#will never get over it until it's resolved

[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.

[makeitworse]

GIRLFRIEND

♪ 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 (𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧) TRACK #11

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

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

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

you’d hear it more than your own name.

“hyung, your girlfriend’s here!”

“listen when your girlfriend speaks, bro.”

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

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

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

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

because he hadn’t even asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“you tell me.” he murmured.

you should’ve just punched him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“will your girlfriend be a distraction?”

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

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

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

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

he thinks something’s wrong with him.

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

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

everyone knows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

jiyong sighs, frustration audible. you just smile.

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

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

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

“you should’ve said yes,”

“i would’ve.”

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

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

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

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

“you drive me fucking crazy.”

you smirk. “glad to hear.”

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

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

“i’m getting there.” he murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i need convincing.”

and that’s all jiyong has to hear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“your turn.” you coo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you chuckle, giving his shoulder a light shove.

“took you long enough.”

Liked by chaelincl, ttt and others

peaceminusone my one and only

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

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

ty to everyone who tuned in <3

[eeniey-past-bedtime]

Headcanons: The Vampire

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

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

Wanna tip me and buy my next coffee?

.

..

🕯️ Domestic Headcanons

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

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

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

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

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

💞 Soft & Romantic Headcanons

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

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

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

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

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

💋 Teasing & Playful Headcanons

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

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

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

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

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

..

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[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

[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.

[sukumna]

┌─ .✦ HIS FAVORITE TYPE OF SEX part two

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

꒰ part one | jjk version ꒱

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

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

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

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

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

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

[daryltwdixon]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That flicker of hesitation.

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

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

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

“Can we turn the light off?”

And Joel… hesitates.

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

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

Worships you like you’re something holy.

But even in the dark, he notices everything.

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

And it kills him a little every time.

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

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

The room falls into darkness.

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

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

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

He finds you in the kitchen.

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

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

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

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

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

Still, you don’t move away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He kisses your cheek again, slower this time.

“I mean it,” he adds softly.

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

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

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

“Just do it, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That night starts like any other night.

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

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

That was fifteen minutes ago.

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

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

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

It damn near knocks the air out of him.

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

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

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

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

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

But then you smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your thighs twitch under his hands and you nod.

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

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

He doesn’t wait for an answer.

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

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

“Jesus Christ.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Yeah’, what? Tell me, honey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On the bed. Hands and knees. Now.”

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

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

“Goddamn, baby. Look at you.”

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

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

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

It’s maddening.

He hums, the vibration making your hips twitch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything for my girl,” he says.

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

You yelp, hips jerking at the sharp nip.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your thighs begin to shake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His lips brush your jaw, then your ear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-what?”

Joel watches you, eyes burning into yours.

“Say, ‘I’m pretty, Daddy.’”

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

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

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

“I’m waitin’, darlin'.”

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

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

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

“M’pretty,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

You gasp, the stretch sharp and perfect.

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

He’s still not fully sheathed in you.

“Again.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sound even prettier when you take my cock.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel—” you cry, voice breaking.

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

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

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

He loses it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yesyesyes—Joel, I—please—”

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

You shatter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at me, baby.”

You do. You always do when he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes your chest ache.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too.”

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

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