#will never get over it until it's resolved

[awaxagoras]

so there’s a tweet that’s been going around lately that says “the sluttiest thing a man can do is have an ethical dilemma over his lust for you” what if u told my first thought was phainon

he wuvs you sooo much but he knows it’s just not right of him to put you in that position . getting involved with a chrysos heir is dangerous enough , but the holder of the worldbearing coreflame ?! the thought of that he could ever be the one to put you at risk when all he desires is to protect you makes him nauseous . how ironic it is . as the deliverer , he’s the one destined to save the world and yet he can’t give you the one you deserve (◞‸ ◟)

it isn’t fair . his entire life , phainon swears that he has been nothing but selfless . he never asked for anything in return nor has he ever complained about his fate as amphoreus’ deliverer . time and time again , he overcomes the trials of the gods , as cruel as they are , with his resolve and smile still intact . it was never something he thought too deeply upon until he met you . altruistic as he is , he wanted something now — he wanted you . after all he’s done for the world , why won’t the gods allow him the only thing he has ever wanted ?

and if you were the trailblazer ? hehehe ( ◠‿◠ ) the battle against himself gets even harder [ 3.3 spoilers under the cut ]

you don’t belong in amphoreus . you never did . he knows about your friends on the astral express and how your eyes light up at the mention of them [ he wishes that fond smile of yours was directed towards him ] he knows the stories of your previous trailblazing adventures and the way you and dan heng discuss the future ones . he knows perfectly well that you have no intention of staying . once this is all over , you would be gone [ would you even come back ? not being certain of the answer makes him anxious ]

he should let you go . it’s the right thing to do . your journey isn’t meant to end here . beyond the sky , your companions are waiting for your return home and you surely must be yearning to see them , too . you have the right to make your own decisions . perhaps one day you will meet again under the constellations . this is what he tells himself , at least .

. . . doesn’t he deserve it , though ? why can’t he be selfish , just this one time ? he promises he will never ask the gods for anything ever again , for as long as he lives ! [ well , he might ask them for your forgiveness ] you’re such a good person , darling . he knows you’ll understand his reasoning [ he prays you will . eventually , at least ] ♡

[leriexoxo]

A Bumpy Ride 2

Chan x Fem Reader

PART TWO

Tags: outdoor sex, exhibitionism, oral (f receiving) fingering, choking, breeding, overstimulation, reckless sex, unprotected sex, cream-pie, breeding kink.

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: Chan gets a little too bold after the car incident and now its like he cant get enough of you, so you’re both sneaking around camp and getting off at odd places. The group also now suspects you both…

A/N: Please read part 1 before starting this, if you’re a new reader.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

<< Part 1 | Part 2

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was late. The others had finally gone quiet—some asleep in their tents, some still murmuring by the fire.

You were curled up on your sleeping bag, body still sore from the ride, heart still racing whenever you thought about what you’d done. Sitting on Chan’s lap. Feeling him hard and throbbing under you. The way he shifted your panties to the side and slid in like he owned your body.

You hadn’t spoken since.

It was too risky.

Too dangerous to admit how much you wanted it again.

And then—

zzzippppp.

The tent door opened.

You sat up, heart hammering.

“Chan?” you whispered.

He ducked inside, hair messy, hoodie slung low over his forehead. His eyes met yours in the dark—and you felt it. That spark. That silent, breathless need.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said quietly. “Kept thinking about you.”

You swallowed hard. “Someone might see—”

“I don’t care.”

He crawled toward you slowly, eyes never leaving your face. “You think I can forget what that felt like? The way you rode me? The way you came so hard around my cock you soaked through my jeans?”

Your breath hitched.

“Chan—”

“I need you again,” he whispered. “Right now. Just us.”

Your resolve shattered.

You pulled him in by the hoodie, crashing your lips into his. It was messy, hungry, desperate—all tongue and teeth and soft gasps.

Chan shoved his sleeping bag aside and laid you down gently, his body pressed over yours, warm and solid. “No one can hear us,” he murmured, grinding into your hips. “You just have to be quiet.”

You moaned into his mouth, already tugging at his hoodie, needing to feel him—skin on skin. His hands were under your shirt, pushing your bra up, mouth trailing hot kisses down your neck to your chest.

“Missed these,” he mumbled against your skin. “Wanted to suck on them in the car. Fuck, I nearly lost my mind.”

You gasped when he latched onto your nipple, tongue swirling, one hand slipping between your legs. Your shorts were already damp—your ruined panties sticking to your skin. He groaned at the feel of you.

“Still wet,” he whispered. “You’re such a mess for me, baby.”

He slid your shorts down slowly, kissing every inch of your thighs, until he was face-level with your soaked core.

“Don’t scream,” he grinned. “Unless you want them all to know how good I make you feel.”

And then—his mouth was on you.

You slapped a hand over your mouth as his tongue dragged through your folds, slow and steady, teasing your clit before sucking on it hard. He moaned into your pussy like he was starved, and your hips bucked off the sleeping bag.

“You taste even better out here,” he whispered. “Like fresh air and sin.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as he tongue-fucked you, building you up with that same expert rhythm he had in the van—only this time there were no seats, no clothes, no one in between.

Just him.

And you.

And the stifled sounds of your orgasm as you came on his face, thighs clenching around his head, every nerve lit on fire.

He licked you through it, slow and loving. “Still with me, angel?”

You nodded weakly.

“Good,” he said, climbing up your body. “Because I’m not done.”

You wrapped your legs around his hips as he pushed in—bare, thick, deep—no barrier, no hesitation. You gasped, clinging to him as he filled you in one slow thrust, bottoming out until your walls clenched tight around him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel like home.”

He started to move—deep, lazy strokes, dragging along every sensitive spot inside you. His hand cradled your face, his other holding your thigh high against his hip.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Even if no one knows it. You’re mine.”

You came again before you could stop it—shuddering around him, mouth open in a silent scream as he fucked you through it, groaning at how tight you squeezed him.

“Gonna cum inside,” he panted, speeding up. “Fill you up again. You want it?”

You nodded, eyes wide. “Yes—please, Chan—”

“Take it, baby. Take all of it.”

He thrusted once, twice—then came hard, hips jerking, cock pulsing as he emptied inside you, filling you to the brim.

You held each other in the dark, breathless and warm, your legs still wrapped around his waist as his cum dripped out slowly.

“Stay with me,” you whispered. “Just a little longer.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

⸻

The sun had barely risen when you emerged from your tent, legs still wobbly, skin still tingling from everything Chan did to you hours ago.

You’d cleaned up the best you could. Fixed your hair. Wore a skirt. Tried to act normal.

But nothing was normal. Not after the way he’d touched you. Fucked you. Owned you.

And the second you sat down at the picnic table with the others, coffee in hand and heart pounding in your chest, you felt it—

Chan’s hand, sliding across your thigh under the table.

You flinched. He didn’t even look at you. Just kept eating his granola like he wasn’t trailing his fingertips higher and higher beneath your skirt.

You tried to scoot away subtly.

His hand tightened.

You choked on your coffee.

“Everything okay?” Jisung asked, eyeing you.

You nodded, smile strained. “Just… hot.”

Hyunjin raised a brow. “It’s 7am.”

Chan smirked beside you. His hand reached the top of your thigh—dangerously close to the soaked center between your legs—and you squeezed them together.

“You’re no fun,” he whispered, voice low and sinful.

You gave him a death glare.

His fingers slipped under the hem of your panties.

You gasped. Silently. Eyes wide.

He laughed under his breath.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured. “You like being teased in front of them?”

“Chan,” you hissed.

“Hmm?”

And then—he slid a finger in.

Right there.

At the breakfast table.

With everyone around.

You bit your lip hard. Fought to keep your body still. He moved slow, shallow thrusts—just enough to feel him, to make you crave more. He rubbed your clit in circles, dragging his slick finger back up and teasing your entrance again.

“You’re gonna cum like this?” he whispered. “So needy. So full of my cum from last night.”

You clenched—hard—and he laughed softly, clearly pleased with himself.

Then—

“Chan and Y/n” Minho said, checking a list, “firewood duty. Take the wagon and don’t get lost.”

Chan pulled his hand back instantly. “Got it.”

You were still in shock. Still leaking. And now you were being sent into the woods alone with him?

You were doomed.

⸻

The second you were out of sight from the campsite, Chan pounced.

He shoved you against the nearest tree, lips hot on your throat, one hand cupping your ass under your skirt like he owned it.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he groaned, rutting his hips into yours. “Woke up with your taste still in my mouth. Couldn’t think about anything else.”

You whimpered, pulling him closer. “Then do something about it.”

That was all it took.

He dropped to his knees.

Yanked your panties down in one rough motion—didn’t even take them off, just let them hang around one ankle like a trophy.

“Spread for me,” he said, breathless. “C’mon, baby. Let me see that pretty pussy again.”

You did—leg up on his shoulder, skirt bunched around your waist, back pressed to rough bark.

And then—his tongue was on you.

Slow. Heavy. Devastating.

He licked through your folds like he was starving, groaning into you as your hands tangled in his hair, thighs trembling around his head.

“God,” he muttered, licking up your arousal and dipping his tongue into your entrance. “So fucking sweet. I could live between your legs.”

You gasped when he latched onto your clit, sucking hard, tongue flicking in maddening circles.

“Chan—fuck—” you moaned, head thrown back.

“You’re gonna cum like this?” he smirked, voice husky. “All over my tongue again?”

You nodded, thighs squeezing his head as he doubled down—faster, harder, fingers gripping your ass, holding you steady as your orgasm hit fast and hot.

You came with a cry, legs shaking, one hand slapping against the tree for balance as he kept licking—through your orgasm, into the overstimulation.

“Too much,” you gasped. “Please—Chan—”

He stood, mouth wet with you, and kissed you—tongue pushing into your mouth so you could taste yourself.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he growled. “You think I can stop now?”

He flipped you around—your front pressed to the tree, ass out—and shoved your skirt up to your waist. You heard the sound of his zipper, the low curse under his breath as he lined himself up.

And then—he was inside you.

In one deep, possessive thrust, he filled you—raw, thick, so deep you saw stars.

You gasped, gripping the tree bark. “Fuck, Chan—”

“Shh,” he whispered against your neck. “Be quiet, baby. Don’t want the others finding us like this, do you?”

You shook your head, already trembling.

But then he fucked you. Hard.

Thrust after thrust—slamming into you with wild, panting desperation, one hand sliding down to rub your clit again.

“You feel so good,” he groaned. “So warm—so wet—this pussy’s fucking mine.”

“Yours,” you gasped. “Yours—please don’t stop—”

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

He fucked you like he needed it—like he’d die without you. The wet slap of skin, the squelch of his cum from the night before still leaking out as he thrusted deeper and deeper.

“You ruined me,” he panted. “That night in the tent—you fucking broke me. All I want now is to be inside you. Fill you up again. Mark you.”

You were so close—grinding back against him, whimpering his name.

“Cum for me, angel,” he growled. “Show me this pussy’s mine.”

You broke.

You came hard, legs giving out, only held up by the tree and his firm hands on your waist as you pulsed around him—tight, wet, throbbing.

“Fucking hell,” he hissed, burying himself to the hilt. “Gonna cum—gonna fill you up again—”

And then he was spilling inside you, his cock twitching as he fucked his cum deep, both of you shaking from the intensity.

You collapsed into his chest, still pressed to the tree, his arms wrapping around you tightly.

“Mine,” he whispered. “All fucking mine.”

The forest had never felt so small, your every step heavy as you tried to pull yourself together. The skirt you’d so proudly worn now stuck uncomfortably to your skin, and your panties were still clinging to your thighs, damp and sticky with Chan’s cum.

You reached the edge of the trees, and there they were—the rest of the group, lounging around the campfire, unaware of the debauchery that had just occurred in the woods behind them.

Chan walked beside you, cool as ever, a sly grin on his face as he casually threw an arm over your shoulders, the same arm that had just been knee-deep in your pussy.

“Did you get everything?” Minho asked, glancing at the firewood pile, clearly not expecting much from your “excursion.”

“Yeah,” Chan said smoothly, as if he hadn’t just made you cum twice in the forest. “Everything’s good.”

But then you shifted uncomfortably. You could feel it—his seed still dripping out of you as you stood in front of the group, trying to act like everything was perfectly normal.

Hyunjin’s eyes locked onto yours. He smirked.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, his gaze trailing down your legs, as if knowing exactly what had happened.

You froze. You could feel the wetness between your thighs, the sticky aftermath of Chan’s fuck filling you up like a messy secret, leaking in small trickles.

“Yeah, just, uh… really tired,” you said, a fake laugh escaping your lips. You couldn’t help but cross your legs, trying to hide the evidence of your earlier indiscretions.

Chan, of course, was in full control—his hand slid down to rest on your waist, his thumb tracing small circles on your skin like he hadn’t just fucked you stupid in the woods. His casual demeanor only made you feel more exposed.

“So,” he said, grinning like a man who knew exactly what he was doing, “let’s get this fire going. We’ve got plenty of time to relax before the night.”

Hyunjin raised a brow but didn’t push it further. He’d caught the glimpse, the hint in your flushed face and the way you couldn’t stand still, like you were still trying to adjust to the feeling of being wrecked.

But as you helped with the firewood, things got more complicated.

You kept sneaking glances at Chan, trying to ignore the feeling of his cum slowly leaking down your legs, his eyes on you like he could see right through your nervous act. The heat between your legs was impossible to ignore. You were beyond raw, and every time you moved, you felt a reminder of the mess he’d made of you.

“I don’t know how you’re not shivering,” Jisung commented, eyeing you with a grin. “I thought you’d be cold after being out there for so long.”

You managed a laugh, the sound shaky. “Yeah, it’s a little chilly… but I’m fine.”

Chan leaned over your shoulder, breath warm on your ear, his voice low enough only for you to hear: “You want me to do something about that?” His hand brushed dangerously close to your inner thigh again, just grazing, but enough to send a jolt of heat through you.

“Stop,” you hissed, swatting at his hand.

“Stop?” he said, voice teasing. “Can’t. You’re still making me hard thinking about last night. I can’t help it if you’re the one who made me lose control, baby.”

Your face flushed deep red as you forced yourself to focus on gathering firewood. But you couldn’t escape the feeling of him behind you, the way his body heat radiated against your back as you both moved.

Everyone was starting to notice. You could feel their eyes on you—particularly Hyunjin, who was still smirking like he knew exactly what had gone down.

“Maybe you two should go get the rest of the firewood,” Minho suggested, as if the idea had just come to him. “The pile over by the creek looks like it could use a little more.”

No. No, no, no.

You shot a panicked look at Chan. He grinned.

“Great idea,” Chan said, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the trees again.

“Chan—wait—what if someone sees?” you whispered, voice cracking.

He pulled you in close, breath warm against your neck. “No one’s gonna see. I’ll keep you quiet. Don’t worry.”

The moment you were out of sight, his hands were back on you—grabbing your ass, rubbing your clit through your skirt, making your body ache for more.

“Chan,” you gasped, barely able to keep your voice down.

“You wanted this,” he breathed against your ear. “Now let me fuck you again. You’re so fucking wet for me, even with everyone watching.”

And before you could protest, he shoved you against a nearby tree again—this time even rougher than before, his fingers sliding under your skirt and into your panties without hesitation. He was relentless, fucking you in the shadows while the camp remained blissfully unaware of the mess you were both making.

Your legs shook, your head spinning, and you couldn’t tell if it was the lust or the fear of being caught that made your heart race.

Either way, you were beyond saving now.

The fire crackled in the middle of the camp, the laughter of the group around it, but you couldn’t focus on any of it. You tried to laugh along with their jokes, smile, act like everything was fine—but it wasn’t. You could still feel Chan’s hands on you, his breath in your ear, the aftermath of the heat in the forest still clinging to your skin.

You couldn’t stop thinking about how everything had changed. About how his touch felt different now—more possessive, like you were something he couldn’t let go of.

“Hey,” Minho said, his eyes narrowing as he glanced between you and Chan. “You guys seem… close.”

You nearly choked on your drink.

“Oh, we’re just, uh, getting firewood,” you said, your voice slightly too high-pitched.

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Getting firewood, huh? That’s a lot of… wood you’re carrying, huh, Chan?” he teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You almost wanted to die, but Chan just smirked back, completely unfazed. “Yeah, well, she makes it worth it,” he said, his hand sliding casually to your lower back, pulling you into his side.

Your heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t even trying to hide it now. The possessiveness, the way he looked at you—he made it clear to everyone that you were his.

Chan noticed your hesitation and leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “Let them talk, baby. I don’t care.” His breath sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m not letting you go.”

You clenched your thighs together, still feeling the way his presence consumed you.

As the night wore on, the teasing from the group didn’t stop. Jisung kept making suggestive comments about how “in sync” you and Chan seemed, while Hyunjin gave you knowing glances, clearly trying to figure out just how far this had gone.

The longer you stayed by the campfire, the more you realized that everyone knew.

And it was awkward.

The whole night was a blur of playful jabs and stolen glances. You and Chan exchanged quiet moments, brief touches here and there, but the group’s eyes were always on you—almost like they were waiting for something to happen. Something more.

Finally, when the group had started to settle down for the night, Chan pulled you aside. His hand was warm on your back as he guided you towards the tent, away from the group.

“Come here,” he murmured, pulling you into the dimly lit space.

You stepped inside, the warmth of the tent contrasting with the cool night air. The fire outside seemed far away, and the quiet between you two felt almost… intimate.

You tried to ignore the feeling of tension that had grown since this morning—the way your body still reacted to him, how every time he was close, your heart raced.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence. “I guess the whole camp knows now, huh?”

Chan smiled, leaning against the side of the tent. “Yeah, I think they have a pretty good idea.”

“And what now?” you asked, your voice soft. “Are we… Are we just gonna keep sneaking around?”

He stepped closer, his eyes serious now. “I don’t care what they think, Y/n. But I do care about you. I don’t want this to be some secret thing. I want to know where we stand—where you stand.” He reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face. “What do you want, baby?”

You stared at him for a moment, the weight of his words settling over you.

“Chan,” you began, your voice trembling, “I want you. I want this. But I don’t know if I can handle all the eyes on us. The group—this… everything.”

He nodded, understanding in his gaze. “I get it. But we’re gonna figure it out. No matter what, you’re not going anywhere. And neither am I.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, and without thinking, you closed the space between you and kissed him.

This kiss was different than before. Slower. Softer. There was no rush, no desperation, just a feeling of possessive comfort, like he was claiming you in a different way now—not just physically, but emotionally.

You pulled away, looking at him with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. “But how are we gonna handle all of this?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “One day at a time. Let’s just take it slow. I don’t need to rush, as long as I know you’re mine. And you’ll be the one who decides how fast this goes. Whatever you want, we’ll do it together.”

And in that moment, you realized—he wasn’t just obsessed with you. He was committed.

And that made everything feel a little less messy, even in the aftermath of the forest and the teasing group.

For once, you didn’t have to pretend you weren’t craving him, because now, you both knew where you stood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: Hey guys! I’m sorry that A bumpy ride 2 is coming months late, i had this sitting in my drafts but i didn’t know if anyone wanted it, until i started get requests for it. For the new readers, please make sure to read part one, its tagged on the intro. Thanks for reading!

I know a lot of requests are being sent daily but i need you to understand that i cannot write them all, except the ones i can relate to or work with, so if you dont get a fic, dont be mad 🫠 i love you!

Taglist: @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000 @sammhisphere @nebugalaxy @cutecucumberkimberly @chancloud8 @sunflwerstar @shxdowofdarkness @aeyla @annyeongffs @beppybeesnuggets @iamwritteninyourstars @crisle19 @princesskrystix @deepblueocean97

[syndrossi]

Restoration is my favorite AU!! I think about it constantly. Has Daemon put together that the candle in Resonant was torturing him with the future visions of Rhaegar/Jon’s deaths. Restoration Rhaegar has already met his fate but Winterfell! Jon can be saved. When he first hears that Winterfell!Jon has been trying to take the black, what is his response? I know he’d never let it happen, but does he have a really strong reaction, thinking of Jon being stabbed to death? Does he forbid him to ever speak of it again? Does he blame Catelyn for putting the idea in his head? Does he threaten to burn something/anything just because the idea angers him? How does Daemon’s response make littleJon feel, knowing in the original timeline no one tried to stop him/save him?

Hearing the details of Restoration!Rhaegar's death at the Trident is enough for Daemon to put the pieces together and assume he saw his sons' "reincarnations" die. Given that he arrived fourteen years too late for Rhaegar, he assumes that Jon perished at the time as well, and resolves to continue searching for his own living sons.

But when he finally makes it to Winterfell and meets W!Jon, it becomes clear that he was the Jon of his vision. Throw in R!Rhaegar volunteering that Maester Aemon is at the Wall and that they should go to him, and we might get W!Jon admitting that he had considered joining the Night's Watch until his "little brothers" appeared. Which, after Daemon resumes breathing, leads to some pointed questioning about whose idea that had been and whether Lord Stark had supported such a foolish notion.

Only for Jon to accidentally put Ned directly in the crosshairs by telling Daemon that he hadn't forbidden it.

x~x~x

The letters on his table were stacked two hands tall, all of them from within the past week. It was nearly more than Ned received throughout an entire year, and the rookery had already run out of roosts for the incoming ravens. Every lord within the realm demanded answers that Ned hardly knew how to give.

The sound of footfalls heavy with purpose drew his gaze from the letter he had been hunched over. Ned leaned back in his chair, stretching his aching back, just in time for the door to slam open.

King Daemon Targaryen was not a subtle man, nor was he a calm one. In that, he and Robert were not so different. Even so, Ned was caught off guard when, as he rose to his feet, the king seized him by the throat and shoved his back against the wall. There was death in his eyes, a wild fury that sent a chill down Ned's spine. He had been to King's Landing but twice during the reign of Aerys Targaryen, and had only glimpsed the man from afar, but he too had seemed to boil and froth with rage.

Have I betrayed the realm to yet another Mad King?

He stared into the man's eyes, a purple so alike that of his son, Aemon, and yet with none of the child's solemn calm, and though his lungs burned for air, he forced himself to still. It was impossible not to imagine his brother's final moments, strangled by his own desperation to save their father while the Mad King laughed.

"You meant to send Jon to the Wall," the king before him snarled.

The grip on his throat loosened, freeing Ned to take a breath, presumably that he might speak. That is what this is about?

"It was a path that he discussed with me," he said, resisting the impulse to massage his throat. "His uncle is a ranger there. He would have been among family."

"I am his family," Daemon hissed, eyes darkening further. "And you would have so easily cast him out for the inconvenience he posed yours. Was that your plan? That you might be rid of him at last?"

Ned stared at the king, struck dumb. "I thought that he would be safer there," he said at last. "He could never have accompanied me, had I gone to King's Landing as Robert's Hand."

The king's lip curled. "And your lady wife would have tossed him out the moment you left."

Ned chose his next words very carefully, for the king's ire toward Cat was a dangerous thing. "He would have lacked for both opportunity and prospects here. If he were at the Wall���"

"He would have had even fewer." Daemon rested a hand on his sword, the famed Dark Sister, thumb caressing the tip of her pommel. "You sought to deny him his birthright by having him swear it away himself, ignorant of who he truly is."

"There were no dragons until you brought three to our shores," Ned said. "He could never be more than my bastard, not when it would be death to be anything else."

"You would have sent him to his death!" The king began to pace, and now that the deadly edge to his rage had subsided, his face was haggard, his eyes haunted instead. "I have seen it. I have seen it again and again. I have held him in my hands and felt his life's blood flow through my fingers."

The anguish with which he spoke was too raw to be fiction, yet the words made no sense. "I do not understand, Your Grace."

"Dragon dreams. I did not fully believe before. I thought the visions to be a lie until I heard of my son's death at the Trident."

His son—? Rhaegar, Ned realized at last. For a man tied to the slain prince and his son through marriage alone, the king had seemed to wholly embrace Rhaella Targaryen's line. He had a vague recollection of dragon dreams. They had been said to be a strange gift of House Targaryen, a relic of their ties to Old Valyria. There were some who said that Prince Daeron the Drunk had been plagued by such dreams.

"Your Grace—"

"I watched those black-hearted turncoats of the Watch stab him again and again, even when he was helpless on the ground." Daemon's eyes, which had clenched shut, shot open. "I shall find them. I know their faces. They will burn."

[theegyal]

When I Was Your Man [ Annie x Smoke ]

⚠️: Smut, dirty talks, nasty, pimp, manipulation, emotional cheating

A/N : this story is still not a FULL SERIE , might have 5 parts or less (I initially said 3 but yikes 😬)

Part 2

Annie gave her boyfriend a look.The lumberjack understood, stepped back inside, closing the door behind him. She let out a long sigh, arms folded tightly across her chest.

"Smoke," she said flatly, ignoring the fast rhythm of her heart.

Not two, not even three, but seven years had collapsed into one another since he disappeared without a word. She had gone crazy, asking everyone in the Delta where he was, never once did she believe  the rumors about him and Stack running off to Chicago... not until she got tired of waiting.

Now, here he was. Handsomer. Stronger. Sharp figure. Certainly richer.

He probably thought she would take him back. Because they had a child. Because he used to be her soulmate.

"Ain't even let me in." Smoke sucked his teeth, glancing over her shoulders

"We weren't expecting any visitors." She said, lowering her gaze to her feet. "It would be disrespectful"

Nonetheless, she had moved on. Anders helped her grieve, sitting at her bedside while she mourned her daughter. He was there through the uncertainty, not knowing if his feelings would ever be returned. That man loved her until she learned to love herself again.

The nights were torrid — still were — and he adored every inch of the body Smoke had rejected when he turned his back on her.

Annie was irritated. Angry.

Not just because she still harbored lingering feelings for Smoke, but because he had the nerve to insult Anders just by showing up.

How brave of him, coming back to her house like it was a damn mill.

Annie was no pawn to be taken and discarded once someone got their fill.

"Just get outta here, Smoke," she snapped, rolling her eyes and slamming the door in his face.

Fuck.

Not without another glance through the window, Smoke headed to his car, jumped in, and started the engine.

They took a room at Lizzie's boarding house in the center of town.

Stack was probably waiting for him there.

The dusty scent in the air clung to his nostrils. Children waved at him, small merchants holding up their goods for him to see.

He pulled up to Lizzie's, stepped out of the car, and without so much as a "mornin'" to the receptionist, headed straight to the room.

"So? You pounded the ol' damn cake?"

His twin greeted him.

"Somebody already blew the candle out. Tch."

Stack nearly fell off his imaginary chair, the toothpick in his mouth stabbing his tongue.

He couldn't believe Smoke's words.

Annie? That damn Elijah-my-love girl?

He jumped onto the bed, pulling off his hat, ready to hear more of that story.

"And whatcha gonna do?" he asked, excitement creeping into his eyes.

"Huh?" Smoke replied.

Stack grinned teasingly.

It wasn't in his brother's methods to give up on what belonged to him.

Smoke had issues. Real bad ones. Worse than Stack's, for sure.

He, Stack, would've simply turned the page and looked for another chick, there were plenty in this backwater town: bigger, slimmer, bustier, juicier...

But Smoke?

He would dare the devil himself before letting Annie be taken off his chest.

And right now, the devil was that poor guy who had no clue the kind of shit he put his feet in.

Seeing that calm and steady tone with which Smoke spoke to him, Stack realized his brother had already come up with a plan.

"You still talk to Crystal?" the older asked.

"Hol' on! You ain't goin' to smash Crys' lil cookie, right?" Stack shot back, straightening up. "Poor thing—Smokey finally resolves to visit her bootyhole only to spit on Annie"

Smoke rolled his eyes, lighting his cigarette, uncaring of the big NO SMOKING sign on the wall.

"She still workin'?" he asked, exhaling a grey cloud off his lips.

Stack's brown eyes blinked once, twice, then popped wide open. That crooked grin never leaving his face.

"You such a bitch," he laughed loudly, flashing his golden tooth. He saw straight through Smoke's scheme and loved every damn inch of it.

Mirroring his brother's ecstatic state, Smoke crooked a smile, a gleam dancing in his eyes.

"Tell ha to come by the juke tonight."

What that new man of hers really got, huh? They were all about to find out. Wasn't a soul in the Delta who could keep their crook down once Crystal walked by.

Sending a whore to play with Annie's new man, that was pretty low. And exactly Smoke's kind of dirty.

🎀•🎀🎀🎀•🎀🎀•🎀🎀•🎀🎀🎀🎀

Night embraced the whole town. Outside crickets were singing, the wind transporting their song throughout the whole neighborhood. Light still shined in some houses, others drown in darkness.

And within the herbalist shelter, arguments rose up.

Annie was opposed to the idea of going to the juke joint, the only thing she needed was to stay here and make love to Anders. She craved it, especially after seeing Smoke earlier the day.

"Or, we can stay there and—" she brushed her fingertips over his muscular torso, gently pinching his male nipples. Annie knew all Anders' hot spots : nipples, neck, balls...The man groaned of pleasure — that woman was such a tease.

Anders peeped at her big breasts hanging in the transparent white blouse she was wearing. Her breath hitched, making her fat tits bounced back and forth, slamming each other in a sweaty, sticky squelch sound.

Fuck he wanted to grab these brown hard milking titties in his mouth, dragging his wet tongue across every inch, slurping damn last juice outta them..

"Mmh—maybe, you want these ?" Annie backed into the wall. Crudely, she loosened her cloth and freed her large breasts, nipples hard and swollen. She glanced shamelessly at Anders, cupping and squeezing her boobs lasciviously.

She rolled her sweet nipples between her fingers, biting her lower lips at the sensation. "Come on, Andy. Ain't you a man ?"

Anders' cock throbbed under his now, wet pre-cum boxer. His bulge was so big, one mouth could barely hold it. He couldn't wait any longer, the blood flowing up his crook making it pulsating with thrill and decadent pleasure. He threw himself into Annie, purposely caressing her with his erected dick.

"Mmh—Fuck, you so hard for me Andy."

She felt his growing arousal pressed against her inner thigh, gliding over it.

"Damn, Annie, what you done to me," he said, voice pleading as he buried his face in her neck, brushing her hands away from her chest and grabbing those meaty breasts  himself.

Annie felt his tongue drag slow and wet down her neck, dipping low to eat the swollen buds of her nipples. He sucked those tight, hard tits into his mouth like he was starving, biting and gulping them down with hunger.

She squirmed under his touch, her thighs nestling with his big cock between them. 

Smoke would've already taken her on the mattress, spreading her cheeks and pound hard inside her cunt.

Bullshit she screamed internally, chasing the thought of that ghost man out her mind. Anders was not Smoke. And right this moment, the only man who mattered was Andy.

" Shit—babe, stop the tease" she clung her palm around his wood, pulling the tool out of his wet underwear.

Annie slid her hands along the engorged flesh, stroking Anders dong with a feverish heat.

Her whole body shaking from the rising  closeness of his dick pressing the verge of her clit.

She could felt it now, her pussy juice dripping on her pantie. She was soaked, drenched with an almost urgent indecency.

With him, she always had to take the lead.

She pushed on the mattress, forcing Anders to sit as she climbed on top, straddling him with no hesitation.

Her soaked panties pressed against his throbbing cock, back and forth, grinding slowly.

" you wan' me to ride that fat dick huh."

she whispered, mouth watering, her voluptuous lips brushing his ear.

Hurriedly she tugged her panties to the side , her vulva's sensitive skin squelching immediately against the veiny brown dick.

Annie sank down, inch by inch, taking him whole deep inside her cunt.

" Yea—ah, shit, it's good. Your dick so big" she moaned, her lips parted, lining a trail of drool "Yeah—Fuck babe, you love this fat pussy huh ? Shit—" She ground down on him, her ass clapping against his thighs, the cheeks bouncing, jiggling like water balloons with every commanding thrust.

She sure loved big crooks. Black or brown. She remembered how she used to ride Smoke's huge wood years ago.

Fuck, with Anders, that twin finally found a match.

Truth was Andy's dick was less big than smoke's. But, that shit was veiny !

She had often caught him stroking it in the bathroom. On God, that man was too shy to directly asked her for a blowjob.

Their intimate dynamic was not unpleasant, Annie sure liked to take the lead sometimes...yes, only sometimes.

"Damn B—Annie, I'm cumming"

Such a nasty man — he was fighting the urge to call her a bitch. Dirty talks were his kink, she figured out. However, Anders hold Annie to a so high standard he never dared.

She smirked, holding tight on his chest, let a spoon of air melting inside her vagina puffing out a wet queef.

"Aargh- you such a whor—mean, you so mean Annie"

Smoke would have not hesitated. That sweet fucker, would've call her every kind of filthy names. He knew she loved it.

Anders, gripped her ass, bouncing it harder and faster on his swollen, pruney dick, until they climaxed.

Annie felt the warm fluid filling her cunt, excitement making her tits milk.

"Can we stay home now ?" She asked adorably

"Don't be like that. Let's go have fun" he replied.

Had he known what was coming, Anders might've actually listened her complaints.

[oceantornadoo]

got lovesick all over my bed (samira mohan x jack abbot sick fic)

Someone's knocking on her forehead.

No, that can't be right. Samira turns her brain on and tries valiantly to unstick her eyelids as she forcibly blinks them open. Once they are, cloudy but mostly functional, she takes in her living room looking exactly like how she left it. No TV, because she doesn't want to pay for cable and doesn't have time for it anyway. Stacks of medical journals, mostly neat, on the coffee table she got for $30 on Facebook Marketplace, scratched from lugging it up her stairs when her elevator was out of order, again. Marshmallow curled around himself in the corner, a reminder of her resolution to get a life, and a cat, after McKay's comment after the shift from hell 6 months ago.

Someone knocks again, but not on her forehead.

It's her door, an equally foreign object that rarely gets visitors except for the odd package delivery courier who is very, very lost. Samira runs a full body scan and is not surprised to find she fell asleep in her scrubs on her couch instead of taking the six steps into her bedroom and ensuite. What is surprising is the headache making itself known, along with congestion in every nasal passage she owns. Another slow blink reveals sinus pressure behind her eyes and cheeks and would you look at that, Samira Mohan has a sinus infection. A month before her fellowship applications are due.

And there's still someone pounding at her door.

She swings her legs off her couch, groaning as the soreness from working a double shift sinks into her bones. After a hefty grunt, Samira is fully vertical, her scrubs creased but thankfully bodily fluid-less. Maybe Mel came to check up on her? But she can't imagine her friend knocking in anything other than her usual pattern (two short, one long). Perhaps Dana, who was making comments the entire shift about how Samira looked like shit and should "go home before I write you up." Or, Samira shudders as she turns the lock to open, it's her mother, come to collect after three missed calls this week. She resolves herself to this most likely scenario, steeling her spine as she opens her door to-

Jack Abbot.

Dr. Abbot, she corrects herself, who is standing with one fist raised while the other clutches what looks like a takeout order from her favorite sushi place. A closer glimpse reveals a tub of miso soup, and her stomach grumbles in anticipation. It's a feat, but she draws her head up from the warm beacon of food to look at the man in front of her.

"Dana said you were sick." He states. Samira blinks molasses slow, and some part of her wonders if this is the flu and not a sinus infection. She must be hallucinating, because Dr. Abbot is wearing glasses that she has never, ever, seen before. If she had, the dreams she's been trying to ignore for a year would have made them a feature. They're rectangle-framed, the black color of plastic stark against his salt-and-pepper curls. An explicable breath of fondness bubbles up in her throat, and she has to slow it before it escapes.

"You're wearing glasses." Definitely the flu.

Abbot doesn't say anything, walking forward until she gets the message and lets him in. "Shoes," she murmurs, and he complies silently, kicking them off as she mentally kicks herself, because his prosthetic is probably less stable without a shoe. A chill wracks through her body, and all thoughts leave her head.

"Jesus, Samira." She blinks and he's there in front of her, the soup on her counter. He checks her forehead, her lymph nodes, and then brushes a finger against her cheek. It must be some field technique he knows, and she tries to remember to ask him if he has a case study to go along with it.

"Dr. Abbot..." She trails off, unsure of what she's going to say. An unlikely occurrence when she's usually always preparing a defense of her methods to Robby or an order to ask the upper floors, for the thirtieth time, if they have a free bed. "Jack." He orders and she swallows down a nod, which makes her throat ache. "Do you want to change out of your scrubs? A shower?" Pajamas. Shower. These are things she wants, but she nearly stumbles again when another wave of fatigue hits. Her spine curls and Dr. Abbot Jack catches her with a warm hand on her shoulder and another around her waist. It's instantly steadying as she resists the urge to curl into him.

"I need help showering. I don't think I can stand." Blood rushes in her ears as Jack takes a sharp breath. Tears prick her eyes, and she gets a flashback of her bathroom breakdown after Pittfest. The pure incompetency of her own body, one that performs its duties every day without fail, suddenly won't let her stand for more than a minute before giving up. "I could call Dr. King or maybe Dr. Collins..." He trails off, and she nearly laughs at how those are the only two people he could list because she doesn't have anyone else. But Mel is working and Heather is visiting her sister in California. And Samira's mom is a few hundred miles away in New Jersey, and god, Samira doesn't have anyone.

She realizes a second later she said that out loud.

"You have me." Jack murmurs. The hand at her waist starts pushing, moving her towards her bedroom with the strong weight of him at her back. Then it's into the bathroom, where Jack sits her on the closed toilet seat and squats in front of her.

"Your leg." She protests faintly, and it's like he didn't even hear her.

"We have a few options, Mohan. I've got some baby wipes you can use, but the shower steam is going to help more. Your shower is too small for me to put that chair I saw in the kitchen in there. What do you want to do?" The impossibility that Jack is standing in her bathroom has suddenly hit. Jack, who has been sending her medical journals at all hours for a year now. Jack, who became a temporary day shift attending for a week after Robby took leave. Jack, who took her out for breakfast after a particularly rough night shift that she was only covering because it was Langdon's first visit with his kids. Jack, who's started bringing her lavender oat milk lattes after they went to an artisan cafe and all she could talk about was getting an attending salary to pay for a $7 latte.

Jack.

"Dr. Mohan."

She jerks her head up, which had fallen down as fatigue hit again. He's making that concentrated look where his eyes disappear into a dark color she can't name. "Can you help me shower?" He closes his eyes for a second, inhaling deeply, before opening them and nodding.

Jack does not help her shower. Dr. Abbot does. They start the water so it has time to warm up, then methodically strip Samira down. Well, he strips her while she holds onto the wall, try not to let her body collapse. Thankfully, her curls are somehow still in her claw clip, because if she had to wash her hair, she would simply shave it off. His eyes are on hers the entire time, never taking more than a perfunctory glimpse at her skin as more gets revealed. A cloud of steam hits her when she steps into the shower, one hand on Dr. Abbot's strong forearm as she attempts to stand straight. The shower curtain is partially open enough for his hand, but they agreed that she would wash her body.

It's clinical, like she's watching from outside herself as she swipes soap up and down. More recently, she's tried longer showers to do a "body check in", something the meditation app Ellis recommended told her to do. This time, her left hand swipes over the most important parts as her right hand clings to Jack's. It's the kind of grip she imagines he gave back in his army days; fingers curled around each other's forearms and wrists. After the soap washes away the mess of the Pitt and she can breathe a bit easier, she steadies her free hand against the tiled wall.

"Everything okay?" His voice comes out muffled, concern etched into his vowels. "Just need a second." She squeezes his arm and he squeezes back. She wonders if his glasses are fogged. Samira takes another greedy gulp of steam before shutting off the water, the bathroom falling silent.

Her blue towel floats before her as Jack valiantly tries to hand it over without pulling back the shower curtain. She lets herself smile before grabbing it, dropping his grip so she can properly wrap it around herself. Once secure, she tugs back the shower curtain (a light pink flower design she fished out of a clearance bin) and comes face to face with Jack Abbot and his glasses. Fogged.

Samira Mohan is delirious. She has a new variant of the flu that will unfortunately transfer to half of the country with the lack of NIH funding they're facing. This is the only reason for her to reach out and hook her finger under the bridge of Jack's glasses, pushing them up until they're nestled into his curls and his face is free from obstruction.

Jack must've caught the flu too, because he lets her.

He guides her with a hand on her back out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. He forces her to sit onto her (blessedly made) bed, ignoring how Marshmallow has made himself at home on one of her pillows. "Pajamas?" She points to a dresser, letting him pick out a ratty Michigan tee that she's had for almost twenty years now, along with a pair of black shorts that he puts on the bed. Jack knows she went to Pitt for undergrad. Jack also knows her father went to Michigan on full scholarship from the Math department, a feat for an international student from India. A fact she revealed during Shen's birthday drinks while they watched the Michigan v Penn State game in a sports bar. Samira stays quiet.

"Do you need help changing?" He asks, no judgement in his voice. The shower has made her limbs temporarily stronger, so she shakes her head. "I'm going to make sure the soup is hot. I'll come back in ten." She sits there, slightly dripping in her towel with her comfort shirt next to her, and watches Jack scoop Marshmallow into his arms, murmuring about getting him dinner. Despite the steam, something chokes Samira's throat as she watches him close her bedroom door, sending her a half-grin over his shoulder.

Samira dresses slowly, one hand on her mattress to steady herself. Clothes on, she finds enough strength to dig out the cold & flu medicine under her bathroom sink, taking the medicine before trudging back to her bed. She sinks into bed, finding the phone that she had left on her bed table before her double. That should've been the first sign.

12 hours ago:

Dr. Jack Abbot ATTENDING: Racial Disparities in Neurological Surgery Outcomes.pdf

Dr. Jack Abbot ATTENDING: Methods might be helpful for your fellowship app.

10 hours ago:

Mel King: How was your double? Looking forward to pizza with Becca on Saturday!

4 hours ago:

Dr. Jack Abbot ATTENDING: Dana said you weren't feeling well after your shift. Can I pick you up anything?

3 hours ago:

Amma: Priti's wedding is in August. Can you take off 2 weeks to go to India?

1 hour ago:

Dr. Jack Abbot ATTENDING: Samira?

30 minutes ago:

Dr. Jack Abbot ATTENDING: I'm coming over.

Samira types out a quick confirmation to Mel, then "I'll have to check" to her mom. And then she stares at her chat with Jack, his final message blinking back at her. He's only seen her apartment once when he drove her home from breakfast a month ago, and he had insisted on street directions rather than GPS. He didn't have her unit number either, and it's not on her mailbox. She thinks of her emergency info in the hospital records and blinks rapidly.

He knocks at her bedroom door, gentler than he did her front. "Decent?" She nods before realizing he can't see, and makes a noise of assent. It's only when he steps through does she realize what he's wearing. Scrubs. Scrubs and it's 8pm and she worked day shift today (left an hour early when Dana forced her to) which means he was supposed to work night. But he's here.

"Were you supposed to work tonight?" She murmurs, throat too sore to raise her voice. Jack shrugs, setting down a bowl of soup on her bedside table before checking her temperature with a forehead thermometer that must've been in his go-bag. "Shen covered for me." He doesn't show her her temperature, just sets down the device and grabs the bowl. "But- Jack. You should be working. I'm fine now, you can go. I'm sure they need you." He doesn't answer, raising a spoonful of soup to her mouth, shoulders only dropping from their tense height when she swallows. "He owed me. I fed that ball of fur you call a cat, so it's your turn." She takes another spoonful, warmth spreading in her belly. Due to the soup, obviously.

"Marshmallow is a very respectable cat." She replies once her mouth finally doesn't feel like cotton. Jack snorts, leaning his knee into the mattress as he insists on standing and feeding her soup. She knows his leg must be killing him, and scoots over until he has enough room to take some weight off his prosthetic. "He's a lazy excuse for a cat. Only opened his eyes when I put his food in his bowl." She smiles as she swallows, which she immediately imagines to look horrific paired with her red rimmed eyes and snotty nose. Jack just winks.

Jack talks about the journal he sent her that she didn't get a chance to read as she eats. It's nicer than silence, makes her feel almost human again as she falls into the comforting blanket of medicine. The spoon clinks against the empty bowl and her eyes flutter open at the noise. "I'll bring you some liquids to keep by you when you sleep." He says absentmindedly, his eyes on her lips as she licks the last of the broth off. They flick down onto the empty bowl, and the bed is suddenly cold as he leaves to do exactly what he said.

When he comes back, Samira is tucked in under the covers, eyes barely open. He places a water bottle and a bottle of Gatorade on the bedstand, then steps back and crosses his arms against his chest like he's analyzing a case. "Thank you, Jack." Samira whispers. He swallows hard and nods, that ever-present stare of his on her. "Are you going back to the hospital?" She asks, suddenly not wanting him to go. To wake up and have this be a dream.

"Shen's covering. I've got the next four days off, something about working too much." She grins from her nest of warmth, knowing it's exactly something she would complain about too. Then, Samira Mohan gathers all the courage she can in her infection-torn body.

"Will you stay?"

Jack nods.

-

Samira sleeps for 13 hours. Jack counts.

He wipes down the couch and makes it his fortress, taking off his prosthetic and grabbing a nearby journal from a few months ago. He can't sleep, his body too used to this being his normal work hours. Instead, he listens to Samira's sleeping breaths and occasional snores, her bedroom door open as he insisted on.

9 hours in, his eyes flutter closed. He takes a cat nap, wary of the actual cat who stares at him from the other end of the very beaten-up couch he couldn't imagine Samira buying for herself. After a few dreamless hours, he makes tea as quiet as possible, double-checking every move and being very thankful Samira Mohan owns an electric kettle. The sun is already streaming through the living room curtains, but she's still sleeping, and he'll stay here as long as he can.

In Samira Mohan's apartment.

In the few dreams he has, he's been here in a thousand iterations. A studio with lilac walls, a four-bedroom apartment with roommates they had to keep quiet from, a house passed down from her grandparents. He's invented so many thoughts of where she lives, and even after driving her home that one time, her vanilla scent permeating his memories for days, he never imagined a cat.

She's never mentioned one. And Jack Abbot likes to consider himself a bit of an expert on Samira Mohan.

Samira's latte from Lotus Creations costs $7.49. Samira's mother calls when she's working, like she doesn't know Samira's schedule. Samira has pizza nights with Dr. King and her sister once or twice a month and always comes into shift change smiling after. Samira reads journals on anything and everything. Samira is applying for a PTMC fellowship, but also a Stanford and UIC and Washington one. Samira has a little crinkle by her eye when faced with a tough case. Samira doesn't have time for dating, which she told Parker during a rare night shift three months and five days ago.

Apparently, Samira Mohan has a white cat named Marshmallow.

That's what he's contemplating, a mug of chamomile tea growing cold in front of him, when Samira Mohan herself appears in front of him. Her curls are frizzy and encircle her head like a halo, and while Jack Abbot doesn't consider himself a poet, she makes it pretty damn easy for him to think like one. Her shirt creases match the ones on her cheek, which he hopes means she slept well. Her fingers, capable ones he's seen do thousands of procedures, fiddle with the hem of her shirt.

"You're still here." She croaks. He pushes the lukewarm tea towards her, chest loosening when she takes a sip and closes her eyes contentedly. "Told you I'd stay." He reminds her, taking the easy way out. Selfishly, he wanted as much time as he could with her like this, unguarded and willing to accept help for once. Which makes him think of the shower, and he cuts off that train of thought.

He lets her use the thermometer, satisfied when her temperature is lower than the 100.1 it was when he got here. She takes the barstool next to his, leaving them both to stare at the stove as she sips on her tea. It's time for her to take another dose of medicine, but the silence feels sacred.

Until Marshmallow jumps into his lap.

Jack jolts, age old reflexes keeping his knee from jerking against the counter. Samira just laughs, reaching over to scratch the cat behind the ears. Her hand is six inches above Jack's lap, something he never thought would happen, nevermind the cat in the way.

"Never told me you had a cat." Is the first thing that comes to his mind. Samira hums, scratching Marshmallow under the chin now. "It felt like a cliche." She answers. Jack's brows furrow as he turns his head towards her, tired of ignoring the magnetic pull of her smile. "Of what, exactly?" Samira drops her hand to go back to her tea, and for once Jack and Marshmallow are on the same side of disappointment. "Single workaholic woman gets a cat so she has someone to come back to at the end of her day. Pretty sure that's in a 2000s movie somewhere." He knew, in some remote way, that Samira was like him. That the job wasn't just the job but a lifeline, some portal to transform old wrongs into new rights. But it's different to watch her be embarrassed by it, to see her cheeks warm and a little cough emit from her throat that he's sure wasn't there five seconds ago.

"It's your day off, Abbot. You should go home. I'm fine now." She spits it out like a script, someone puppeteering her from behind. The switch from Jack to Abbot is another shot to the heart, but he powers through. Despite himself (and the memories of the evil cat his mother had until it died at age 15, the bastard), Jack pets Marshmallow. The thing purrs, and he can't help but think about the ghost of his ex-wife exclaiming in excitement that he's finally showing care for a living thing with four legs. He watches, always watching, as Samira tucks a curl behind her ear and locks eyes with his hand petting her cat.

He can't even think about that sentiment either.

"You're not cured overnight, Samira. IV fluids and observation." Her brows furrow as her finger traces a circle around the lip of her mug. "So what, you're going to stay here for however long it takes for me to get better? Be serious." He is serious, but she doesn't know that. For how intelligent (and capable and beautiful and strong and-) she is, it's clear she doesn't feel the same sense of knowing he does. He can tell when she enters a trauma room by the snap of her gloves or when she's two hours past when she's supposed to clock out by the tilt of the clip in her hair. Jack Abbot knows Samira Mohan. And that's enough. It's fine if she doesn't know him back. He can take that. Deal with it like the laundry list of things his therapist has written down in that green notebook of his. It's fine.

(It hasn't been fine for a year now).

"I need to make sure my best resident lives to see another day." An evasion, but he keeps his eyes on her face so it's not obvious how much he cannot answer her question. Her brows furrow and that crinkle near her eye comes out again.

"Jack." Samira Mohan doesn't plead. She defends to Robby or she calmly explains to a patient or she argues with a resident who would rather call a Pysch consult than ask what chemicals an overworked immigrant mom deals with at her manufacturing job. She doesn't plead, but something in those brown eyes of hers is pleading.

"Samira." Jack turns his body on the barstool and she mirrors him, their knees scraping against each other. "You wouldn't stay four days just because I'm sick. Say it." He can't. He's never lied to her and he won't start now. "I would. I am, if you'll let me." She stutters over whatever response she was going to give, then sneezes rapidly into the crook of her elbow. Jack moves to grab a tissue, but she stops him with a hand on his knee. The knee connected to a full leg, where the weighty warmth of her is overwhelming to the point of full mental disfunction.

"Why?" She asks, small. So unlike herself.

"Because I want to, Samira. There's nowhere else I'd rather be." It's a bit too much. He's going to scare her and then realize these were all veiled attempts to get him to leave, not the curtain on his feelings slowly being pulled back. "You don't have anything better to do? Anyone waiting and wondering why the hell you're here with-" She cuts herself off, but the last word was clear. Me. Here with me. Her hand drops from his knee.

"There's no one else waiting for me, Samira." Her nostrils flare at the word 'else'. She swallows hard, and he's proud to notice it goes down easier now that she's had some fluids and meds and rest under his care.

"Ask me, Samira." She blinks twice, then meets his gaze.

"Why do you send me journals at 2am? Why do you get me a latte, when I know that stupid overpriced place is ten minutes out of your way to work? Why did you have Shen cover?" It's his turn to initiate contact. To toe the line, to run his thumb over the skin stretched tight on her knuckle as she grips her mug hard.

"Sometimes, after a long shift when I'm staring at my ceiling fan, I'll open up my voicemail. Then I click on Samira Mohan from January 12th, 2 minutes and 38 seconds. I knock out within a minute, right after you switch from reframing patient satisfaction methods to asking if we can get breakfast again, because those French toast cinnamon rolls looked really good, but you didn't want to pay $25 for a bad meal after losing ten patients in that black ice MCI. And then you apologize for overstepping, and I go to sleep dreaming of how many French toast cinnamon rolls I would buy you before you'd stop me. I think you'd draw the line at seven, but I'd happily lose that bet."

He's been focused on her hand this whole time, watching it tense under the sweeping motions of his thumb. When he finds her face, inevitably drawn as always, her eyes are watery and she's shaking slightly. "Samira, honey. I can go if I've read this wrong and we never have to bring this up again. I'll be okay." She shakes her sternly like she's correcting a biased intern.

"Jack Abbot, don't you dare go." Her hands go to the waistband of his scrubs and she yanks gently until he stands in the cradle of her thighs, one hand sweeping the skin under eye and the other cradling her jaw. "Is this okay?" He murmurs, grinning to himself when she nods again. "I want to kiss you, but I don't want to get you sick." She admits, eyes wide like she's stunned by her own admission.

Jack makes the decision for her.

She opens immediately for him, warm and pliant as he tilts her head up slightly. Samira sighs a little into his mouth and a shudder carves its way into his heart, marking the memory in stone. She tastes like chamomile and sleep and the mint of the toothpaste he saw in her bathroom. Her hands fist his scrubs to pull him closer, and Jack eagerly ignores the strain in his neck. It's starts hot and impatient, months years of yearning spilling into her mouth like honey, golden and sticky. He wills himself to calm down as she chases to catch up, pulling back slightly to give little pecks. Jack catches her bottom lip and pulls it down before releasing, doing it again when Samira whimpers sweetly.

"I can't dehydrate you." He warns as he leaves her lips, kissing her cheek and running his nose along the length of her jaw. "Run me an IV and it won't be a problem." She debates, letting him laugh into the crook of her neck. Jack kisses the smooth brown skin there, smiling when she hisses in shock.

"Let me take care of you." He grips her jaw with two fingers to make his intention clear. Samira tenses, ready to defend like the knight she is, but then suddenly softens in his grip.

"Okay."

"Okay."

Marshmallow meows his agreement from the ground somewhere, and that's that.

[zyart-jpg]

"Where are you now when I need you most?"

Pairing: Wooin Yoo x Reader (18+)

Summary: It took one question for things to falter.

Tags: Slight angst, SMUT, Established RS, Slow-burn, MDNI

A/N: this is the first ever smut I've officially posted. Nothing crazy lol just something sweet (?) because someone asked for it REPEATEDLY in my asks. I can't tag you bcs ur anon but here you go hehe.

A/N2: 18+ BANNER CREDITS TO @cafekitsune

It started with a question.

“Would you ever consider marrying me, Wooin?”

Just seven words. Casual—almost careless. Tossed into the quiet like a pebble across still water.

You hadn’t meant it to carry weight. Just a stray thought, slipping out during a peaceful midnight—both of you curled on the couch, half-watching a show he didn’t care for but sat through anyway because you asked.

But for him, it landed like a stone to the chest.

You saw it—the way his body stiffened, how his gaze faltered like you’d brushed a nerve he’d buried deep. He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the screen like he hadn’t heard you. Like ignoring it would make the moment pass.

Then he scoffed.

Muttered something about how stupid he’d have to be to get tied down, and looked away like you weren’t even worth the question.

And then it all unraveled.

One minute, you were warm under the covers, limbs tangled. The next, you were trading barbed words that cut too deep. Voices raised. Things said you wish you could take back. 

And finally—silence.

It’s been days.

No calls. No texts. Nothing.

Just silence—heavy, unresolved. Sitting in your chest like a bruise. You’re still raw from the argument, still haunted by the question you can’t undo. Still wondering if you should’ve stopped him from leaving, if you should’ve asked him to stay—maybe you shouldn't have asked that damned question in the first place.

You hate fighting with him.

Not because he gets angry—he does. He pushes back when it stings. Knows exactly where to aim when he’s hurt.

But it’s the aftermath that crushes you.

The way he disappears into silence like it’s an armor. No apologies. No attempts. Just time. Just distance. Like waiting it out is enough.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most.

You hate it because he never reaches out first. He can go days without your voice. Without checking if you’re okay. Not because he doesn’t care—he does, you know he does. But he won’t be the one to crack first.

You just wish—for once—he’d need you enough to break the silence.

You hadn’t blocked him. Couldn’t. You still stared at his name in your contacts more often than you’d admit. Still opens your old chat sometimes just to scroll. Still waited for that familiar notification tone you swore you’d stopped hoping for.

The days stretched into weeks, each one quieter than the last. The silence wasn’t just absence—it was torture. Every hour without a word from him gnawed at the edges of your resolve, until desperation finally cracked it wide open.

But you didn’t cave to him.

You caved to the closest thing you could reach him through—Joker.

You didn’t say much. Just a quiet, “Hey. Is he okay?” sent too late at night to be casual.

The reply came fast, but cold.

Bar.

That was it. No follow-up. No comfort.

You weren’t sure what was worse—the silence from Wooin or the one-word scraps you had to beg from someone else.

You told yourself the tears would stop. That you’d get over this. But they still stung beneath the surface, waiting to fall every time you let your mind wander.

Were you still something to him? Or had one fight been enough to erase everything?

You played it over and over. The way your voice cracked. The sharpness in his tone. The door slamming shut behind you. And the fact that neither of you turned back.

By the third week, your apartment felt colder. Emptier. Even when it was spotless. Even with music playing, or shows looping in the background like white noise trying to drown out the ache.

His absence had settled into everything—your sheets, your couch, the air itself. It clung to your skin, heavy and still, like gravity pressing you down.

You stopped keeping track of the days. The nights bled into mornings. Blankets curled around you like armor, still faintly smelling like him. Your body ran on autopilot—barely eating, barely sleeping. Crying came in waves, but even the tears felt exhausted now.

It was grief. 

That’s what it was—grieving someone who was still alive. Still somewhere out there. Just no longer choosing you.

And the worst part?

You didn’t want anyone else—you just wanted him.

Even after everything. Even after the silence.

But maybe—just maybe—the world hadn’t turned completely cruel.

Not yet.

Because just as you’d finally forced yourself to get up, to shower, to piece yourself together for the first time in days and try to step out into the city that didn’t stop moving without him—there it was.

A knock.

Firm. Then again. And again.

You froze by the door, breath caught like a bird in your throat—and suddenly, everything in you dared to hope.

A part of you hoped—prayed—it was him behind the door when you pulled it open. 

You told yourself not to get your hopes up. Told yourself it was probably a neighbor. Maybe a delivery to the wrong unit. Anything but him.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for the way your heart stuttered when your eyes met his.

Wooin stood there—rain clinging to his hair, clothes wrinkled like he hadn’t been sleeping, eyes bloodshot but blazing. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t give you the chance to ask.

Because the moment the door opened, he stepped inside like he couldn’t bear being kept out another second. His hands gripped your waist as he pushed you gently back into the apartment, kicked the door shut behind him, and locked you in his arms as though letting go would kill him.

You didn’t speak—not yet. Neither did he. But his breathing was shallow, chest pressed hard against yours, like he’d been holding in everything for days and now it was all trying to escape at once.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, finally. The words cracked in the middle, thick with emotion. “I was a fucking idiot.”

You didn’t argue. You couldn’t. Your fingers were already clinging to the back of his shirt, nails digging in just to feel that he was real. Here. 

Finally.

“I didn’t mean it,” he went on, his mouth brushing the side of your face, your temple. “What I said. I just—panicked. I’ve never had someone ask me something like that. It scared the hell out of me.”

His hands slid to your cheeks, lifting your face so you’d look at him. So you’d see he meant every word.

“But you… you’re everything I never thought I could have. Everything I don’t want to lose.”

Your lips parted to respond, but he kissed you first—soft, desperate, like he was begging for forgiveness and anchoring himself to you all at once. Like every silent day had led up to this one moment.

The kiss deepened, turned breathless. Heated.

You barely registered when your back hit the wall, or when your shirt slipped halfway down your shoulder. All you felt was him—his heat, his hunger, the way his hands moved with a desperation that bordered on pleading.

This wasn’t just sex.

It was something deeper—something aching.

He wasn’t chasing lust. He was chasing closeness, comfort, the kind of reassurance you can only ask for through touch. Through bare skin and breathless apologies murmured into the curve of your neck, like he was trying to say sorry without breaking the moment.

He didn’t rush it.

He held your face like something sacred, murmured your name like a prayer between kisses.

“I thought if I stayed away, I’d calm down. But I didn’t,” he said against your throat. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I kept waiting for you to call. To scream at me. Just... anything.”

You pulled him in closer, mouth finding his own again. And he kissed you like he was trying to erase every second of that cruel silence, every stupid word exchanged that night.

You didn’t need to ask if he still wanted you.

His hands said it all.

And so did the way he led you to the bedroom—gentle, reverent, like a sailor laying foot on land after years at sea.

You didn’t realize how much you needed him until he was inside you—slow, deep, grounding. Until your back arched off the mattress, his breath ghosting against your lips, his name a tremble caught between your teeth.

“Fuck…” he groaned, low and ragged, his voice cracked open by the weight of everything he hadn’t said. His hips rolled forward, heavy with longing. “I missed this—I missed you. So fucking much…”

Your legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him deeper, and he gave in without hesitation. Skin met skin with a wet, rhythmic slap, the room filling with the raw sounds of need—your broken gasps, his desperate groans, the bed creaking beneath the weight of everything that had gone unsaid for too long.

Every time he drove into you, a moan spilled from your lips—sharp, breathless, uncontrolled.

“Wooin—please,” you whimpered, nails digging into his back, clinging like he was the only thing anchoring you to the earth.

More. You needed more. Of him. Of this. Of everything he took with him when he walked away.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—fuck, I’m so sorry…” he choked out between thrusts, his forehead pressing into yours, voice trembling into your mouth. “I didn’t mean that shit—I just... fuck—God, you feel so good.”

His pace quickened, rhythm stuttering as his need began to overtake his restraint. He grunted every time he bottomed out, breath thick and ragged, fingers digging into your hips like he needed to feel every inch of you against him.

“You’re mine,” he growled, each word punctuated by a thrust. “This—you—fuck, you’re mine.”

Your moans spiraled higher, breath catching as your body trembled beneath him. The headboard knocked faintly against the wall, syncing with the messy, urgent rhythm between your bodies.

“I—I’m yours,” you gasped, eyes fluttering shut, your voice breaking as your body clenched around him. “‘m yours—Wooin, please—”

He groaned, rough and guttural, tightening his grip on your waist. He pushed into you again—rougher now, needier—like he couldn’t stand the idea of anything between you. His mouth hovered over your skin, your name slipping out in cracked, reverent murmurs.

You felt him everywhere—his hands, his weight, his breath, his heat—like gravity, like possession.

“Mine,” he growled again, the word torn from his throat. “Fuck—mine, all of you.”

All you could do was cry out his name, your release pooling in your stomach. Your fingers curled around the nape of his neck, clinging like you might shatter without him. Lips trembling, you choked out broken pleas between gasps, voice breathless and high. 

“I-I’m gonna c-cum—Wooin, p-please—please don’t stop—”

The words barely made it out—more breath than voice—before you yanked him closer, burying your cries in the crook of his neck. Your mouth trembled against his skin, your voice cracking as need and release blurred into something dizzying and raw.

He held you tighter, arms locking around your back like he could feel you falling apart and needed to keep every piece of you intact. His thighs pushed yours apart, driving deeper—closer.

“Yeah?” he panted, voice rough between staggered breaths. His hand slid to cradle the back of your head, keeping you flushed against him. “Gonna cum, pretty girl?” he murmured, lips brushing your temple.

You nodded quickly, gasping as your body gave in—trembling, clenching hard around him like you couldn’t let him go. 

"Go on, baby," he murmured, a breath against your ear—more ghost than voice, a reminder that he was still right there, wrapped around every edge of you. "Come ‘round me."

And when it hit, it wasn’t gentle.

It surged through you like a wave breaking too fast, too hard—knocking the breath clean from your lungs. Your cry got lost in his shoulder, teeth sinking into skin as your body trembled, and you felt him twitch deep inside, the sound he made more instinct than thought.

“M-mhm—y-yeah, like that—love, fuck—took me so well, huh?”

He groaned—low, guttural, like it was being torn straight from his chest—as he drove into you one final time, raw and aching. His hips stuttered, every muscle in his body drawn tight, trembling with the need to let go.

"Fuck—take it," he snarled, voice raw, forehead pressed to yours. "You feel that? That’s all yours, baby."

Then he broke.

Spilling inside you with a shudder, hands gripping so tight it felt like he was trying to anchor himself inside you, as if the world might fall away if he didn’t hold on.

As the high melted into quiet, he cupped your face and kissed you—slow, breathless, like a thank you, like a promise. His lips trembled against yours, still tasting of heat and something aching.

And then came the stillness.

Just heavy breathing and shared warmth, your limbs tangled, your bodies twitching with the aftershocks as you held on.

“…I’m gonna marry you—fuck, I’m gonna marry you.” he murmured, voice hoarse, almost in disbelief. “That’s my answer, love.”

His lips hovered just above yours, breath hot and erratic, still panting like he couldn’t catch it. You barely had a second to process the mess between your thighs, the oversensitivity, the aftershocks—before he shifted, still buried deep, still trembling. 

His hands were everywhere—gripping your thighs, dragging you closer, clutching at your waist like he couldn’t stand an inch of distance.

You yelped, “W-Wait—!” palm braced against his slick chest, trying to catch your breath, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t pause. Didn’t hear.

“No—no, I’m not done,” he gasped, voice unraveling, lips brushing yours as he rambled. 

“I’m gonna marry you, y’hear me? Gonna make you mine—forever, shit—‘m gonna give you everything, even the damn brats you always joked about—just—”

He sat back on his heels and hauled you into his lap, a rough, reverent motion that made you gasp again as your thighs trembled, still sore and soaked. His arms locked tight around you, grounding, caging, desperate.

“Don’t leave me,” he choked out, forehead pressing to yours like a prayer. “Not after this. Not after you let me love you like that—”

He groaned again—broken, undone—as his hips jerked up, instinctive, needy, grinding you down onto him in a slow, ruined rhythm that made your breath hitch and your fingers clutch at his shoulders.

"You got me—every part of me," he breathed, voice thick, trembling against your skin. "No one else—just you. You keep me like this, baby, please—don’t push me away now... I’m yours."

Your mind was spinning, heart a wild, aching thing in your chest. Still trembling, still sensitive—but you reached for him anyway. Kissed him like it hurt to be apart. Not from hunger. Not from need.

But like you were saying yes.

Like you were back home.

[mandaloriankait]

A/N: I'm back with another Joel fic bc we're just gonna pretend he's alive and well. *sobs quietly*

The header was done by the lovely and amazing @nonbinairyboi , I love youuuuu. 💞

Warnings: fluff, smut, unprotected pinv, headaches(is that a trigger? Idfk)

You walked into the bar in Jackson that morning, praying that someone both had and knew how to make coffee. You had only been there a couple of weeks, but getting back to civilization had taken some getting used to. Your morning headaches- which used to be cured by coffee before the world ended- were a near constant nuisance. Today, you were hoping to change that. You strode up to the bar and looked at Seth pleadingly. “Please tell me you have coffee back there.”, you said softly. He looked at you, eyes flitting to something behind you, and then he shrugged and said, “Your funeral.” 

Seth reached under the counter and pulled out a mug and a coffee pot, pouring the steaming hot liquid efficiently. You almost squealed in delight, but stopped yourself at the last second, taking the offered mug with a quiet thank you. You turned, looking around for a quiet table; finding one in the corner, you walked over and sat down. You stared at the dark brown liquid in the mug, a small grin gracing your face. Right as you were about to take a sip, someone slid into the chair across from you. You looked up, startled by the sudden appearance; it was Joel Miller. Everyone in town knew Joel, what with him being Tommy's brother and all. Still, you had never spoken to him, until now, apparently. You arched an eyebrow at him over the steaming mug. He glanced down at it before lifting his eyes back up to yours. 

“First cup is free, but after that it's gonna cost ya.”, he rumbled, staring at you intensely. You laughed a little, quickly stopping once you realized he was serious. “What, is all the coffee in town yours or something?”, you asked, finally taking a sip. You closed your eyes, biting back a moan as your head tilted back, savoring the taste. Unbeknownst to you, Joel was watching as you did this, swallowing hard as you tilted your head back, exposing the expanse of your neck. When your gaze refocused on him, he averted his eyes and hardened his gaze. “I'm the one that goes traipsin’ around for the beans, so yeah, you could say that.”, he responded, almost growling with how low his voice was. 

You scoffed, taking another sip slowly. “Ok, that's weird, but fine. What's it gonna run me? Because I don't think you understand just how much I need coffee, now that I know it's here.” Joel blinked; the threat of having to pay something was always enough to scare people off of his coffee, so he'd never had to come up with something. You stared back at him across the table, unblinking in your resolve. Smirking softly, you giggled and took another sip of your coffee. “You don't actually know what you want in return, do you?”, you asked, smirk widening. Finally, he shook his head, defeated. “Well, figure it out and let me know, Miller. Because I'm drinking this coffee, and I wouldn't want to owe you anything.” Without a word, he got up and left the bar, his own mug of coffee left behind on a separate table. You grinned into your mug, happy to have gone toe to toe with him and beaten him; it didn't look like that happened often. 

The next day you trudged into the bar, Seth immediately started pouring you a mug of coffee. “Bad night?”, he asked, looking you over as he handed the mug to you. You nodded, suppressing a yawn and waving your thanks to him before moving to the same table as before. You sat down and pressed the heel of your palm into your forehead, hoping it would dull the ache. You hadn't slept at all last night, and now you were dead tired; hopefully the coffee would help you make it through the day. You winced as the chair across from you scraped the floor before Joel sat down, this time with his own mug. You knew he was staring at you, but you didn't bother looking up as you massaged your head with your fingers. Finally, after a few minutes, you peered at him blearily. “What can I do for you?”, you asked softly, trying to keep an even tone. In truth, the thought of him sitting across from you for the second day in a row excited you. If only your pounding head would cooperate. 

Joel looked at you, his gaze softening slightly as he took in your hunched shoulders and pained facial expression. “You alright there darlin’?”, he asked, keeping his voice low and calm. You nodded quickly, then winced as your head pounded more at the movement. You brought the mug to your lips, downing half of it before Joel could blink. Placing your head back in your hands, you peeked at him through one eye. “You didn't answer my question.”, you accused, half a smirk pulling at your mouth. Huffing out a laugh, he glanced down at the table, then back at you. “I'll take some information in exchange for the coffee.”, he said, leaning forward in his chair. You lifted your head, squinting at him in the sunlight piercing through the windows. “Information? What kind of information?”, you asked, confusion passing over your face. “About you, for starters. What's with the coffee obsession sweetheart?”, he arched a brow at his words, his stare intense. 

With a sigh, you drained the rest of your coffee, set the mug down, and spoke. “I have these horrible headaches, and it used to be that coffee was the only thing that helped them, back before the world went to shit. So I wanted to try it again, hoping it would help.” “Well now you're just makin’ me feel bad for hasslin’ you.”, Joel smirked into his mug as you giggled softly. It was a sound he wanted to hear you make again and again. After a few more questions, you stood up. “Same time tomorrow, Miller?”, you asked with a smile. “Only if you call me Joel, darlin’.”, he responded. You nodded once, tossing him a smile and a wave as you headed out the door. 

It became a routine of sorts for you both. He was one of the first people you spoke to each morning, and you were one of the only people he spoke to all day. Then, one day, you didn't show up; he was sitting at your usual table with two mugs of coffee for at least an hour before giving up, draining them both quickly and leaving the bar. Joel made his way towards your house on the outskirts of the town, a house he had helped build himself. He paused at the door, hand raised, wondering what the hell he was even doing there. Your door suddenly opened and you came scrambling out, running smack into his broad frame. His hands shot out and grabbed you quickly, keeping you from falling off the porch. “Joel? What are you doing here?”, you asked, peering up at him, hands on his chest to steady yourself. “Darlin’, don't take this the wrong way, but you look awful.”, he murmured, his hands still on your waist. You sagged into him, pressing your head to his chest. “My head is killing me, worse than normal.”, you whined softly. Joel's gaze softened; he carefully pushed you back into your house, shutting the door behind him. You looked up at him, confusion evident on your face. “You need to get back in bed and sleep this off.”, he said, pushing you in the direction of your bedroom's open door. “Joel, I'll be fine, I just need some coffee.”, you murmured, standing your ground, “Besides, I can't sleep anyways.” 

Joel looked at you before striding into your bedroom himself, you trailing along behind him in a daze. He toed his shoes off before sliding into the bed, patting the space beside him. “C'mere sweetheart, you need your rest.”, he drawled quietly. Still in a daze, you managed to crawl under the covers next to him, laying there stiffly. Huffing out a laugh and rolling his eyes, he pulled you into him until your head was resting on his chest, his arm around your shoulders. With a sigh, you snuggled further into him, feeling his body heat leech into your tired body as you did. Soon, you were asleep, and Joel was left there, wide awake. He looked down at you, gently brushing a piece of hair out of your face before sliding further down into the bed in an attempt to get comfortable. 

When you woke up hours later, the sun was high in the sky. You tried to move, to get up, but soon realized you were pinned. Joel's arm was around your waist, holding onto you tightly; his head was buried in your neck and he was snoring softly. You smirked, wishing you had your phone so you could document this: big bad Joel Miller snuggled into you. Your smile faded as you thought about what it meant, why he had come inside, why he wanted to help you sleep. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't realize he was awake until you heard his voice. “What's goin’ on in that pretty head of yours?”, he rumbled, pulling his head out of your neck and back onto your pillow. You turned to look at him, his arm never leaving your waist, only loosening to allow you to move. “Why….why did you do this?”, you asked softly, placing a gentle hand on his chest. He shrugged, looking at you with a soft gaze that you hadn't seen before. “Y'needed some rest, figured this might be the best way to get it. Sometimes it helps when there's another person in bed. How's the headache?” 

You realized with a start that your head felt much better, the sharp pain having dulled to a barely there ache. You told him as much and he grinned smugly. You hit him in the chest softly, and then nearly launched off the mattress as he began to tickle your sides mercilessly. Somehow, you wound up underneath him as you begged him to stop; finally, he did, your laughter slowly fading as you realized the position you were in. Him on top of you, your legs splayed around his bulk, your arms around his neck. “Am I readin’ this wrong sweetheart?”, he murmured, gaze flickering down to your lips and then back up. Taking a deep breath, you shook your head; he immediately closed the distance between you and kissed you gently, softly. 

You kissed him back slowly, arms around his neck bringing him closer to you. His tongue pressed at the seam of your lips and you gasped, allowing him access. Slowly, the kiss turned heated, all tongues and teeth as you poured everything you had into it. Breaking the kiss, he pressed his forehead to yours, both of you breathing heavily. Looking up at him, you giggled, him giving you a soft grin in return. You brought him back down for another kiss, and this time he pressed kisses to your jawline and your neck, sucking lightly. You whimpered, tangling a hand in his hair as his knee slid in between your thighs, pressing up against your core. His name escaped you in a whine as your hips bucked, pressing up against him, desperate for more friction. Joel smirked into your skin, biting down on your neck before soothing the bite with his tongue. You rocked your hips up against his and he groaned against you. “Fuck, baby, stop.”, he gritted out, pulling himself away from you. 

You looked up at him in confusion, fear flickering across your features. He noticed and immediately his gaze softened. “Darlin’, I want this. I want you, but I wanna take you out on a proper date first.”, he said, taking your hands in his large one. You sat up, a soft smile on your face. “Alright Miller, take me out then. Let's see what you've got.” He smirked at you, pulling you in for a chaste kiss before leaving your bed. “Tonight? I'll pick you up later.”, he returned, smiling as you confirmed. He pulled his boots back on before looking at you. “You sure you're alright?”, he asked. You nodded, leaning back against your headboard and stretching. Joel swallowed, looking away from you quickly as your shirt rode up, exposing the expanse of your stomach. With a wave, he turned and left your room, then your house, locking the door behind him.

You stood in front of your small closet, looking at your clothes. You didn't have much in the way of datewear, so one of your sundresses would have to do. You pulled out a deep blue one covered in flowers, pulling it on quickly and looking at yourself in the mirror. You smiled, turning this way and that to see how it hugged your curves perfectly. You heard a knock at the door and rushed out of your room in time for the door to swing open. Joel stood in the doorway, green flannel buttonup and blue jeans on. His eyes widened as he took you in, and he groaned low in his throat. “Fuck, darlin’, you look incredible.”, he murmured, coming closer to you and taking your hand in his. Your skin darkened at his words, glancing down at your feet shyly. He lifted your chin with two fingers, tilting your head up to look at him. He kissed you gently, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to keep him close. He hummed against your lips, breaking the kiss and pressing his lips to your cheek. “Alright, let's go.”

Dinner at the Tipsy Bison was uneventful; if anything, it felt like a natural extension of what the pair of you had already been doing in the mornings. You talked and laughed, trading glances at each other all night. Finally, Joel couldn't take it anymore. “You wanna get out of here sweetheart?”, he asked lowly, already signalling for the bill. You nodded, eyes sparkling in the low light. As you walked back to your house, he pulled you into his side, wrapping an arm around your waist. You leaned against him as you walked, a smile on your face. “You wanna come in? I have whiskey.”, you asked as you arrived at your house. 

Whiskey was the last thing on Joel's mind; as soon as your door shut, he had you pressed against it, mouth on yours. You gasped in surprise, and his tongue slid into your mouth, gently massaging yours. You moaned into his mouth as his hands slid down to your waist, one sliding further to grip your ass. He pulled away from you and trailed kisses across your jawline and down your neck, causing you to whimper and tangle a hand in his curls. “Joel, please.”, you murmured, tugging him back up to your lips. “Bedroom, now.”, he groaned against you, grabbing your hand and pulling you after him. You giggled at his urgency but let out a yelp when he twirled you around, pushing you onto the bed gently. You laid there, staring up at him through your lashes as he started stripping his shirt off. Once he was done, he came closer, pushing your thighs apart, your dress rucking up around your waist. 

Joel groaned at the sight of the wet spot on your panties, running his index finger up and down your clothed slit. You whined, head falling back onto the bed with a thump. He eased your panties down your legs slowly, pressing kisses to your skin as he did so. He started pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses back up your legs, stopping to suck bruises into your inner thighs until you were writhing against him. “Joel, please, I need you.”, you whimpered, tugging at his arm. He smirked against your sensitive skin, laving his tongue over where it was darkening. Finally, finally, he reached your dripping pussy, breathing you in slowly before diving in. He licked a long stripe up your slit before tonguing at your entrance, and you keened, your back arching off the bed at the sensation. His nose nudged at your clit as he thrust his tongue into you, causing you to gasp out his name breathlessly, hand curling into his hair, the other grasping his forearm across your belly. 

You were grinding your hips as best you could against his face, chasing his mouth on you. When he pulled your clit into his mouth and sucked hard, you were done for, cumming against his mouth with a high pitched whine of his name. Soon, it became too much and you pushed at him, forcing him off you. You looked down at him, his mouth covered in your slick, as he crawled up your body. Joel pressed his mouth to yours, tongue sliding in, allowing you to taste yourself. You groaned into his mouth at the taste of both of you, grinning into the kiss. You broke the kiss, both of you panting heavily as he started grinding his hips against yours. You whimpered his name, hands reaching down between you to thumb at the button of his jeans. “These need to come off, now. Please.”, you ordered. Joel nodded, lifting himself off you to fully strip. You sat up, pulling your dress off and unhooking your bra, throwing both to the floor. By the time he was done, you were completely bare; he groaned, drinking in the sight of you. “Goddamn darlin’, you're a fuckin’ vision.” He said, climbing back onto the bed and over your body. 

You laid back as he began pressing kisses to your chest, stopping to suck first one, then your other nipple into his mouth, nibbling on them lightly. You arched your back, pressing him further against your chest. By the time he was done, your body felt like a live wire, tight and electric. Joel grasped his cock, running it through your folds a few times, gathering your slick. You whimpered, bucking your hips, trying to force him inside. Finally, he pushed in; the stretch was heavenly. Your jaw slackened as he bottomed out, face buried in your neck as he groaned. Then, he started to move. Slow at first, allowing you to get used to his size. Then, he carefully picked up the pace until he was pounding into you, muttering absolute filth into your ear. You cried out when he hit the spongy spot inside you, hands scrabbling at his shoulders. “Fuck, such a good girl, takin’ me so damn well.”, he muttered, sucking your earlobe into his mouth, teeth worrying it gently. 

“C'mon darlin’, I can feel you gettin' close. Cum all over my cock for me like a good girl.”, he murmured into your ear, hips beginning to stutter. He reached between you and started rubbing your clit in fast, tight circles, and that was it. Your vision whitened as you came, gushing all over his cock. He followed you over the edge as you clenched around him, biting down on your shoulder lightly. He stilled inside you, both of you panting heavily. Joel kissed you softly, your lips moving together gently. “Thank god for coffee, right?”, you murmured, pressing your forehead to his. He laughed, pressing another kiss to your lips. “Thank god for coffee.”, he agreed.

[emberphoenixisgoingtolive]

i'd love to see ur takes on dinostar and yasammy the way u did ur benji post 🥹..... all ur headcanons n posts are amazing fr

HERE YA GOOO (dinostar hcs here)

domestic: fluff ahead

getting together:

Sammy fell first (some time around season 4 of camp cretaceous) Yaz fell harder

the first year or two is such a joyous and yuriful experience. this is both their first real relationships and they are so excited. they go out holding hands all the time. they look up cute nicknames to use

Yaz talks to her mum about everything (they’re basically besties) and especially during the first year she’s always excitedly telling her mum about Sammy and how amazing she is. Yaz’s mum is so proud of her daughter and her daughter’s gf

Sammy is more private about her relationship but her family have always mostly been welcoming of Yaz (up until the dinosaurs got to the mainland and then all sorts of stuff happens)

they never really Broke Up, they just agreed they needed time to sort out their issues and resolve their hurt separately, and with everything going on, they don’t have time for a relationship

once they get back to the states post chaos theory, a few days after getting settled, they sit and have a long conversation about what happened. it was just them on the back porch under the moonlight, talking about their feelings and resolving to work on themselves and each other. Sammy promises not to treat Yaz like she’s fragile, and Yaz promises to communicate better and not distance herself so much. in a way, it’s almost like wedding vows. almost.

they agree to go to couples’ therapy, and it actually really helps them get better at communicating and talking stuff through and understanding how the other feels

they get engaged after living together on the ranch and dating for two years. they wanted to wait before marriage so they could be 100% sure they want to get married

when they get engaged, the first people they tell are Yaz’s mum, and the camp fam. they tell them over video call. the screaming is so loud the computer cannot cope and just has ten seconds of this horrible screechy static sound

the camp fam are all so happy for them, of course, but Brooklynn is especially thankful they’re so happy together because she would not have been able to forgive herself if she was part of the reason Sammy and Yaz didn’t get back together

general/miscellaneous headcanons:

being together is amazing, and soothing, and reassuring, and exciting. they get to live with their lover and best friend and partner in everything, and they’re still so thrilled by that after all these years. they have someone to lean on when they need it

their natural landscape is the countryside (Benji is the mountains and Dinostar is the city/beach)

Sammy is the sun, Yaz is the moon

they’re lesbian/bi. i can’t see Sammy liking men at all lmao

Sammy’s phone background is Yaz riding a horse on their ranch (when they have kids she changes it to a picture of Yaz, Sammy and their daughters sitting on the front porch of their ranch, which Brooklynn took when she and Darius came over)

Yaz’s phone background is Sammy on one of their sunset walks that Yaz took when Sammy wasn’t looking and she’s gently smiling (she changes it to the same photo Sammy has when they have kids)

Sammy’s name in Yaz’s phone is my love🖤🩷 (black heart because it’s her favourite colour and Sammy is her favourite person and pink is Sammy’s favourite colour)

Yaz’s name in Sammy’s phone is mi amor 🌺🐻⭐😘💘💐

their house is the spot everyone goes to for Thanksgiving/the autumn get together (they don’t celebrate thanksgiving they just like the excuse to get together and eat food and hang out) (Benji’s house is for Christmas, and Dinostar’s house is for their annual two week vacation in summer)

Yaz and Sammy love halloween, but the costume part of it where they pick a different fictional couple to dress up as and hand out candy to the neighbourhood kids

Ben is their wingman. he is rooting for them 100%. the only person more sad about their ‘breakup’ than Yaz and Sammy was Ben himself. probably second place joint wingmen are Kenji and Brooklynn

dating/intimacy headcanons:

Sammy’s love language is physical touch, words of affirmation, and actually all of them probably. she just loves her girl so much

Yaz’s love language is all of them to an extent but mostly acts of service. when she notices Sammy is even a bit tired she will do everything for her. once Sammy came in from a really long day of work and Yaz had done all the chores and even made dinner. Sammy cried with relief and also fell in love even harder

Yaz is also really defensive of Sammy. once someone made a homophobic comment in passing and Yaz stopped everything she was doing to tell them off and to get the fuck away from her girlfriend and that she will fistfight them if they bother Sammy again

Sammy makes flower crowns for Yaz from the wildflowers that grow on the ranch

Yaz sneak attack hugs Sammy from behind sometimes. no reason at all, just makes Sammy blush

Yaz is more used to the cold, so whenever Yaz and Sammy visit Yaz’s mother in Oregon, and Sammy gets cold, Yaz is taking off her jacket and giving it to Sammy no questions asked. even if it’s snowing

Sammy has fat rolls and Yaz loves to kiss them

Sammy also doesn’t shave often, and Yaz finds her body hair gorgeous actually

Yaz loves Sammy’s curves and muscles. in Yaz’s head, Sammy is the most gorgeous woman on the planet and Yaz regularly tells her so

Yaz is also obsessed with Sammy’s hair. Sammy grows her hair out after chaos theory and Yaz braids it everyday to keep it from getting tangled from all the farm work. she loves to comb her fingers through it when they’re cuddling, and grips it when they make out or have sex

Sammy looooves messing with Yaz’s hair. they’ll be kissing only for Yaz to find Sammy’s secretly undone her hair. Sammy puts little braids in flyaway strands while they’re cuddling. she’ll be sitting next to Yaz and curls a strand with her finger. Sammy also braids Yaz’s hair

they’re dating, but they’re also best friends. when they start sharing a bed on Sammy’s ranch and stuff, it’s so exciting and fun for them. the first time they do, they literally have a whole sleepover and do each others’ nails and stay up pretty late whispering secrets and stuff to each other (*in a blanket fort facing opposite each other under the same blanket* “Yaz... i have a crush on you 🤭” “i have a crush on you too!!” *both giggle*)

they adore going to the farmers’ market together. they get to hold hands and buy cool stuff, and at the end, they lay out everything they got on the kitchen table and send a picture to the camp fam because they love the farmers’ market

they’re lovers but they’re also partners in almost everything they do. they work so well as a team. if one of them is struggling with something, they text the other and they’ll be there as soon as humanly possible. together they can do anything

they split ranch responsibilities between them. Samm was nervous at first because she thought Yaz wouldn’t be as enthusiastic about the ranch life as Sammy, but Yaz actually loves it. she enjoys the physical work, caring for animals, parallel play, and of course, spending time with Sammy

Sammy deals with the larger animals like the cows, sheep, goats, and horses, and Yaz is mostly in charge of the chickens, ducks, geese, and most of the stuff they grow

they love running around with the fireflies together. the fireflies come out and they’re dashing through the grass, holding hands and laughing and shouting with happiness. then they lie on the grass, and watch the fireflies and the stars and usually end up making out

Sammy sings all the time. when she’s working on the ranch chores, when she’s cooking, when she’s working. Yaz gets so used to it, that when she isn’t singing for whatever reason, Yaz really misses the sound and the ranch sounds too quiet without her

they are extremely silly with each other sometimes. we forget they dressed up in avocado costumes for halloween once i think this is all but canon

Sammy has a punching bag tied to a tree in the ranch that she sometimes goes to absolute town on. when she’s not in a seriously bad mood she lets Yaz watch her

Sammy is an absolute expert at calming down Yaz’s nightmares. it’s second nature to her. she knows exactly what she needs to do. she hums lullabies into Yaz’s hair and strokes her cheek and kisses her forehead. she knows it all

Yaz also gets better at calming down Sammy after a nightmare since there’s a period of time where Sammy’s nightmares are worse than Yaz’s, and Yaz is up a lot calming down Sammy (which she’s completely okay with). Sammy needs to be cared for but especially after a nightmare. Yaz will hold her, soothe her, even sing to her. if it’s really bad they’ll get out of bed and sit in the barn with Bessie, and Yaz will wrap Sammy in a blanket

original nicknames post here — Yaz tries to find Spanish nicknames for Sammy but they get lost in translation and Sammy gets nicknamed apple tree or smth (Sammy adores it)

throneofrayllum headcanon that Yaz calls Sammy sweetheart and i LOVE that (despite me having trauma around that nickname lol)

Sammy gives Yaz new nicknames every other week. she cycles through them. she goes onto google to find new ones. half of her nicknames are inside jokes. Yaz got stuck with ‘scorcher’ for two (2) weeks. (“scorcher, eh... because i’m so hot?” “actually because you burnt our dinner yesterday. but yes, darlin’, you’re gorgeous”)

sick caretaking headcanons post here

wedding headcanons:

yasammy wedding headcanons in this post

Brooklynn and Ben help Sammy get ready

Darius and Kenji help Yaz get ready (they’re siblings guys... they’re siblings...)

Yaz and Sammy are both not in touch with their fathers, and they don’t have brothers either, and Yaz and Kenji are siblings but so are Yaz and Ben, but so are Sammy and Kenji, so Kenji and Ben (both best men) argued over who would get to walk them down the aisle, and they decide to all walk arm in arm

when they got to the front, they all hug with Brooklynn (the bridesmaid) and Darius (the other best man)

i feel the need to emphasise their honeymoon on a Greek island because they love mamma mia, it’s canon guys trust me

they’d probably bounce around a few Greek islands, one of them being Lesbos. they bring back some really cool poetry books of Sappho’s works, and some artwork too. they felt sooo safe there; they love it

daily life headcanons:

after chaos theory, the camp fam live together for about a year on Sammy’s ranch and get into all sorts of goofy sitcom plots (while also having therapy) while simultaneously enjoying the most lovely cottagecore vibes

Ben and Kenji move to New Mexico (yeah i know i had them in California in my previous post, i changed my mind) and Darius and Brooklynn move to Dallas, and Yaz and Sammy, as the group parents, find themselves really missing them, so they carry on their tradition of a weekly video call to catch up

Sammy doesn’t really like to raise animals to sell for meat, so she keeps animals for stuff like milk and eggs (her and Yaz sell them at the farmer’s market). mostly cows, a few sheep, a mama goat and her baby, geese, ducks, and lots of chickens.

her and Yaz also own a riding school with horses. they love riding horses together, it’s so much fun

their school is specifically disability accessible, so most of their students are neurodivergent and/or disabled. they also have quite a few people from toxic households who come, and they make sure to allow them to spend time at the school as much as possible, asking them to stay behind to help muck out the horses and put away the equipment. eventually they become part time hires. the school is such a safe space. this is especially important to Sammy because she knows what it’s like to be estranged from your family and need somewhere stable to rely on (for her, it was Yaz and Nadia)

they’re aunt and auntie to their students

Sammy has such a soft spot for stray animals. they have several dogs and cats that Sammy just found abandoned somewhere. eventually Yaz has to put her foot down because they do Not have room to keep all these animals and there is an animal shelter an hour away that can take them and will look after them. they do however give one of the dogs to Ben and Kenji since they really want one

Yaz especially gets really into gardening, and they start selling other produce like berries, peppers, tomatoes, etc etc

Sammy’s ranch has one floor, which is very convenient for Yaz because her ankle does not do well on stairs

when Yaz properly moved in, Sammy made sure the house was super accessible with grab rails and a shower chair without Yaz even asking. Yaz is so touched by the gesture she almost starts crying

Sammy also builds a bunch of benches around the ranch because Yaz needs to sit down more (and she is so thankful Sammy did that, but also, Sammy built them herself and Yaz got to enjoy watching Sammy in a crop top chopping and sawing wood, nailing it together, etc)

Yaz is an early bird, so she always takes a walk around the ranch by herself. it helps her clear her head and think about what she needs to do in the day

then they eat breakfast together outdoors on the back porch sofa every day (unless the weather does not permit it)

they usually get most of the ranch chores done before lunch (together they work fast) and work at the riding school in the afternoon (it’s only open in the afternoon)

lunchtime is usually something quick, or leftovers from a tupperware, since Sammy is very big on not wasting food

Yaz got into the habit of meal prepping when she was at university so she’ll usually make lots of portions of stuff to freeze and defrosts them for lunches

Yaz gets pretty exhausted in heavy heat, so Sammy and Yaz have an hour nap/lie down together every afternoon in the hottest part of the day in summer with the air con on full blast

Yaz also mostly works indoors and deals with the paperwork for the riding school; Sammy does most of the teaching in the really hot months

once they’ve finished their lessons it’s around 6pm and they go for a ride just the two of them around the fields

then they go home and cook dinner together

Yaz works out in the evening; she can’t run anymore because of her ankle but she has lots of exercises she can do, and she has extremely strong arms and abs. she also gets into weightlifting and Sammy hangs around to enjoy the view keep her company

mentioned in another post, but Yaz usually falls asleep after Sammy, so the last thing Yaz gets to do every day is fall asleep in her girlfriend’s arms and it makes her so so happy

Yaz and Sammy both love the rain and there isn’t much rain in Texas, so when there is rain, they are out there running around and laughing and dancing (singing in the rain plays). then they go back inside and dry off and have a cup of hot chocolate

they usually go to visit Yaz’s mother in Oregon in the winter for a week or two, hoping to see the snow. Sammy loves snow. the wonder on her face at the snow falling will never fail to make Yaz melt

Yaz really enjoys baking bread. kneading it is soothing and repetitive, and it helps to ground her if her anxiety is particularly bad that day (but she enjoys it even if there isn’t). there is always a fresh loaf in their house.

they live near a food festival that’s active in the spring/summertime, and it has live music and a performance stage, and Sammy plays up there every so often. seeing her girl so happy up there, performing her heart out in sparkly clothes (and her iconic sparkly cowboy boots) is enthralling

having kids headcanons (i’m so sorry i don’t have more of these for Yaz and Sammy):

GIRL MOMS!!!!

Yaz really wants to carry but she has endometriosis so she can’t (which breaks her heart but she’s glad Sammy can carry)

Sammy assures Yaz that it’s okay, and that she’s really excited to be pregnant

Yaz is on top of the pregnancy stuff. she and Sammy organised the ivf, but once Sammy is actually pregnant, Yaz is taking very good care of her girl. she buys all the prenatal vitamins, books parenting classes, and does very thorough research, especially on their first baby, everything they need to know about caring for a baby

Sammy feels really bad sending Yaz out to get her pregnancy cravings but Yaz is down to do it. Sammy wants the nice jam that is only sold from one vendor only on a sunday morning? she’s GETTING the nice jam

Sammy ends up going into labour when her and Yaz are out on a walk in the ranch. Yaz is scared, but she holds herself together until she can get Sammy indoors

however, a few hours after Sammy goes into labour, there’s a bad wind storm and it’s too dangerous for them to drive to the hospital, so they’re stuck inside their ranch

really panicked, Yaz video calls the camp fam, her mum, and mrs Bowman (who is a nurse but is also trained in being a midwife) and they all keep them calm and give advice and direct her on how to give birth

their daughter is born safely and perfectly healthy, thank goodness

they decide they want another baby two years after the first, and this time when Sammy goes into labour, they’re able to get to a hospital, thank goodness

they swear the weather their babies were born to has influence on their personalities, because their firstborn girl has the personality of wild wind, but their second born girl has the personality of a warm spring day

Sammy is mama, Yaz is mom/mommy

they’re raising their kids bilingual; they speak english with Yaz and Spanish with Sammy

since Yaz didn’t really have a normal childhood she’s all the more keen to make sure her kids have a normal childhood experience with lots of fun things happening for their kids. she’s the one planning most of the day trips to theme parks, museums, aquariums, etc etc

they’re very keen to teach their kids to have responsibilities, especially around the ranch. the kids love helping out (sometimes) (sometimes it’s exhausting but they usually still do it)

Sammy never got an official quinceanera when she turned fifteen (she was on nublar) so she makes sure her girls get the most amazing one when they both turn fifteen. everyone is invited. it’s a huge deal. they have a massive party in the barn and dancing under the fireflies

[odyssean-flower]

Title: Flower Crowns

Summary: You attempt to make flower crowns for the Melusines but are getting nowhere until you receive help from an unexpected source.

I wanted to include something like this in the next chapter of the winding path of fate, but it broke up the flow so i turned it into a short story

This takes place some time before their honeymoon

“…What am I doing wrong?” you groaned, letting the half-formed flower crown drop to the veranda table. The daisies scattered and you leaned back in your chair in frustration.

Right now, you were attempting to teach yourself how to make flower crowns. You were hoping to surprise the Melusines on your next outing, but that plan seemed to be in jeopardy.

You’d think making flower crowns would be second nature to a girl from the countryside.

Unfortunately, as a child, you far preferred subjecting flowers to your flower press. Something you were sorely tempted to do right now. Anything beyond simple sewing and embroidery seemed to be your weakness.

You glared down at the book you borrowed from the library. You swore that you followed all the instructions to the letter, and yet every attempt ended in failure.

You heard the veranda door slide open, but didn’t look up. You were going to sear the images into your mind until you could see them on the back of your eyelids.

“Madame, there you are.”

Your head shot up in surprise. Neuvillette was standing at the door, looking concerned. You looked up at the sky. How long had you been outside?

“I’m sorry, Neuvillette. I forgot to welcome you home because I was…” You indicated the table.

“What are you doing?” Neuvillette surveyed the remnants of your latest failure.

You told him about your plan and the setbacks you had suffered. Somehow, it ended up becoming a rant.

“I think I’m going to have to give up on it,” you said finally. “I have no skill for this kind of handicraft—huh!?”

When you looked over at Neuvillette, he was holding a perfect crown of daisies between his fingers.

“You…you know how to make flower crowns?” you pointed at the crown in shock and not a little resentment.

“Yes.”

“But…when? How?” You were perfectly aware of how rude you were being right now, but your manners had been thoroughly corroded by hours of frustration.

“The Melusines wanted to wear flower crowns, but they lacked the appendages for such delicate work. So, I took it upon myself to learn how to make them,” Neuvillette didn’t seem offended by your tone.

“I see.” That sounded just like him. You smiled a little as you imagined him sitting in a flower field with the Melusines around him, making flower crowns for each of them. What a harmonious scene.

“I can teach you, if you like. I do not know if I would be a good teacher, but I will do my utmost,” Neuvillette said as he carefully put the flower crown down.

“You’re willing to teach me? I fear you’ll be wasting your efforts on me, though,” you grimaced.

“I doubt it. I have full faith that you will learn. Perhaps you would even surpass me,” he smiled at you. You felt the pressure weigh on your shoulders like a stone, but resolved to live up to his expectations.

For the next hour or so, Neuvillette patiently walked you through the steps. He never showed frustration or got irritated at your repeated mistakes. He simply repeated his actions slowly and gave clear explanations. There was an entrancing quality about his voice and presence—the irritation you felt at yourself didn’t well up as quickly as it did before.

Sometimes, he would place his fingers over yours to guide you through a particularly hard knot. His fingers are very long, you thought idly as you stared at them. He’d make a good piano player.

“I…I did it! I finally made a flower crown!” you exclaimed as you held up the crown of violets. It was a little misshapen, but it didn’t seem in danger of falling apart. “Thank you, Neuvillette! I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I did very little. It was all due to your perseverance, Madame,” Neuvillette looked pleased and a little proud.

“No need to be so modest. You’re an excellent teacher,” you beamed at him, then turned back to the table. You felt the urge to make another one.

As you focused on weaving a crown of buttercups, out of the corner of his eye, you noticed Neuvillette also making his own. He worked with deft fingers, a far cry from your own clumsy progress.

To think, if I never met him all those months ago, I wouldn’t be here making flower crowns with him right now.

It struck you that if it weren’t for the many little things that happened since then, the two of you would never end up in this place, here and now.

Neuvillette finished before you did. “Here, Madame,” he stood up with his creation—a crown of delicate Rainbow Roses. “For you. As a gesture of my gratitude for befriending and looking after the Melusines.”

“Oh…” the word came out more breathlessly than you meant it. He carefully laid the crown on your head. His fingers brushed against your temples. “Thank you, it’s beautiful. But you don’t need to thank me for something like that.”

“On the contrary, I believe I should. You work hard to make them happy. In my opinion, hard work should always receive the proper recompense. Though, if you are not satisfied with this—"

“No, I don’t need anything more. It’s perfect,” You felt a warm, fluttering feeling in your heart. “Then, I hope you’ll accept this token of my gratitude, as thanks for teaching me.”

You held out the crown of violets—it matched his eyes better. Neuvillette stared at it for a few moments, then, seemingly realizing what you wanted to do, bent down slightly so you could place the crown on his head. It fit well, to your relief, but you had to put it over those blue things on his head, so it looked rather odd on him.

Neuvillette stood up again once you finished. He stroked the petals of his crown slightly, a look of marvel on his face.

“It’s not the best. I promise I’ll make you a much better one later,” you said awkwardly. From this angle, you could see all the imperfections in the crown. “Until then, you have the dubious honor of owning the first flower crown I’ve ever made.”

“No, I love it,” Neuvillette said, shaking his head. A small smile bloomed across his lips. “It is indeed a great honor.”

A short time later, Marie called you two in for dinner. You gave her the crown of buttercups, which delighted her. “Buttercups are my favorite flower,” she said, looking between the two of you with a knowing smile that made your cheeks heat with embarrassment.

For some weeks after that, the two bedside tables on the opposite ends of the house smelled of Rainbow Roses and violets, respectively.

[sunaria-bees]

Adding more to these because deltarune 3+4

SPOILERS AHEAD DONT FUCKING READ IF YOU DONT WANNA SEE THEM

More ut ones

Frisk is like 9 years old, which none of the characters learn until they leave the underground

Sans is a trans man

ALPHYS IS BISEXUAL IM CHANGING THAT BECAUSE SHE DOES LIKE BOTH UNDYNE AND ASGORE AT SOME POINT BUT SHE DOES GET WITH UNDYNE

Chara is still spiritually with frisk, their soul is bound to the heart locket

Not every monster left the underground, a lot of them stayed, and it eventually became known to humans as an actual country? State? Whatever the hell

Nicepants is canon because FUCK YOU

Okay deltarune time

Nicepants is canon because FUCK YOU X2

Dess and asriel kissed once and then immediately became grossed out by kissing someone of the same gender (mlm and wlw solidarity check)

Susie's tail is like the size of a banana so you can't see it it's there guys I swear trust me you gotta believe me you gotta you g

Darkners can squash and stretch cartoonishly if need be, considering they're #NotReal

Ralsei cried during that fight with Susie in chapter 4

Tenna and spamton are also exes spamton is collecting them like trading cards

the person who currently has Tenna is mettaton (or happstablook considering they're a ghost rn)

The dog that randomly appears sometimes isn't even a darkner, it's just some dog that gained omnipotence after stumbling into the dark world

BOTH TIME BECAUSE THESE ONES CARRY OVER BOTH CANONS

Dark worlds technically exist in undertale, we just don't see them because they never really appear

The war happened in deltarune however it was many years before deltarune takes place, and instead of monsters being sealed, it was resolved peacefully

Magic has supposedly gone long extinct by the time of deltarune, however something in the dark world awakens it for any lightner who comes into one

Kris's biological parents are long gone, leaving them in the trash and litterally moving to another continent to start over (they SUCK)

okay that's all bye bye

Undertale/deltarune head canons because I'm keeping all my fandom shit here and I'm bored as hell

One off fact: Undertale and Deltarune bot take place in Minnesota, why? Because I said so

Undertale facts

1: frisk is infact not an orphan, but just a really kid who was on a hike with their parents and got sidetracked

2: frisk does eventually reunite with their parents while living with toriel, toriel (and maybe ashore idk) become frisk godparent(s)

3: Chara spirit is especially spiritually bonded with frisk, whatever pain frisk experience, Chara does as well, however dulled considering their a ghost,

4: frisk has done only the neutral and pacifist runs in my main au, they were going to do genocide but bailed out after killing papyrus from guilt

5: the "player" is just frisk intrusive thoughts, the curiosity in them essentially

6: sans is slightly more aware than others about timelines and shit but he can't tell when one happens, he just gets that same feeling of deja Vu if that makes sense

7: Sans is aroace (he's too lazy for love) Papyrus is pan, alphas and undyne are lesbians, toriel and asgore are both cis and straight allies, and frisk is agender non-binary

Deltarune facts

1: Kris is selectively mute, they only talk to people their close with (toriel, asgore, Asriel, etc..)

2: Susie is infact poor but she does have parents, they're just at their jobs a lot

3: Ralsei has abandonment issues due to the fact that he was alone for so long, he likes having people around him

4: Asriel is a English major, mostly because he has a very vivid imagination!

5: I ship Kris x berdly buts it's very much one sided (guess which side it is!!!!)

6: Kris is non binary and asexual, Susie is bisexual, Noelle is lesbian, berdly is gay (in very much fucking denial), ralsei is trans masc and gay

7: spamton and jevil are ex boyfriends<33333

[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.