they wrote was so sweet, I could really see it working in what I'd written, especially with the fact of Marilys' own gender identity journey.

NB Mourn Watch Rook x Trans!Emmrich

Mostly centres on their age difference (~30 years) and bodily insecurities relating to gender identity

Explicit

CW for mild gender dysphoria: nonbinary character uncomfortable with menstruation (implied more than detailed), trans character recalling past reactions to their body.

5.6k / One Chapter

Emmrich swallowed. Hard.

It was certainly true that Rook’s exposure to his body had been limited. The base of his throat when he had loosened his collar; enough stomach as was required to untuck his shirt, to run their hands over the flat expanse of his chest; they had never mentioned his scars. But the rest he had kept under wraps until now. It wasn’t through lack of self-appreciation, not quite. Emmrich had become, with time, proud of his body. He took time and care over it, through light physical exercise, diet, careful application of products from the pomade in his hair to the talc on his toes. His nightly routine of tonics and tinctures could be passed off as part of that, the vanity of an ageing man - but there was more to it. The potions that Rook had once taken were what he sipped every day alongside his camomile tea. His manhood carefully crafted not just in appearance but in substance as well. What made him a man was, well, Emmrich himself. He hadn’t been born with this body or blessed under that name, and for all that Rook had been open about their own identity, their struggles with dysphoria and the peace they’d found… No. He hadn’t told them, yet.

Read on AO3.

[leonsliga]

i only got into football in 2023 but i always heard about manu wearing the rainbow armband during euro 2020 and it made me so happy

rainbow armband manu i’m never forgetting you

Ah, what a time that was!! It feels a bit overused these days, sure, but Manu wearing his rainbow armband really was a cultural reset in every sense of the word. And it wasn’t just the armband itself (which looked fucking amazing on him by the way), was it? It was what it represented.

In the men’s game, homosexuality is still a profoundly taboo topic. I mean, all one has to do is take a glance at the very short list of male footballers who have come out to see that. There are only 22 to date, and all are either outside of the top leagues or they waited until after their careers to do so, likely due to very valid concerns over team and club acceptance, what it would mean for their careers, and/or fears of fan retaliation. As of right now, there are no openly gay current players in the Bundesliga, Premier League, La Liga, or any other major league.

The reality is, I think, that the men’s game is still a very scary (sometimes even downright dangerous) place to be gay. So when Manuel Neuer, one of the greatest goalkeepers of all time and a prolific captain for both Bayern and Germany—someone who has tremendous pull in the sport—chooses to wear that rainbow armband, others might be more likely to follow his lead and set a similar example, doing their bit to carve out a culture of acceptance. The action itself sends a strong message too, one that feels profoundly radical in the most positive sense of the word, and one that says loud and clear: “you’ll always have a place on my team.” And maybe that’s why such a small, simple gesture feels so much bigger than that. Maybe that’s why we still smile when we think about that rainbow armband wrapped around his bicep.

And it’s not like Manu woke up one day and magically decided to care about the community either; he’s been rolling with the lgbt (🎶fuck out my way when you see me🎶) from day ONE. Take this Manu quote from a 2011 interview with Bunte: "…those who are homosexual should say so. That would take a load off their minds. And the fans would get over it quickly. What’s important to them is the player’s performances on the pitch, not his sexual preferences."

What I’ve always loved most about him wearing the rainbow armband during Euro 2020 though is that nobody forced him to do it. Although Harry Kane also wore a rainbow armband during the tournament, it wasn’t exactly the norm (if I’m remembering correctly anyway). So, in essence, he wore it because he wanted to—because it was a hill he was willing to die on. Because the armband represented something he believed in—that football is a game that should belong to everyone—one where everyone is welcome, as he's said himself. And he didn't just wear it during Germany's 7-1 thrashing of Latvia in a friendly (perhaps knowing he and the DFB could face sanctions for it) or their Euro 2020 campaign either (where UEFA opened up an investigation into whether or not Manu’s decision to wear the armband was politically motivated—an investigation they ultimately resolved in Manu’s favor); he was also quick to join the One Love armband campaign ahead of the 2022 World Cup in Qatar. Unfortunately though, FIFA went on to ban it, and when they did, he and his teammates in the starting XI vs. Japan protested it by covering their mouths in their pre-match pictures. Not only that, but he was among 6 of his teammates in that XI sporting rainbow boots for the match. Discrete, yet punchy. Eat that, FIFA.

Still, it's the principle of gestures like these, I think, that matters most. Far too few players are willing to show solidarity the way he did, especially when it's not required of them by their clubs or brands. And what I loved about Manu's approach, as one of my favorite articles on the subject so clearly states, is that there was nothing showy about it. It was so very Manu—subtle, yet precise, unassuming, yet demanding to be seen. I don’t know…you got the sense he wasn't doing it to score points with fans or the press. As he always did, he let his football and his performances do the talking. After the full-time whistle though, he made his stance on the matter clear, ensuring the cameras got a good look at his armband during his post-match interviews. But even that was done in the same Neuer-esque way, with him occasionally scratching his face mid-conversation, rainbow armband casually dangling from his wrist.

But why stop the nostalgia neuerstalgia trip at these pics when there’s so many others from Euro 2020 to enjoy:

Manu didn’t just wear a rainbow armband to represent his country though; earlier that same year, he also wore one as part of Bayern’s commemoration of former club president Angelo Knorr, who was arrested for his sexuality. Here’s some pics from that day:

So, all this to say, Manu didn’t just talk the talk when it came to showing support; he walked the walk too. In rainbow armband Manu we trust, always ❤️🏳️‍🌈

[goldensunset]

*gets hit over the head with a cartoon anvil* oh dude i just had a thought. out of all of darkrai’s various villainous schemes? the one and only thing he actually successfully accomplished ended in him indirectly saving everyone. sick.

hero and partner would have never met if it weren’t for his attack. and if they had never met or bonded? whole entire story turns out different. the lack of the relic fragment obviously would prevent hero and grovyle from being successful for one thing. especially when you consider grovyle didnt plan out the whole ‘finding the hidden land’ thing in advance clearly and just in general he could’ve solved lots of problems if he had honestly told the people of the past what he was trying to do and earned their help. like clearly these two weren’t great at reaching out to people if that never even came up in the plan

but even further than that… if hero hadn’t fallen into a strange new world with a blank slate and no connections other than grovyle, here with only a mission and a firm resolve for a heroic death… nobody would have been there to mourn hero or grovyle after their disappearance. either no one would’ve known they existed or they’d be branded as criminals. (and i wonder how long after their defeat it would’ve taken anyone to realize what they did. probably until the time that had stopped in those various regions started flowing again.) and even if the world had forgiven them? it was partner’s grief specifically that saved the people of the future. dialga heard that cry of heartbreak and changed things because of partner’s deep longing. you couldn’t have gotten that without true friendship. and by extension the other people of the future lived because of that. dude.

if hero and grovyle had been strong enough to overcome him and succeed in their original plan somehow they would’ve also saved the planet but like they would have killed themselves and everyone they knew and would have hardly minded because all they would’ve known was darkness and bitterness (other than celebi of course) and they would’ve been ok with it. but the way it happened instead was everyone got to enjoy the new beautiful world of light. hero and grovyle were separated but like. at least they’re both alive and they have the hope that the other might be alive too and they have other friends now too. better than both being nonexistent… darkrai’s plot redirection caused a ton of angst but ultimately all he did was accidentally introduce a lot more Power Of Friendship into the narrative and that’s exactly what fixes everything

[thatmooncake]

Everyone already summed it up pretty perfectly!

Nexus is the persona New Moon adopted after losing it, determined to “be his own person” but ultimately spending most of his time being a puppet for Dark Sun’s plans and then losing himself to “the void”. He talked a big game about finally being able to be “in control” but really through a mixture of his own bad choices and outside meddling he didn’t get to make many of his own unfiltered choices (mostly just dark energy-addled hate-fuelled choices, trying to gain enough power that he would eventually feel safe and in control, something he never felt in his life before where situations would be thrown out of his control no matter how hard he tried to fix things and people died as a result of him not being good enough to outsmart the bad guys).

As New Moon he started out softer and sweeter than the original Moon, protective, still stubborn and sarcastic yet kind when it counted for the most part, giving chances to people like Ruin, choosing to cure and help rehabilitate him over killing him, which proved to be a big mistake on his part. He also (after very reluctantly working alongside him) helped Eclipse v3/4 seek therapy and tried to reconcile with him after what the original Moon did (trapping him in Sun’s head when he left his kill code behind), but the two of them were different people (Eclipse v3/4 being a clone and New Moon being a reset Moon with no memories) so it didn’t really land. He felt a need to make up for what the Moon before him did and be better, having only learned about his past actions through old videos and what Sun told him.

He also felt trapped and smothered by expectations to fill the original Moon’s role and protect his family without having any of his bad traits, something which caused a few problems between him and Sun on both sides which they didn’t get a chance to resolve before he lost his mind from grief after Solar’s death and became psychotic, seeing visions of Solar who Ruin killed telling him he was disappointed in him and having nightmarish hallucinations of Sun dying in Solar’s place.

Many suspect foul play in New Moon’s sudden spiral into insanity because it just so happened to fit conveniently well into Dark Sun’s plans (to basically make a Moon that Sun would kill by giving him a choice out of killing Nexus who was their enemy and the original Moon who had badly mistreated him before his memory reset) and Dark Sun’s specific area of expertise (negative star power, which he was very well versed in), but the extent of Dark Sun’s involvement in giving Nexus the push to go off the deep end isn’t confirmed beyond “he planned it all” and “he manipulated events to get Nexus to come to him”.

Regardless, Nexus did what he did on dwindling sanity and under the influence of a substance that ate away at him until it made him a raging ball of hate more or less. And in his second form he came back a sad husk who didn’t really know what he wanted, seeing visions of Eclipse and endlessly hearing voices that would take over him telling him to “return everything to the void”.

Currently he’s trapped in another dimension to stop him from effectively calling forth the powers of a wither storm to destroy everything in sight, and may or may not have lost all that’s left of his sanity and sense of self. Sun was desperate to save him but they couldn’t find a way. He’s tragic, and also very silly.

……….Im also just realising I also don’t know who Nexas is. I think that’s a femme!Nexus? I could be completely wrong.

I gotta ask... and yes I genuinely wanna know...I'm opening Pandora's box

Since some of you REALLY wanna ramble. Now is your time... this is your moment:

Who is Nexas?

Ramble to your hearts content. ( know a bit but seems like some of you lot wanna re-explain lore) so go for it.

[whyarewecalledtheshipname]

rambled this before but MAN that riku is paralleled to terra who's dad was so extremely aligned with Light that he basically nearly fell to darkness/evil out of his /extreme/ intolerance of it??? Eraqus who totally doesn't remind me of MoM??? GUH RRAHH

[chimerafeathers]

i love that isafrin can be the most straightforwardly romancey, wholesome pairing on a surface level and then you go one (1) level deeper and run into siffrin’s seething guilt and convoluted feelings around touch and intimacy and the extent to which they want or don’t want those things in a specifically romantic way or if he was trying to seek connection and love in any way he could once he knew that Isabeau wanted those things from him in that context, and the combined power trip/self disgust at “manipulating” Isabeau’s desires without his knowledge to make themself feel wanted and in control. and then you keep going and there’s also Isabeau’s own warped self image (still, in spite of all his changes, fearing that he’s someone that would be shameful to know), his “emotionally stable pillar” role and self-taught therapy talk masking his deep fears of real confrontation (struggling loop after loop to confess, not wanting Odile to confront Siffrin about their weird behavior in the sus quest bathroom talk) and how Siffrin’s fear of vulnerability and Isabeau’s fear of Pushing Too Hard allow both of their issues to fester unspoken long after it’s clear that the problems exist.

all this to say. duality of isafrin. makes my heart full and warm and happy to see the sweet, fluffy, silly love and connection between them (mutually romantic or otherwise). and then also. the delicious, delicious complications. gnawing on them like a dog with a beloved bone

[noctlas332]

day three,,,, i would have had liked to work a bit more on this but alas, that did not happen,,

[quietwingsinthesky]

i dont think millie and pre-Got Caged Again lucifer could have gotten anywhere with each other. the context of her as sam’s little sister overshadows everything there: it’s why he has no reason to harm her and every reason to treat her well, the way you’d treat a guest in your house, to prove to sam that he’s capable of that. and it’s why she spends most of the apocalypse treating lucifer specifically as a non-threat, as compared to the actual threats of demons who might not have heard the memo right, angels from heaven who Do Not care about her when getting to sam & dean, and other shit, but also as like. not a person she can communicate with in any meaningful way. he’s a concept, a force of nature, a fairy tale with rules she can understand and survive if she follows them.

post-cage 2 lucifer is a bad roommate but she can talk to him. and he actually learns who she is beyond the context of sam. you know?

[chuuyasoup]

IT JUST FUCKS ME UP INSIDE OKAY like especially bc. theyre twins theyre inextricably linked theyre inseparable they love each other so much that they hate each other theyre ready to kill each other to save each other and none of it makes any logical sense aughhhhhhhh but u still Know. u still understand

[inkskinned]

it's easier to apply for jobs than ever! so what if you lost your insurance, anyone can get a job these days, even without meds. everyone is hiring! there's a "good employee" shortage!

well you just need to revamp your resume, here's a paid app subscription that can read it for you. rewrite the cover letter they won't read. google jobs in my area and then scrawl through Monster/Indeed/worbly. did you want to save the search? this was posted 98 days ago. over 1 billion applicants! this position is trending.

jobs i actively like doing and get paid for. your search returned no results. easy-apply with HireSpin! easy apply with SparkFire! easy apply with PenisFlash! with a few short clicks, get your information stolen.

watch out! the first 98 links on google are actually scams! they're false postings. oopsie. that business isn't even hiring. that other one is closed permanently. find one that looks halfway legit, google the company and the word "careers". go to their page. scroll past brightly-lit diversity stock photo JOIN US white sans serif. we are a unique, fresh, client-focused stock value capitalism. we are committed to excellence and selling your soul on ebay. we are DRIVEN with POWER to INNOVATE our greed. yippee! our company has big values of divisive decision making, sucking our dicks, and hating work-life balances. our values are to piss in your mouth. sign here and tell us if you have gender issues so we can get ahead of the sexual harassment claim. are you hispanic although let's be real we threw out the resume when we saw your last name.

sign up to LinkHub to access updates from this company. make a HirePlus account to apply. download the PoundLink app. your account has been created, click the link we sent you in 15 minutes. upload that resume. we didn't read the resume, manually fill in the lines now. what is your expected pay grade. oh actually we want hungry people, not people driven by a salary. cut a zero off that number, buddy, this is about opportunity, and we need to be thrifty. highest level of education. autofill is glitching. here is an AI generated set of questions. what is your favorite part of our sexy, sexy company. how do you resolve conflict. will you get our company logo tattooed on your person. warning: while our CEO is guilty of wage theft, we will absolutely refuse to hire a nonviolent felon.

thank you for your interest at WEEBLIX. we actually already filled this position internally. we actually never had that posting. we actually needed you to have 9 years of experience and since you have 10 years we think it might be too many? we'll be texting you. we'll email you. we'll keep your resume. definitely absolutely we won't just completely ignore you. look at your phone, there's already a spam text from Bethany@stealyouridentity. they're hiring!

wait, did you get an interview? well that's special, aren't you lucky. out of 910 jobs you applied to, one answered, finally. and funny story! actually the position isn't exactly as advertised, we are looking for someone curious and dedicated. it's sort of more managerial. no, the pay doesn't change - you won't have any leadership title. now take this 90 minute assessment. in order to be a dog groomer, we need you to explain cell biology. in order to be a copyeditor, write a tiny dissertation about the dwindling supply of helium on the planet. answer our riddles three. great job! we just need to push this up to Tracy in HR who will send it to Rodney who is actually in charge. and then of course it's jay's decision and then greg will need to see you naked and if you survive you'll be given a drug test and a full anal examination.

and of course you'll be hungry this whole time, aren't you, months and months of the same shit. months of no insurance, no meds, no funding, barely able to afford the internet and the phone and the rent - all things you need in order to even apply for our thing. but do it again! do it again and again and again, until you flip inside out and turn into a being of pure dread!

you're not hired yet because you're lazy. there's over one million AI-generated hallucinated jobs in your area. don't worry. with zipruiter, hiring and firing is easier than ever. sign up. stay on-call.

in the meantime, little peon - why don't you just fucking suffer.

[sukumna]

┌─ .✦ HIS FAVORITE TYPE OF SEX part two

part two bc someone ask and i love this style of rambling about my favs.

꒰ part one | jjk version ꒱

✦ — Kenma Kozume, lazy, demanding sex. He’s the type to fuck you slow, dragging it out like he has all the time in the world, arms wrapped around you, keeping you in place like you belong to him. The type to pull you into his lap mid-game, barely sparing you a glance as he grinds up into you, muttering, “Be good and keep quiet.” He won’t stop playing, won’t even pretend to be fully focused on you—until you start squirming, whining, and then he’s flipping you over, making sure you know exactly who’s in control.

✦ — Kuroo Tetsurou, teasing, drawn-out sex. He’s the type to edge you until you’re crying, to drag things out just to hear you beg. The type to pin your wrists above your head, smirking as he murmurs, “Look at you. So desperate for me.” He loves overstimulation, fucking you until you’re a babbling mess, just to see how much you can take. The type to leave bite marks down your body just because he loves seeing the proof of what he did to you the next morning.

✦ — Kageyama Tobio, frustrated, intense sex. He’s the type to fuck you hard after a bad game, hands gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. The type to lose control, voice rough as he groans, “I can’t stop—feels too good.” He fucks with everything he has, like he’s got something to prove, like he needs to feel you break beneath him. He’s too embarrassed to tell you he wants to be praised, but if you grab his face, tell him how good he’s making you feel, he’ll fuck you even harder, desperate to hear more.

✦ — Hinata Shoyo, eager, can’t-get-enough sex. He’s the type to go again before you’ve even caught your breath, to fuck you so hard the bedframe rattles. The type to moan against your neck, whimpering, “Just one more, baby, I promise.” But it’s never just one more. He’s so overwhelmed by you, so caught up in how good you feel, that he never wants it to end. He’ll fuck you with the same reckless enthusiasm he throws into everything else, like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

✦ — Tsukishima Kei, mean but calculated sex. He’s the type to tease you until you’re a wreck, to make you beg before he even thinks about giving you what you want. The type to fuck you slow and deep, smirking as you squirm, whispering, “What’s wrong? Isn’t this what you asked for?” He gets off on control, on watching you unravel under his touch. He’ll act like he doesn’t care, like he’s unaffected, but the second you cry for him—whimper, beg, tell him how much you need it—his resolve snaps, and suddenly, he’s fucking you senseless.

✦ — Akaashi Keiji, attentive, make-you-melt sex. He’s the type to hold your face as he fucks you, brushing kisses over your forehead, whispering soft praises. The type to make you come undone with just his words, murmuring, “You’re so beautiful like this.” He makes love to you, slow and deep, like he wants to feel every part of you. But the moment you pull his hair, scratch his back, whisper something filthy in his ear? He snaps—presses you into the mattress, holds your hips still, fucks you until all you can do is moan his name.

[daryltwdixon]

Summary: You’ve never felt fully at home in your own skin, but that has never stopped Joel from showing you just how much he wants you. One night, you gather the courage to show him what you’ve been too afraid to share, and he shows you exactly what it means to be wanted, worshipped, and seen.

|| smut MDNI 18+, Joel is down bad in love, self conscious reader, no physical description (except 'soft belly') but reader is insecure of their body, no specific timeline, age gap mentioned but not specified, pinv, f!receiving oral, little bit of (f!receiving) ass play, dirty talk, praise kink, daddy kink, soft!joel, he calls you like every pet name in the book. some aftercare || notes: joel miller in reading glasses hello? dont kill me for being a little bit of a cornball in here. joel is a cornball when he's in love. Yes I know I wrote the word pretty a lot! That’s the point!!! Inspired by this request

Joel’s bed became home long before you were ready to admit it.

It’s where you feel safest. It’s where he tugs you into his chest first thing in the morning, rough hand splayed over your back like it belongs there, murmuring something low and sleep-thick against your temple. It’s where you read curled into his side at night, him propped up against the headboard in that worn old Henley, eyes flicking lazily over the pages of whatever book you handed him, while yours is gripped a little tighter, the latest thriller mystery that has your heartbeat ticking up by the final chapters.

He had told you to stop reading them before bed once, but he didn’t really mean it. Not when you curled tighter into him, not when your hand slid across his stomach and stayed there gripping him like you needed to be close to something steady, something warm. Something like him.

Joel loves you like this. Warm and soft and pliant in his bed.

It’s one of his favorite places. Not just for pressing you down into the mattress and filling you, not just for the pretty, breathy sounds you make when you’re too far gone to think about what you look like or where his hands are. No—he loves the quiet moments, too. The ones where your limbs are tangled up with his, hair a mess, lips kiss-swollen, your skin still carrying the ghost of his touch.

And every now and then, when you’re asleep on his chest or laughing at something dumb he said, he still finds himself wondering how the hell he ended up with a girl like you.

You’re so much younger. So much softer. He doesn’t know what you see in a man like him—older, rougher, carved from all the years you haven’t had to carry yet. You could’ve had anyone. But you chose him. 

You’ve been together a few months now, and he still hasn’t wrapped his head around it. Still doesn’t know what he did to deserve your trust, your sweetness, your sharp quick wit when he least expects it.

He tried to keep his distance at first. Tried not to look too long when you smiled, not to follow the sound of your voice like a damn tether every time you were in the room. Told himself it wasn’t right. You weren’t for him. You were good. But you kept coming closer.

And once you started to pursue him—sweet and fearless and so goddamn certain—his resolve didn’t just crack. It collapsed.

The years between you didn’t matter to him anymore. The guilt didn’t matter. The voice in his head that told him to stop, that warned him he was too old, too jaded, too broken to ever deserve you—it all went quiet the second you looked at him like he was worth wanting.

He had to have you. To feel you, hear you, know you. So he gave in.

But there was still something there he didn’t quite understand, even now. Something that never quite leaves him.

Because every time he takes you to bed with the singular thought of getting you naked, of taking you until he gets his fill, until you’re trembling and wrecked and crying out his name—every single time, he sees it.

That flicker of hesitation.

He watches your shoulders shrink inward. Watches the way your hands move to cover your belly the second his fingers slip beneath your shirt. The way your breath stutters like you’re already bracing for something—even if it’s just his eyes.

You never say it out loud. You don’t have to.

And every time he settles over you, broad chest looming, palms sliding down your sides with reverent slowness as he lays you down on his bedspread, you ask him in that sweet, uncertain voice:

“Can we turn the light off?”

And Joel… hesitates.

Just for a second. Just long enough to take one more look at your face—flushed and perfect and lips swollen from letting him kiss them until they’re bruised. He always obliges. Always reaches over and clicks off the bedside lamp without a word, even if something in his chest aches as the room goes dark.

In the low moonlight, he can still see pieces of you. The softness of your belly. The curve of your thighs. The arch of your back when you start to melt beneath his touch. And he reveres it. All of it.

Worships you like you’re something holy.

But even in the dark, he notices everything.

The way your breath hitches when he kisses down your body—not with pleasure, but with discomfort. The subtle tension in your limbs when he trails his lips past your ribs. The way you squirm when his mouth lingers at the tender skin between your stomach and mound. Not because it’s too much. But because you don’t want to be seen.

And it kills him a little every time.

Because he wants to see you. All of you. Wants you to know that there is not a single inch of your body he doesn’t adore.

But still, like many nights before, he obliges you tonight and reaches over to turn out the light at your request.

The room falls into darkness.

Joel wakes to the warm and golden light of the morning, the kind where sunlight filters through the blinds in soft, slatted beams, pooling across the hardwood floor. The kind where the world outside feels far away, like it can wait a little longer while the house stays quiet.

His mind fully catches up to the scent of coffee and the soft creak of floorboards.

The bed is empty beside him, blankets still warm, your pillow carrying the shape of your head. He rubs the sleep from his face and swings his legs over the edge, the weight of last night still humming low in his chest.

He finds you in the kitchen.

You’re at the counter, barefoot, wearing nothing but his t-shirt—one of those older ones, soft and stretched out, the hem barely brushing the tops of your thighs. Your hair’s a little messy, skin still marked in places from where his mouth had worshipped you in the hours of the night.

You’re so focused on pouring coffee into your favorite mug—the pink one with the little chip at the rim, just big enough to catch your lip if you’re not careful—that you don’t hear him come in.

He steps in behind you, silent as ever, warmth radiating off his chest before you even feel his hands.

One arm slips around your waist, the other gliding up beneath the hem of the shirt you’re wearing—his shirt—until his hand splays flat across your stomach. His lips find your neck a second later, soft and unhurried, brushing along your skin as he breathes you in.

You stiffen, just a little. It’s not resistance, you could never resist him, but your body goes still beneath his touch, that automatic flicker of self-consciousness rising to the surface like it always does when he touches you in the daylight.

Still, you don’t move away.

Joel’s voice is low and rough in your ear, all gravel and morning warmth, “‘Mornin’, darlin’.”

You smile, small, a little sheepish, but it’s there. “Morning.”

His hand drops lower, fingers brushing the curve of your hip, then sliding up again, slow and lazy. His other arm tightens around your front, keeping you pulled against him as his lips trail from your neck to your cheek.

“Joel—” you murmur, half a protest, half a laugh, squirming under his touch.

“You look so pretty like this,” he says, voice thicker now, rougher with sleep and want. “So sexy in my shirt, honey.”

You go quiet. Not because you don’t like it. But because it still hits that spot—the part of you that flinches at being seen. You press your lips together, focus on the coffee in your hand, as if the words might disappear if you just don’t look at him.

But Joel sees it. Feels the shift. The way you tense ever so slightly when he calls you nice things. Like the words don’t fit, not yet. Like you still haven’t figured out how to wear them.

He kisses your cheek again, slower this time.

“I mean it,” he adds softly.

You nod once, a breath catching in your chest before you murmur, “I know.”

Joel leans in and kisses the back of your head, just behind your ear, then murmurs against your skin, “Put the coffee down for a second.”

You glance over your shoulder, suspicious but smiling. “Why?”

“Just do it, baby.”

With a soft sigh, you set the mug back on the counter. Before you can ask again, he’s turning you in his arms, hands firm but careful on your hips and over the shirt, as he spins you to face him.

He steps in close, real close, until the backs of your thighs press against the cabinets and his hands come up to cradle your face. Big, warm palms on your cheeks, thumbs brushing the softness there like he’s memorizing the way you feel under his touch. 

Then his hands squish your cheeks between his hands, just enough to puff your lips out like a fish.

Your brows furrow as you try in vain to pull away. “Joel—!”

“Say it,” he says, dead serious despite the ridiculous hold he has on your face.

Your eyebrows knit further as you still. “Say what?”

He smirks, dipping his head until your noses bump. “Say: I’m pretty.”

You groan, giggling despite yourself as you try to wiggle free. “Joel, oh my god—”

He holds on, pressing exaggerated kisses to your squished face—your cheek, your forehead, your nose and your puffed out top lip. “Say it. Go on. I’ll wait all day.”

“Fine!” you huff, lips barely moving from the way he’s still holding your face. “I’m pretty.”

He grins, loosening his hold just enough so you can speak properly, though he keeps his hands right where they are. “Didn’t hear you.”

“I’m pretty,” you repeat, cheeks heating as you say it, soft and unsure but not sarcastic. Not deflecting.

Joel beams, eyes crinkling at the corners, kissing your lips as he loosens his hold on your face. “Damn right you are. Prettiest girl I ever saw.”

You can’t help but smile now, wide and a little bashful. You duck your head, but he catches you again, presses a kiss to your lips again, sweet and unhurried.

And when he backs away and you finally reach for your coffee again, cheeks still warm, he’s watching you like he’s already counting the seconds until he gets to do it all over again.

That night starts like any other night.

Late, quiet, the house dipped in soft shadows. The windows are cracked just enough to let in the evening breeze, the hum of cicadas drifting in with the warm air. Joel’s in bed already, reading glasses sliding down his nose, thumbing through the same page of his book he’s read three times without taking in a single word.

He’s waiting for you to join him, your book is still closed on the side table. You’d excused yourself to the bathroom before you could even cuddle up in bed beside him. You had said you needed two minutes.

That was fifteen minutes ago.

He figures you’re brushing your teeth. Or lost in one of your little bedtime routines—rearranging things on the counter or doing your 10 step nightly skincare. He doesn’t mind. He’s gotten used to your rhythms the more you stayed over. Grown to love them, even.

But then he hears the bedroom door open, and when he glances up, expecting to see you in one of your usual pajamas, his breath catches. You’re not wearing one of his big T-shirts or those soft cotton sets you like so much.

You’re standing in the doorway in white lace, delicate and sheer and almost ethereal in the low glow of the lamp light.

It damn near knocks the air out of him.

He forgets all about the book in his lap—doesn’t even feel it fall to the mattress as his gaze rakes over you, slow and disbelieving. His jaw goes slack as he removes his glasses and sets them on the side table.

The bra—he doesn’t know what it’s called, not that it matters—looks daintier and more delicate than anything he’s ever seen in his goddamn life. Feminine in a way that hits him right in the chest. It wraps around you like it was made for your body, hugging your curves in all the right places. The straps are thin, dipping into the softness of your shoulders, and the lace cups give just enough to let his imagination blur with what’s already in front of him.

The matching bottoms sit high on your hips, scalloped lace tracing the tops of your thighs, giving him a perfect view of the skin he’s only ever touched in the dark.

Your hair is pulled back behind your shoulders—intentionally, he thinks, like you wanted him to have the full view.

Your lip is tucked under your top teeth, and your eyes flick down for a second, uncertain—then back up again.

But then you smile.

Shy, but proud. Like you’re showing him something precious and a little terrifying. Like you finally believe, even just a little, that he might actually mean every word he’s ever said about you.

Joel shifts to the edge of the bed, jaw tight with restraint as he beckons you to him. Slowly, you make your way over, and he soaks in the look of your thighs as you move, the way your body is begging to be marked and taken. His hands curl against his own thighs like he’s afraid to touch you too fast, too hard, and shatter the moment.

But when you move to stand between his knees, and he lifts his eyes up to meet yours, you don’t flinch.

He lets out a long, shaky breath. Then his hands lift slowly, reverently, palms brushing along the outside of your thighs, up to your hips.

His voice is low, almost reverent. “Christ, baby… look at you.”

You let out a nervous laugh, eyes dropping for a second—but you don’t cover yourself. Don’t twist away like you usually do. You stay right there, between his knees, close enough for him to smell the soft scent of your lotion and whatever little perfume you’d put on just for him.

Joel lifts his hands, slow and sure, and holds your hips, warm, steady, splayed wide like he wants to cover all of you. His thumb strokes gently over your skin where the lace ends, just above your hipbone.

“You did this for me?” he murmurs, looking up at you.

You nod once, eyes still shy but glowing with something soft. “I wanted to. I…I know I usually…”

“I know,” he says quietly, thumbs stroking your skin under his touch. “Don’t gotta explain nothin’ to me.”

His voice is gentle, but there’s something else beneath it now. Thicker. Hotter. Like he’s barely keeping a lid on what he really wants to say.

You bite your lip again, tucking it under your top teeth as you gauge his reaction. Joel leans in, eyes never leaving yours, and presses a kiss between the valley of your breasts—slow, open-mouthed, just wet enough to make your breath stutter.

You exhale, body already leaning into him, melting under the heat of his mouth, the drag of his stubble, the way his hands are rubbing slow circles along your thighs. His fingers toy with the hem of the lace between your legs, pinching the delicate fabric between them, like he can’t decide whether to rip it off or worship it.

“You know what this does to me? What you do to me, angel?” he rasps, voice rough now, filthy and unfiltered. “You got me starin’ like a damn animal. Don’t even know where I wanna taste first.”

He kisses the underside of your breast, and even though it's covered by lace, he bites softly at the curve, tongue soothing the mark he leaves behind. His hands move to grip your ass tightly now, pulling you closer, positioning so your stomach and hips are flush against his chest.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby. Every time I think I’ve seen all of you, you go and give me this?”

His eyes flick up, hungry and reverent. You squirm, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips, but Joel doesn't back off. He presses another kiss to your stomach, then just above your belly button, murmuring into your skin.

“Timid little thing—but deep down you like it, don’t you? Like when Daddy talks like this?”

Your thighs twitch under his hands and you nod.

He grins, feral and soft all at once. His hands slide up your sides, palms hot and steady against your ribs, thumbs brushing the edge of lace as his mouth follows—slow, open-mouthed kisses trailing higher, tongue flicking against the fabric covering your breasts. His tongue pokes out over the lace of your bodice right where your nipple would be, teeth grazing over the hidden but pebbled skin. Your jaw falls open as you watch him.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, breath catching against your sternum. “You wore this just to drive me crazy, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer.

One hand lifts, fingers tugging gently at the strap of your bralette, sliding it down your shoulder. Then the other. His movements are careful, almost reverent, as he peels the lace down and away, baring you inch by inch.

And when your breasts spill free, his breath catches audibly.

“Jesus Christ.”

He sits back just far enough to look. Just for a moment. Just to see you.

“Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he murmurs, thick with awe and heat. He brings his hands up to grip the flesh of your breasts, kneading them together, “Bet you don’t even know what you do to me, baby.”

You bite your lip again, that flicker of shyness still dancing across your face—like you have to physically restrain yourself from trying to cover the revealed skin. But no. Not this time.

Joel leans in and licks a slow stripe over one nipple, making you gasp. He drags his tongue in a lazy circle, then sucks it into his mouth, groaning low in his throat like he’s tasting heaven.

You whimper, your hands flying to his shoulders, fingers gripping him as your back arches on instinct.

“That’s it,” he growls, pulling back just to press a kiss between your breasts before taking the other into his mouth, this time sucking harder, leaving it damp and peaked from his tongue. “Let me hear you, baby. Wanna hear every sound you make when I touch you like this.”

Your hips roll against him, thighs trembling as you stand between his legs.

“Sensitive little thing,” Joel mumbles against your skin. “Just needed someone to show you how fuckin’ perfect you are.”

He kisses lower, down the underside of your breast, then back up again, licking softly, sucking just enough to leave the faintest mark.

“M’gonna take good care of you tonight, baby,” he breathes, dragging his mouth back to your nipple. “Gonna take my timeand take every fuckin’ inch of this sweet body. You gonna let me?”

You nod, breathless, voice caught somewhere in your throat,“Y-yeah.”

Joel looks up, eyes blazing, lips slick from kissing you.

“‘Yeah’, what? Tell me, honey.”

Your begin to squirm as you tell him, “I want you to, Daddy. Please.”

Joel groans like it physically knocks the air out of him. His hands trail back down your sides, slow and reverent, fingertips grazing the lace waistband still hugging your hips.

“You’re killin’ me, baby,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth lower. 

He kisses down your stomach, tongue peeking out to trace the little dip of your navel, his hands smoothing down your hips and behind to cup your ass again, fingers squeezing tight. The lace panties are all that remain, soft and delicate, slightly damp already with your arousal. He noses along the waistband, breathing you in.

“Fuck, you smell so good,” he growls, teeth catching gently at the fabric. “Bet you taste even better.”

Your hands slide into his hair, tugging gently as he tongues over the lace, not pulling it down yet—just feeling you through it, his mouth wet and hungry over your hips and tummy.

You moan, your hips grinding against him again as he teases you, his one hand reaching down to drag his fingers over your clothed mound, the slick of your folds soaking through. He groans at the feeling before pulling back with a sharp exhale, looking up at you with wild eyes.

“On the bed. Hands and knees. Now.”

You blink, heart leaping, but you don’t hesitate. You scramble onto the mattress, crawling forward on shaky limbs until you’re positioned right where he wants you—on all fours, back arched, breath quick and needy.

Joel groans behind you at the sight, pulling his shirt over his head before dragging a hand up your spine, slow and heavy.

“Goddamn, baby. Look at you.”

Once he’s climbed onto the bed behind you, spreading your knees a little wider, he kneads at your ass with both hands, reverent and gentle. He settles his body lower, shifting on the bed until his face is level with your center. He drags his thumbs along the backs of your thighs, spreading them a little wider, groaning low when he sees how soaked the lace of your panties is—slick and clinging to your folds, a perfect puffy outline of everything he’s about to taste.

“Look at this,” he breathes, like it’s something sacred. “Fuckin’ drenched for me.”

You gasp when you feel his mouth again—not on your skin, but over the lace. A slow, deliberate kiss right to the center of you, hot and wet and perfectly placed. His lips part, tongue nudging against the fabric, teasing your clit through the sheer barrier.

It’s maddening.

He hums, the vibration making your hips twitch.

“Fuck, baby… I could spend all night like this. Kissin’ you through these pretty little panties. Smellin’ you. Feelin’ how worked up you are for me.” He nuzzles in deeper, breathing hot against you, licking a wide, slow stripe up the center of your heat—through the lace—then mouthing at it, sloppy and wet, soaking it even more.

You sob, spine arching, thighs quivering where they try to stay upright. Joel groans against you.

“Can’t believe you wore this just for me,” he mutters, dragging his tongue back down. “So fuckin’ soft. So sweet. Pussy’s beggin’ for it, ain’t she?”

You nod frantically, already breathless. “Yes—God, Joel, please—”

He chuckles darkly, biting gently at the fabric. “Please what, baby?”

“Take them off,” you gasp. “Please—need you.”

Joel pulls back, and you feel the shift in the air before you feel his hands—rough palms curling under the waistband of your panties, fingers brushing the skin of your hips as he peels the lace down slow. Agonizingly slow.

“Anything for my girl,” he says.

Joel’s broad, warm hands palm at your ass, kneading every inch as he situates himself behind you. He dips lower, mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses into the flesh of your left cheek, then the right, before his teeth sink down into the soft meat.

You yelp, hips jerking at the sharp nip.

“Prettiest noises too,” he murmurs into your skin, kissing the sensitive mark he left behind. His hands spread your cheeks, thumbs firm as they open you up for him—and when you peek over your shoulder, you find his eyes locked on your center, gaze dark and fixated, the pupils blown wide.

When he catches you looking, his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“She’s flirtin’ with me,” he says, grinning like the devil.

Your face burns, and you let your head drop into the pillows, hiding from the embarrassment that curls through your belly—hot and helpless, tangled with molten want.

Joel’s lips find your skin again, slower now, more reverent as he holds you open. His tongue drags between your cheeks, a deep, teasing stroke that makes your whole body tense. He kisses your slick folds with a wet, lewd sound that makes you gasp.

He hums, low and satisfied, then laps at your dripping arousal like it’s his first taste of water in weeks.

“And the prettiest pussy,” he rasps, lips brushing your folds. “You know that, darlin’?”

You moan, unable to answer, as his tongue pushes deeper. He flattens it and licks slow, wide strokes up your slit before circling your clit. His nose bumps your entrance, barely prodding, teasing you as his tongue works your clit in tight, filthy circles.

Your hips start moving without your permission, grinding into his face, seeking more.

Joel groans like you’re his favorite meal, tongue flattening again, letting you push into him.

“That’s it, baby,” he coos, eyes fluttering shut. “Ride my face.”

You mewl, your body bucking, wild and desperate, grinding into him like a goddamn bronco at the fair. Your walls flutter, your core pulsing with pressure as it builds, and builds, and builds.

Your thighs begin to shake.

Joel’s grip on you tightens as he takes over, tongue working your clit with expert flicks, fast and relentless.

The pressure in your belly snaps like a pulled cord, your spine arching as your orgasm crashes over you. You cry out, pushing yourself deeper into his mouth as you come, loud and wrecked, your fingers gripping the sheets.

Joel moans into you like he’s the one coming undone, tongue never faltering, coaxing every last wave of pleasure from your trembling body. Even as you start to come down, breath catching in your throat, he doesn’t stop. He just slows, letting you twitch and gasp and shake through it.

Then, you feel it. The warm, wet pressure of his tongue pushing up past your folds, over the skin between, then circling your tighter hole. You jump at the intrusion, a sharp gasp breaking from your lips—but the haze of your orgasm makes your body soft, receptive, already melting for him.

You whimper, hips twitching. Joel just groans again, closing his lips around your sensitive rim, suckling gently.

“F–fuck,” you whisper, unable to think, to move, to breathe.

He licks you there once more before planting slow, open-mouthed kisses up your spine, up to the small of your back, your shoulder blades, and finally your neck.

Then he’s curling over you, beard scratchy against your skin, his lips brushing your cheek.

“Turn around,” he whispers, voice low and rough, "Wanna see your face when I stuff you full a'me,"

You can’t help but giggle at the tickle of his scruff against your neck, still dazed, still boneless, but do as you’re told—twisting under him until you’re on your back, staring up at him.

Joel’s eyes, though dark with hunger, hold something else too. Something deep and aching. Something sweet.

And then, with that same steady tone he uses when talking patrol routes or fixing fences, he says, “Now. Here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart.”

His lips brush your jaw, then your ear.

“I’m gonna fill you up so deep, fuck you so full of my cock, my cum, me, that when you look in the mirror tomorrow, all you’re gonna see is how fuckin’ beautiful you are—‘cause you’ll still be wearin’ what I did to you tonight.”

Your chest heaves, the words settling deep in your stomach, curling there like heat and honey.

“Joel, I—” you start to say, only to gasp when you feel the hot, thick head of his cock nudge at your entrance.

“You feel this, honey?” he murmurs, pulling back to look down between you, voice rough and reverent. “Feel how bad he wants you? How bad I want you?”

You nod, gripping his forearms tight, your thighs falling open even wider for him.

He notches just the bulbous tip inside you and hisses at the wet heat.

“Jesus,” you breathe. “I feel it, Joel, I—I… pleasepleaseplease—”

“I know, angel, I know,” he pants, his thumb stroking your inner thigh, grounding you. “Now I wanna hear you say it.”

Your brain lags, thick with need, swimming in lust and love and the ache to just feel him.

“W-what?”

Joel watches you, eyes burning into yours.

“Say, ‘I’m pretty, Daddy.’”

Your whole body flushes, lips parted in disbelief, already whining at the way he just knows how to unravel you.

You groan wordlessly, bringing your hands to your face to hide. He is so on your shit list for this.

Joel chuckles darkly, pushing in another inch, and you whimper behind your hands.

“I’m waitin’, darlin'.”

You squirm under him, thighs trembling, skin turning hotter and hotter by the second. Every nerve in your body is screaming for him to move, to fill you, to do something.

But Joel waits. He always waits—until you give in, until he gets what he wants.

You lift your hands from your face slowly, eyes hazy, cheeks heated, lips parted. He’s watching you like a man possessed, one hand gripping your thigh, the other wrapped around his pulsing member with agonizing patience.

“M’pretty,” you whisper.

Joel’s brow arches, lips curling, “Not quite, sweetheart. You know how I want it.”

Your chest heaves. Your pussy clenches around just the tip of him, and even though you see the twitch in his jaw, he still waits.

So you gather your courage, heart pounding in your throat: “I’m pretty, Daddy.”

Joel’s smile breaks across his face, so bright and full of something so tender it nearly knocks the air from your lungs. It almost pulls you out of the heat of it, the haze of arousal, until your core clenches and he sinks into you just a little deeper.

You gasp, the stretch sharp and perfect.

He leans down slowly, hands braced in the pillows beside your head, lowering himself onto his forearms until his chest is flush with yours, until there’s no space left between your bodies.

He’s still not fully sheathed in you.

“Again.” 

“I… I’m pretty, Daddy,” you breathe, voice shaky as your pussy tries to adjust around the thick stretch of him.

“The prettiest,” he nods, and his lips mold to yours as he finally pushes all the way in. Your mouth falls open with a gasp, the sound swallowed by his tongue slipping between your lips, hot and hungry, as he bottoms out. His balls press firmly against the slick, wet crevice of your ass, and the mess between your thighs is obscene—your arousal dripping, sticky and hot, soaking the sheets beneath you.

Joel groans into your mouth, loud and wrecked like its been trapped in his chest for hours. His hands come up to cradle your head, keeping you right there beneath him as he begins to move, slow at first, pulling out a few inches before rolling back in, the full weight of him rocking your body with every deep thrust.

“Shit,” he mutters, voice low and reverent. “Pussy’s so damn tight.”

He pulls out slowly again, then drives back in hard, enough to jolt you up the bed, the sound of it lewd and perfect. His brow furrows, eyes fluttered shut as he focuses on the way your walls cling to him.

“Fuckkkk,” you mewl as he continues sawing into you, filling you and stretching you around him, buried to the hilt.

Joel grins, feral and hungry, sweat starting to bead at his brow.

“Sound even prettier when you take my cock.”

He sets a rhythm—deep, grinding thrusts that hit all the way up, filling you to the brim. His body covers yours, chest brushing your nipples, beard scratching your throat as he nips and kisses every inch he can reach.

“Been thinkin’ about this for so long, baby” he grits out between thrusts, hips slapping against yours. “The way you’re always hidin’ yourself from me, coverin’ up like you’re not the most beautiful fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your hands claw at his back, your legs wrapping around his waist, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

“I got you, honey,” Joel pants, head dropping to your neck as his arms wrap around you, pulling you into him even tighter. “And you’re gonna start seein’ it for yourself,” 

His pace picks up, rougher now, slamming into you with the kind of need that’s barely human.

“Gonna fuck you so full you forget every goddamn lie you ever told yourself in a mirror. Gonna make sure the only thing you remember is me—how you sounded, how you looked, when I wrecked this perfect little body.”

You’re gasping, whimpering, shaking beneath him, stars flashing behind your eyes as he pounds into you like he’s never going to stop.

“That’s it, baby. You take it,” he growls. “Take my cock so good, like the good girl you are for me. Fuckin’ made for me.”

“Joel—” you cry, voice breaking.

He lifts his head, eyes wild and tender all at once.

“Say it again, sweetheart. Tell Daddy how pretty you are.”

“I—I’m pretty,” you choke out. “I’m—fuck, I’m so pretty, Daddy—”

He loses it.

His hand slides under your thigh, hooking it up, opening you wider, deeper. His hips slam into you harder now, the rhythm filthy, brutal, perfect.

“I know, baby. I know. Look at you. My good girl, look so beautiful takin’ it so fuckin’ well.”

His other hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, guiding you forward as he sits back—craning your head up so you can look down, see exactly where you’re joined. 

Your mind barely registers the softness of your belly, too focused on the thick stretch of him splitting you open, the obscene way you take every inch. You both watch as he drives into you, slick and deep and devastating, a ring of your last orgasm glistening around his cock. The pressure builds again, white-hot and unbearable.

And Joel knows—he feels it in the way you clench, the way your voice goes high and desperate, the way your hands grip him like you’ll fall apart if you let go.

“You gonna come for me again, sweet girl?” he pants, fucking you into the mattress. “Gonna let Daddy feel you pulse around his cock?”

“Yesyesyes—Joel, I—please—”

“That’s it,” he snarls, “give it to me.”

You shatter.

Your orgasm crashes through you with a scream as he releases your neck, letting you arch your back, trembling as you milk his cock with spasms so tight it makes Joel curse, a broken sound from deep in his chest.

And then he’s coming, hips stuttering, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you, filling you just like he promised. His voice breaks on your name as he grinds through it, hands gripping you enough to leave bruises, breathing ragged.

Neither of you move for a long moment. Just the sound of your breathing, tangled and uneven. His chest heaving against yours. Your legs shaking around his waist.

His hand slides up, cradles the side of your face. His thumb brushes gently beneath your eye, even though you’re not crying—but something about the touch makes you want to. Makes your throat ache.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice all gravel and reverence. “You okay?”

You nod, eyes still fluttered shut, heart pounding. “Y-yeah.”

Joel presses a soft kiss to your lips—barely a touch, like he’s afraid of ruining you more than he already has. Then another, and another, until you're giggling quietly beneath him, too dazed to hold it in.

He smiles, the kind of smile he doesn’t show anyone else. The kind that barely reaches his eyes, because he’s still looking at you like you’re a dream that might disappear if he blinks too hard.

“Look at me, baby.”

You do. You always do when he asks.

“You’re so beautiful,” Joel murmurs, voice low and rough with what sounds almost like awe. “You know that?”

The words hit you deeper than they should. You suck in a sharp breath, trying to even out your breathing, but your lungs don’t cooperate. Your eyes dart away, suddenly misting and too overwhelmed by the intensity in his gaze—by the sincerity written all over his face. It's too much. Too close. Too real.

But Joel’s hand is already there, catching your chin gently, tilting your face back toward his. His thumb grazes the edge of your jaw, soft and steady.

“No,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “Don’t do that. Not tonight. Not after everything you just gave me.”

Your chest stutters, emotion building so fast and so sharp you feel like you might spill over with it. Your fingers twitch against his back before finally settling, drifting across his damp skin in slow, absent circles. You take deep, calming breaths to settle yourself. Breathe in, breathe out.

He’s still inside you, still heavy over you, like neither of you are ready to let go just yet. Your limbs are tangled, the air still thick with sweat and heat and something quieter—something softer.

The room is quiet now, the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel empty. Just your shared breaths, slow and unsteady. The low thump of his heart where his chest presses to yours.

Joel shifts only slightly, just enough to press a kiss to your cheek. Then another to your jaw. Then your temple. The way he moves is unhurried, like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s kissing more than just skin—like he’s kissing the pieces of you he’s afraid to speak out loud.

It makes your chest ache.

“You’re being so sweet,” you whisper, throat tight almost like it’s a secret.

His lips hover at your lips, pressing gently but not fully,  “I don’t know how not to be,” he says softly. “Not with you.”

You close your eyes, pressing your face into the curve of his neck. His scent wraps around you—salt and skin and something warm and comforting that’s just him. The warmth blooms under your skin again, curling around your ribs, spreading down your spine.

“I love you.” he says, like it’s always been there, waiting. Like it’s not a confession so much as a truth that finally found its way out.

Your breath catches. Not from fear, not from panic, but from the sheer weight of it. The gravity. The sound of those words, spoken into the low light of the room while he's still buried inside you, holding you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

Your eyes flutter open. You don’t move. Not yet.

Joel doesn’t either. But his voice dips low, softer now. A hint of uncertainty laces the edges. “Too much?”

You shake your head instantly, and your hands rise to cradle his face, looking up at him, fingertips brushing his temples like you need to anchor both of you in this moment.

“No,” you whisper, a tear finally escaping your eye. “No, not too much.”

Your fingers slide into his hair, tugging gently as you pull him down and press your lips to his. And when you pull back, your words are trembling but sure.

“I love you too.”

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for years.Then he kisses you—slow and deep and home, his mouth moving against yours like he’s sealing the promise between your bodies.

taglist: @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal, @anxiousscribbling