french-vanilla-in-the-clouds

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐖𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Joel is up before dawn. Survival instincts and obligations have hardwired him to wake up like clockwork. He starts his day with a kiss on your forehead and coffee in a thermos. But every now and then, you wake up first.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Joel sleeps shirtless, tangled under the covers. His boxers hang low on his hips, and he has one leg hooked over bunched bedsheets. You may have fallen asleep in his arms, but now he's spread across the mattress, lips parted slightly, with an even breathing pattern.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ His head is always turned toward you and angled uncomfortably. He snores when he's having a really good lie-in. The pillow's friction musses his hair until curls flatten against his forehead.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ You watch him rest, and your fingertips trace the curve of his beard. The touch elicits a soft groan, but he doesn't stir. Smiling, you press your chest against his and wrap your arm loosely around his neck. Your hand strokes the length of his back, and he tenses, pleased.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Joel's morning voice is gravel and spun sugar. He doesn’t open his eyes yet, but his lips pinch into a smile. “Mm... hey,” he murmurs. His hand finds your hip, and he gives you a squeeze. “You trying something at this hour? Sun’s barely up.”

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He buries his face in your neck, lips brushing your collarbone. His nose is cold. “You feel real warm this mornin’, baby.” Time passes like that until his breathing slows again. He slips back under, obligations be damned.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ You slide your fingers into his hair, scratching gently at his scalp. His hips twitch before anything else. “Jesus,” he mutters. “Can’t let a man get a damn break, can you?”

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He wraps an arm around your waist and eases you on top of him with a groan. His palms are hot on your thighs. He blinks up at you, eyes puffed from sleep. A linen imprint is stamped onto his cheek, and his smile is lazy and crooked. “Reckon I could start every day like this,” he breathes against your mouth.

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

The fact that I would just watch him sleep.

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

Tick, Tick… Boom! 2021 | dir. Lin-Manuel Miranda

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐖𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Joel is up before dawn. Survival instincts and obligations have hardwired him to wake up like clockwork. He starts his day with a kiss on your forehead and coffee in a thermos. But every now and then, you wake up first.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Joel sleeps shirtless, tangled under the covers. His boxers hang low on his hips, and he has one leg hooked over bunched bedsheets. You may have fallen asleep in his arms, but now he's spread across the mattress, lips parted slightly, with an even breathing pattern.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ His head is always turned toward you and angled uncomfortably. He snores when he's having a really good lie-in. The pillow's friction musses his hair until curls flatten against his forehead.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ You watch him rest, and your fingertips trace the curve of his beard. The touch elicits a soft groan, but he doesn't stir. Smiling, you press your chest against his and wrap your arm loosely around his neck. Your hand strokes the length of his back, and he tenses, pleased.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Joel's morning voice is gravel and spun sugar. He doesn’t open his eyes yet, but his lips pinch into a smile. “Mm... hey,” he murmurs. His hand finds your hip, and he gives you a squeeze. “You trying something at this hour? Sun’s barely up.”

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He buries his face in your neck, lips brushing your collarbone. His nose is cold. “You feel real warm this mornin’, baby.” Time passes like that until his breathing slows again. He slips back under, obligations be damned.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ You slide your fingers into his hair, scratching gently at his scalp. His hips twitch before anything else. “Jesus,” he mutters. “Can’t let a man get a damn break, can you?”

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He wraps an arm around your waist and eases you on top of him with a groan. His palms are hot on your thighs. He blinks up at you, eyes puffed from sleep. A linen imprint is stamped onto his cheek, and his smile is lazy and crooked. “Reckon I could start every day like this,” he breathes against your mouth.

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

The fact that I would just watch him sleep.

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Dean loves kissing in the car. Baby's backseat after a long hunt is a real hotspot. He leans over the gearshift, pulls you by the collar, and stares at your mouth. "You've been teasing me since that nest in Dayton." He clicks his tongue. "That's over now."

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He tastes like spearmint and hard liquor, obviously.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Dean's kisses are varied. They're messy when he’s excited. Desperate for relief, when he's worried. One minute, he'll be teasing you, wrists clasped in his hold, and the next, he's cupping your cheek like you might break.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Sometimes he's over-eager and his teeth will crash against yours. He retracts, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Crap, maybe I'm too good," he grins.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Dean's hands are always moving. He keeps one sliding over your waist, sometimes tucked just under your shirt. The other, he likes to keep tangled in your hair or exploring the back of your neck. Depends on the mood, really.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Dean is vocal. Soft groans, heavy breathing, and murmered remarks. He loves it when you take control to tug his shirt, grab his belt, or climb into his lap. He's a sucker for you.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ The next day at breakfast, when Dean spots the hickeys peeking out from under your collar, his teeth settle over his bottom lip. "Somebody had a real good night. Wonder who the lucky bastard was." He winks, takes a bite of his toast, and strolls off.

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

A need. Really and truly.

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

Survivalist father driven by trauma, grief, and violent instinct to protect his community? That's so gourmet ✨️

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

Survivalist father driven by trauma, grief, and violent instinct to protect his community? That's so gourmet ✨️

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Dean loves kissing in the car. Baby's backseat after a long hunt is a real hotspot. He leans over the gearshift, pulls you by the collar, and stares at your mouth. "You've been teasing me since that nest in Dayton." He clicks his tongue. "That's over now."

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He tastes like spearmint and hard liquor, obviously.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Dean's kisses are varied. They're messy when he’s excited. Desperate for relief, when he's worried. One minute, he'll be teasing you, wrists clasped in his hold, and the next, he's cupping your cheek like you might break.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Sometimes he's over-eager and his teeth will crash against yours. He retracts, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Crap, maybe I'm too good," he grins.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Dean's hands are always moving. He keeps one sliding over your waist, sometimes tucked just under your shirt. The other, he likes to keep tangled in your hair or exploring the back of your neck. Depends on the mood, really.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Dean is vocal. Soft groans, heavy breathing, and murmered remarks. He loves it when you take control to tug his shirt, grab his belt, or climb into his lap. He's a sucker for you.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ The next day at breakfast, when Dean spots the hickeys peeking out from under your collar, his teeth settle over his bottom lip. "Somebody had a real good night. Wonder who the lucky bastard was." He winks, takes a bite of his toast, and strolls off.

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

A need. Really and truly.

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐔𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Joel never yells at you. Even when he’s pushed to his limit, he bites down on his frustration. The thought of you flinching from him, even once, would ruin him. You might get silence or a sharp remark, but he always protects you, even from himself.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ After a fight, he leaves the room slowly, waiting for you to stop him. When you don’t, he carries the hurt all day. He keeps busy around town, sometimes visiting Tommy just to get things off his chest.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He replays the argument over and over, running through both sides in his head. He always ends up blaming himself. What eats at him the most is the chance that he made you feel small. That’s a feeling he can’t stand.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ At night, he sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing his palms together. Eventually, he slips under the covers. Joel wraps his arms around your waist and presses his forehead to your shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I was short with you. Maybe I didn’t listen the way I should’ve. Fact is, I shouldn’t have let it get like this. That’s on me.”

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He strokes your thighs and dips his head to kiss the back of your neck, down to your shoulder. His beard scrapes softly against your skin, his breath warm. The nip of his teeth is soothed by gentle lips. “I don’t wanna sleep mad at you. Not in a world like this.”

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

His eyes are always pleading??

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐌𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐔𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Joel never yells at you. Even when he’s pushed to his limit, he bites down on his frustration. The thought of you flinching from him, even once, would ruin him. You might get silence or a sharp remark, but he always protects you, even from himself.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ After a fight, he leaves the room slowly, waiting for you to stop him. When you don’t, he carries the hurt all day. He keeps busy around town, sometimes visiting Tommy just to get things off his chest.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He replays the argument over and over, running through both sides in his head. He always ends up blaming himself. What eats at him the most is the chance that he made you feel small. That’s a feeling he can’t stand.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ At night, he sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing his palms together. Eventually, he slips under the covers. Joel wraps his arms around your waist and presses his forehead to your shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I was short with you. Maybe I didn’t listen the way I should’ve. Fact is, I shouldn’t have let it get like this. That’s on me.”

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He strokes your thighs and dips his head to kiss the back of your neck, down to your shoulder. His beard scrapes softly against your skin, his breath warm. The nip of his teeth is soothed by gentle lips. “I don’t wanna sleep mad at you. Not in a world like this.”

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

His eyes are always pleading??

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

Clock is ticking, that's for certain.

If you don't have a problem with my problem, maybe the problem is simply codependency.

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

''You'd take care of your little brother? You'd do anything for him?'' ↳ Michael

Supernatural | S1 EP18 : Something Wicked

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

Ohhhh, he's obsessed with you 💗

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥, 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐥

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Castiel is intimidated by his devotion to you. He's heard his name whispered in prayers for eons, but having it fall from your lips brings him to his knees.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He follows you everywhere like a personal shoulder angel. When you're out of sight, he gets restless. He knows you need space but decides, "thirty minutes should be enough time alone," and then you'll hear the flutter of wings.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He steals kisses all the time, and they're always impromptu. The Winchesters will be detailing your next hunt, and Cas will pull you close and plant one on you.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ You pulled him by the tie once, and he's still not over it. He felt so attracted to you afterward. He hopes you'll do it again.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Cas loves when the smell of your perfume lingers on his coat. He'll lift the lapel to his nose and breathe in, smiling softly. He scrunches his brow afterward, perplexed by his own behavior.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Ask Cas for anything, and it's yours. Literally, anything. He cannot fight the impulse to please you.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ The Winchesters walked in on Cas holding your hand while you slept. Sam shook his head and muttered, “Whipped.” Dean snorted. “Absolutely whipped.”

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

He loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah.

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

If you don't have a problem with my problem, maybe the problem is simply co-dependency.

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥, 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐥

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Castiel is struck by his devotion to you. He's heard his name whispered in prayers for eons, but having it fall from your lips brings him to his knees.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He follows you everywhere like a personal shoulder angel. When you're out of sight, he gets restless. He knows you need space but decides, "thirty minutes should be enough time alone," and then you'll hear the flutter of wings.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He steals kisses all the time, and they're always impromptu. The Winchesters will be detailing your next hunt, and Cas will pull you close and plant one on you.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ You pulled him by the tie once, and he's still not over it. He felt so attracted to you afterward. He hopes you'll do it again.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Cas loves when the smell of your perfume lingers on his coat. He'll lift the lapel to his nose and breathe in, smiling softly. He scrunches his brow afterward, perplexed by his own behavior.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Ask Cas for anything, and it's yours. Literally, anything. He cannot fight the impulse to please you.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ The Winchesters walked in on Cas holding your hand while you slept. Sam shook his head and muttered, “Whipped.” Dean snorted. “Absolutely whipped.”

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

He loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah.

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐀𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Joel trades his way through Jackson’s pantry system until your bag is packed with the good stuff. Honey packets, dried apricots, and seasoned jerky. "Better food means better fighting. Just gotta keep you fueled, is all."

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He gives you boosts on rocky trails, lifting you by the hips and steadying you on even ground. His grip lingers, and he'll just smile.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ You fall into a muddy spring pond after your horse throws you mid-patrol. It’s shallow, but you’re soaked. Joel’s wading for you in an instant. He lifts you up, checks for breaks, and then strips off his own shirt. “Don’t argue. Just take it.” He mounts you up and walks back to Jackson, reins in hand, shirtless, and wet. Towns folk blink, but Joel doesn’t explain a damn thing.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He spends four months building you a bookshelf. You never asked for it, but one day it’s propped in your bedroom. Sanded, laquered, and smooth. “Had the wood," he explains. "Figured you needed somewhere for all that dog-eared crap you keep lyin’ around.”

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ When you’re upset, he won’t crowd you. Instead, he cleans your gun or works on a project. It’s his way of giving you space while still staying close. He waits quietly for you to come find him.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He loves preparing breakfast. His pancakes are thick and fluffy. He watches you eat, that rare soft smile tugging at his lips. “You like ‘em?” he asks tenderly. When you nod, he just lets out a slow breath.

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

He would treat you RIGHT.

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐂𝐚𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ On a dare, Dean flashes a fake ID at a local dealership to test drive a luxury car. He wears his best flannel and a cocky grin. “Yeah, I’m in the market,” he lies, pocketing the keys.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He slides behind the wheel, immediately suspicious of the touchscreen dashboard. “Where the hell’s the volume knob?”

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He plays with every button just for kicks. Opens and closes the sunroof because he likes the mechanics. Activates the heated seats by accident. “Why’s my ass hot?”

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ When the engine roars, his face lights up. Hell yeah, he mouths. He takes off way too fast from the lot, leaning into every curve. Waves off the sales consultant’s warning about entering the highway.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ On the road, he critiques the car’s features like lane assist, automatic braking, and touch-sensitive air vents. “That’s not normal. Car shouldn’t think for you.”

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He glances at the digital display way too often, squinting. “Says we’re going 90, but it feels like 70. I don’t trust it.”

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Halfway through, he pulls over and pops the hood like he’s doing a safety check. Really, he just wants to see if the car’s got a soul. “Let’s check what Christine’s got under her skirt.”

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ By the end of the drive, he leans back with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s alright,” he says, scratching his head. “Flashy. Not my speed.” He won’t admit it, but his fingers linger on the wheel before getting out.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Later that night, he gives Baby an extra polish. Whispers, “Still the one,” as he buffs her hood with a little too much tenderness.

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

He's got a fast car.