#~ Sweet's Headcanons ~
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
h0ptimists · 2 years ago
Text
Tumblr media
Anon
what is the metalest song cream would enjoy. okay and gemerl too I guess
Tumblr media
I say it depends on the song itself however, in general; Cream isn’t the biggest metal fan as she prefers song like this one. Although she does like heavy metal covers (one example being this.)
Tumblr media
Gemerl meanwhile is willing to listen to any and all metal songs since it’s his type of music.
5 notes · View notes
galadrieljones · 1 month ago
Text
Tumblr media
Suddenly inundated with headcanons of Astarion's happy childhood on a fruit farm in Evereska, before his family moved to Baldur's Gate for trade. (I thought about his eye color for a long time. I have so many feelings. I like this sort of sparkly green for now 🥺)
5K notes · View notes
mwphisto · 2 months ago
Text
Sylus never thought that his life could be so… simple.
Years of pain, of suffering, of longing. Hands that have held weapons, have been stained in blood, have taken the lives of others. An evol meant to hurt, to cut, to snuff out. A man like him shouldn’t know how to be gentle, soft. A man like him shouldn’t even be allowed to love… and yet?
“You’re so… perfect.”
A gentle, barely audible whisper. The little bundle wrapped up in soft cloth seems impossibly smaller in his large hands. His little baby, his little creation, his son.
Better yet, the perfect mix of you and him. Your DNA swirled together with his to create the little human in his hands. A living, breathing baby. The physical testament to your love and devotion for each other.
Sylus never thought he would be worthy enough to earn the title of lover, of husband, never mind father.
For the rest of his life, the little human in his arms would rely on him. Would look to him for love, for comfort, to be sheltered and fed and protected. A little boy who would get the childhood he never got. To give him a second chance and heal the broken child that still lingered within him.
A feather light kiss was placed on his newborn’s head. A silent vow very similar to the one he had made to you. He would burn the world for him, for you, for the little family he didn’t think he’d ever be worthy of having.
Beside him, you stirred. Not enough to wake up fully, but enough that Sylus cradled your son to his chest and used his free hand to rest over your heart. “Rest, my love. I’ve got him, he’s safe right here with us. Sleep.” And you slowly settled in again, breathing steady, content.
His entire world now laid in his hands, and just like that Sylus was convinced he was the luckiest man alive.
3K notes · View notes
chubby-p1nk · 2 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
And now I present you- LET TIM HAS MASCOTS MY GOD. This kid wanted a pet for a long time, Dick has a dog, Damian has... a Zoo- Jason is his own fucking mascot (jk, I love him) BUT TIM DOESN'T. So, I was thinking, and the idea of him having stray birds was my favorite- but I couldn't choose between a bird ideal for spying (Doves) or a bird really cool looking with some mystical meaning behind them (Crows)... So I did both. (And yes, Brat was named after Damian as "Demon Brat")
3K notes · View notes
skyrigel · 7 months ago
Text
Simon “Domesticated” Riley is my favourite.
Yes, he would kill for you and he would die for you but his affections and undying love isn't limited to oaths. It's boundless and endless.
He will cook for you, learn because he wasn't taught very good and he wants everything to be good for you.
He will sing for you, because you'd heard him in the shower and couldn't get past to fall asleep without his husky songs to make you fall asleep on his chest.
He will wash the dishes, side by side you. Laughing along as you dry the plates and using his hands at work to your own advantage to play mischief on him.
He will hear you, as you would continue to talk about everything because nothing was out of field, and despite you being a very seducing distraction, he's always trying his best.
He's a “my girlfriend, my wife” guy despite the other Task force guys teasing him about it, he doesn't mind holding your purse, instead he prods on it, he's always on his knees to tie your shoelaces, to help you out from those pointy heels. He doesn't mind being whipped, as Soap christened it, or smitten as Gaz chortled, because he is, as he should.
He's not patronising, despite being raised up to be one. He's gentle and kind and soft for you, and he's working on becoming a better man everyday for you.
He doesn't let his anger that's so unforgiving and terrible get the better of him, he's not a monster despite the blood on his hands as you've always told him so, he would pace around the lawn, sit in the grass, wash his face but he wouldn't let his anger be something you should be scared off, he wouldn't let it get between this holy thing called love.
He talks things out, understands your opinion, values them openly. 
He expresses everything even so it'd become difficult after being told to be stoic for so long, but he tries, always for you. 
He's always startled and flushed when you compliment him and he's trying to learn that you mean every word of it.
Masterlist
7K notes · View notes
reit0o · 12 days ago
Text
sleeping with caleb (ᴗ˳ᴗ)ᶻ
Tumblr media Tumblr media
—hcs about sharing a bed with caleb bc i still haven't finished his bday fic :p
☆ caleb has long accepted that he’s never getting his personal space back (good, he doesn't want it anyway). no matter what position he falls asleep in, he always wakes up at the edge of the bed, ass hanging out, with your arms and legs wrapped around him like a koala. he doesn't mind really, because he loves that you still gravitate towards him, even in your sleep.
☆ whenever you get into a petty argument, you make a point of building a pillow barrier between you. when he tries to protest, you just shoot him daggers and turn your back. you can't sleep because of his constant shuffling, but eventually, you knock down the barrier bit by bit, letting him roll over beside you and softly whisper an apology in your ear while he pulls you close. you don’t respond because you’re still upset, but you just let him hold you. and that alone is enough for him
☆ winters in skyhaven are brutal because of the high altitude. so on cold winter nights, you find yourself drawn to caleb because he's just so warm—he's basically a human radiator. when you're feeling cheeky, you like to slide your cold hands under his shirt and laugh evily whenever he flinches
☆ whenever you visit him in skyhaven, he insists on sleeping in your room together. It's not that he dislikes his room, he just prefers being in the space you've curated in his home. he loves being surrounded by things that smell like you, breathing you in while he falls asleep
☆ caleb likes to pretend he's still asleep when you think you've woken up before him. he lets you poke his cheek, blow in his face, tickle his chin, play with his hair until he’s had enough and rolls you over, pulling you into a soul-crushing hug you can’t escape
☆ his favourite time of day is the moment you fall asleep at night, and the moment just before you wake up in the morning. there’s something about your face that looks so peaceful and soft, that makes him fall in love with you all over again. he loves that you’re the first and last thing he sees every day
☆ contrary to what people might think, but caleb loves being the little spoon and being held. he doesn't do it often, but after long shifts with the fleet, there's nothing he loves more than lying on your chest, listening to your breathing while you stroke his hair. his worries melt away instantly, and he always falls asleep faster than usual—some of his best sleeps, honestly.
☆ caleb, the self-proclaimed claw machine master, is a prime example of suffering from your own success. not only does he have to share the bed with you, but with the 20+ plushies that he won and proudly bragged about. now he’s got his own personal plushie (you) snuggled up next to him, along with twenty others, silently staring into his soul
☆ caleb’s bed head is horrendous, and don't even get me started on his morning breath. you love counting all his cowlicks and taking pictures of his messy hair, holding your nose like you’re disgusted. but when he catches you laughing too long, he shuts you up by peppering your face with kisses before pulling you in for one long, deep kiss that leaves you breathless
☆ caleb is a light sleeper, so when he hears you tossing and turning, struggling to fall asleep, he gently pulls you into his chest and starts telling stories, just like he used to when you were kids. you call it childish, but the sound of his voice, soft and steady, is all it takes for sleep to quickly wash over you. and once your breathing slows down and your body relaxes, he whispers a quiet list of reasons why he loves you—one after the other, just for you
Tumblr media
a/n- blessing you with a lot bc i couldnt stop at one. i cant be the only one that uses he's secret times as a sleep aid, his voice is so soothing i knock out instantly. short blabber bc i haven't finished half my fics i was meant to post last week. this caleb bday fic has been sitting in my drafts for over a month 🚬🚬
2K notes · View notes
jtoddsangel · 19 days ago
Text
‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤyou can ask the flowers, i sit for hours!
JASON TODD who is the father of two beautiful girls, jane and juliet. yes, named after jane austen and shakespeare.
JASON TODD who reads to them every night before bed. and even before they were born, he read to them. he has never skipped a night, not a single chapter or a single page. he had to indoctrinate them with classic literature young.
JASON TODD who takes his daughters out on daddy-daughter dates every chance he gets. he takes them to art museums, opera shows, and tea parties with professional princess actresses. trips to the library are regular, and with each visit, they always pick out a movie to watch together.
JASON TODD who lets them paint his nails, put face masks on him and basically just use him as their own doll. he doesn’t mind when they trace over the scars on his face. sometimes they compare him to the fairytale heros he reads to them about, and that makes him tear up more than he’d ever admit.
JASON TODD whose wife loves flowers, so he takes his daughters with him like every other week to pick out a new bouquet for her. they grow up with the perfect example of what a gentleman should be like.
JASON TODD who pulls off typical dad outfits wayyy too well.
1K notes · View notes
ysther · 2 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
vat7k fandom will you accept me
2K notes · View notes
lowrisemiller · 2 months ago
Text
ʜᴏᴡ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴊᴏᴇʟ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛꜱ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴘᴀɴᴛɪᴇꜱ ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
| 3.6k words | masterlist | kissing, groping, oral f receiving, fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected piv smut (every joel deserves it raw I don't make the rules), no prep (its okay tho), teasing, joel is a menace, he rips the panties, rough sex, joel is a MUNCH
Tumblr media
pre-outbreak joel!
The house is quiet when you slip through the door. Lights dimmed, a warm amber glow spilling from under the hallway as you kick your shoes off. Rain taps gently at the windows. It smells like cedar and laundry, like him.
You walk past the kitchen, past the folded throw blanket on the arm of the couch—his reading glasses tucked into the cushion crease. A soft smile pulls at your lips.
Joel’s home.
Bedroom door cracked just enough to show the light flickering from the nightstand lamp. He’s lying in bed, shirtless, one arm behind his head, book forgotten on his chest. His eyes track you the second you appear.
“Hey, darlin’.” His voice is low, gravel warm with sleep.
“Hey.” You rest against the doorframe. “Didn’t think you’d wait up.”
“Wasn’t sure when you’d get home.” He stretches, slow and unhurried, the covers dipping low over his hips. “Didn’t wanna fall asleep without ya.”
Your stomach flutters. Stupid soft man.
You pad toward the dresser, undoing the buttons of your blouse one by one. His eyes follow. You feel it like heat on your skin. You fold your top neatly and set it down, slipping out of your jeans next.
Then—finally—he sees them.
New lace panties, soft lavender and sheer, with little bows on the sides. Not even remotely practical. Delicate and meant for his eyes only.
Joel’s whole body stills.
You turn toward the closet to grab a shirt, voice light. “I was gonna save ‘em for later.”
A low sound rumbles from his chest.
“The hell were you thinkin’,” he mutters, “walkin’ around in those, talkin’ about later.”
You glance over your shoulder just as he tosses the covers back. The book lands somewhere on the floor. He sits on the edge of the bed, legs spread, his gaze molten.
“C’mere.”
There’s no command in it—just the kind of drawl that makes your knees weak.
You walk toward him, heart fluttering. He reaches for you slow, calloused hands trailing up your thighs until his thumbs hook in the lace. His fingers trace the tiny bows like he’s reading Braille.
“Pretty little thing like you,” he murmurs. “Wastin’ somethin’ this sweet on later.”
“I was gonna change,” you breathe. “Figured you were tired.”
“Tired don’t mean dead.”
You laugh—and gasp when he pulls you gently into his lap, straddling one thigh. His hands cradle your hips, his mouth ghosting kisses along your belly, your ribs, just beneath the edge of your bra.
His voice is a low rasp against your skin. “This for me?”
You nod. His thumb tugs at one bow.
“Say it.”
“It’s for you.”
He hums like that’s his favorite sound in the world. Then he’s kissing your inner thigh, the lace dampening beneath the heat of his mouth. You shift, hands in his hair, gasping when he eases you down onto the bed, tugging the panties aside—not off—because he wants you ruined in them.
You’re breathless under him, spine arching as Joel drags his mouth up your thigh. One of his hands presses to your stomach, holding you steady like he knows you’re about to come apart.
“Such a goddamn tease,” he murmurs, voice warm and rough as his lips skim over the thin strip of lace. “Comin’ in here lookin’ like a dream.”
Your hips lift instinctively when his tongue flicks just where you need it. The panties are barely in his way—just pushed to the side—and it’s somehow worse that he leaves them on, like he’s savoring the sight of you still dressed for him.
You whimper, fingers digging into the sheets.
Joel groans low in his throat, clearly pleased. “That’s it, baby. Don’t hold back.”
His mouth is unrelenting—slow circles of his tongue, the soft scrape of his beard making your thighs tremble. He’s not in a rush. He’s never in a rush when it comes to this. Joel’s the kind of man who learns your body like a song, and he plays every note until you’re strung out and shaking.
You reach down, tugging gently at his curls, hips starting to buck against his mouth, and that’s when he grips your thigh harder, anchoring you to the bed.
“Easy, now,” he murmurs between licks. “I got you.”
Then he flattens his tongue, presses in deep—and you feel it everywhere. Heat floods your belly. Your breath catches.
“Joel—”
“Yeah,” he rasps, voice hoarse, mouth glistening. “Say my name just like that.”
He keeps going until you’re gasping, legs trembling around his shoulders, and when he finally lets up—when he kisses your thigh and pulls back, breath warm on your skin—you think it’s over.
But Joel’s not done.
He leans over you, pushing your legs apart, still tangled in lace. His cock presses hot and thick against your thigh, and you can feel how hard he is, feel the way he trembles just a little as he lines himself up.
“Think I’m gonna take you just like this,” he murmurs, voice thick with heat. “Pretty little panties still on.”
You moan at that, eyes fluttering shut as he presses inside—slow, deep, filling you completely. Your back arches, arms curling around his shoulders as he buries himself to the hilt.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “So goddamn tight. You feel that, baby?”
You nod, too wrecked to answer. The lace rubs against your hips as he starts to move, the slow, grinding thrusts more intimate than anything. You’re gasping into his neck, clutching at him as he rolls his hips—deep and steady, dragging every second out.
“I ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he murmurs into your skin. “You take your time. I’ll be right here.”
Your second climax builds slower, warmer—coaxed out of you with patient hands and thick, steady strokes. Joel kisses your jaw, your cheek, your temple as you fall apart under him again, and then he finally lets go, groaning your name as he finishes, hips jerking once, twice.
He stays inside you for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, chest heaving.
Then a quiet chuckle.
“Guess I owe you a thank you for those panties.”
You laugh, breathless. “Told you they were for later.”
Joel grins as he brushes your hair back from your face, still inside you, still tangled up in lace.
“Darlin’,” he says, “it is later.”
Tumblr media
smuggler joel!
The door slams shut behind you.
Joel’s already pushing you back into the shadows of the storage room—his mouth crashing over yours, rough and frantic. His hands are everywhere, gripping your hips, shoving your coat off your shoulders, the scratch of his stubble dragging over your cheek.
You gasp into the kiss. “Joel—someone could—”
“Don’t care.”
You barely make it three feet into the room before he’s spinning you toward the wall. The concrete is cold through your shirt. His hand plants beside your head, the other slips beneath your waistband.
“You wearin’ what I think you’re wearin’?” he mutters against your neck.
You nod, breath hitching. “Yeah. The ones from the market—those lace—”
Joel groans. “Fuckin’ hell.”
Then you feel it—the sound, the rip, his hand fisting the waistband and tearing straight through the fabric like it offended him.
“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you in these,” he growls. “Had to see for myself.”
Your cheek is against the wall, hips angled back as he shoves your pants down, baring you to the cool air and his calloused touch. The lace slips to the floor in tatters. You don’t even get a second to protest.
Joel’s already unzipping.
The room smells like gunpowder and sweat, dust rising from the floor as his boots shift behind you. He grips your hips—big hands rough and dirty from patrol, fingers biting into your skin like he needs to prove something.
“Wanted to fuck you so bad back there,” he mutters. “Watchin’ you walk ahead of me, swayin’ your hips like that. Knew you were wearin’ these.”
You moan when you feel him, hard and hot, thick against your thigh. He doesn’t ease in slow. There’s no time for slow. He grits out your name and pushes inside in one long thrust that punches the air from your lungs.
“Joel—!”
He groans against your shoulder. “So fuckin’ tight.”
You brace your hands against the wall, trying to catch your breath. He doesn’t give it to you. His pace is fast, brutal—desperate. Like he’s been holding it in for weeks. Maybe he has.
You cry out when his hand slips under your shirt, up your chest, palming your breast through your bra.
“Always so fuckin’ soft,” he pants, rutting into you. “Mine, yeah?”
“Yes,” you breathe. “Joel, yes—”
He grunts at that, slamming into you harder, his grip on your hip bruising. The slap of skin echoes in the room, filthy and fast, and your legs are shaking already, barely holding you up.
Then his hand moves down, between your thighs, two fingers slipping through the slickness he’s already made.
“C’mon, baby,” he growls, voice hot at your ear. “Wanna feel you come.”
You whimper, fingers clawing at the wall. “I’m close—fuck, Joel—”
“Yeah, you are. Let go for me. Right fuckin’ now.”
You cry out when it hits—tight, white-hot pleasure bursting behind your eyes. He fucks you through it, still muttering curses under his breath, hips stuttering as he follows you over the edge with a groan that sounds like it’s been buried in his chest for weeks.
You both collapse against the wall, breathing hard. Your panties are in shreds. Your legs are trembling.
Joel presses a kiss to the back of your neck. “That was overdue.”
You laugh—weak and hoarse. “Think you broke my pelvis.”
He grins against your skin. “Was tryin’ to.”
Tumblr media
boston qz joel!
The knock at his door is sharp and fast. Urgent. Joel opens it with his pistol half drawn, but it’s just you—soaked from the rain, blood on your cheek, breath shallow like you ran the whole way here.
“They raided my place,” you pant. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Joel doesn’t say anything. Just steps aside and lets you in.
Your pack drops to the floor with a wet thud. You toe off your boots. His place is cramped and spare—brick walls, broken heater, one chair, one cot.
No guest bed.
You eye the cot. Joel follows your gaze.
“You can have it,” he says.
You shake your head. “You’re too big for the chair.”
“I’ve slept on worse.”
You lift your brows. “Joel.”
He sighs, jaw ticking.
“We’ll share, then,” you say before he can argue. “Just for tonight.”
He doesn’t answer. Just nods, turns away, and grabs you a shirt. You change in the bathroom—wipe off the blood, clean up as best you can. When you step back out, he’s already in bed, turned to face the wall.
You slip under the blanket.
For a while, there’s just silence. Rain tapping against the window. Joel breathing steady. Your shoulders stiffen every time the bed shifts beneath him, every time your legs accidentally brush.
“You okay?” he mutters.
You glance over. He’s still facing the wall, but you can see the line of his jaw, the tight set of his shoulders.
“Yeah,” you say. “Just cold.”
Joel’s quiet for a moment. Then his arm slides back, palm open.
You scoot closer.
He pulls you against him—big and solid and warm. Your back to his chest, his arm slung around your waist, fingertips resting low on your stomach. Neither of you breathes for a second.
“This alright?” he asks, voice low.
You nod. “Yeah. It’s…good.”
It stays that way for a while. His body heat seeps into yours. His breathing calms you.
Then his hand shifts.
Lower.
You freeze.
He doesn’t move again—but his fingers are brushing the waistband of your panties now. You feel his breath stutter behind you.
“You knew you were gonna end up in my bed tonight,” he mutters. “Didn’t you?”
You squirm. “I didn’t know they’d raid my place.”
“But you still wore these,” he murmurs, slipping his hand down further, cupping you through the lace. “Sweet little thing. Always actin’ innocent.”
Your breath catches. His fingers rub slow circles, the fabric dampening under his touch.
“You want me to stop?” he asks, lips brushing your neck.
“No.”
“Good.”
He shifts behind you—hips pressing into yours, thick and hard through his boxers. He hooks your knee over his thigh, opening you up to him. His hand slips beneath the lace, fingers slick and rough and just barely enough.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “So wet already. Bet you been thinkin’ about this for weeks.”
You moan, rocking your hips back into his.
Joel groans, deep and low. “Don’t do that unless you want me to lose what little fuckin’ control I got.”
“Then lose it.”
You feel him tense—then shove his boxers down just enough to press against your entrance. Still behind you. Still slow. His hand lifts your leg higher, his other arm tight around your chest.
Then he pushes in.
You gasp, clutching the blanket. He’s thick, stretching you deep, your lace panties still hooked around one thigh. It’s filthy and hot and exactly what you’ve both been aching for.
“You feel that?” he grits. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”
Your head tips back against his shoulder. He thrusts into you, slow and rough, the bed creaking under your bodies. You cling to his forearm, lost in the rhythm, lost in the heat curling low in your belly.
When he feels you getting close, Joel’s hand slides back down.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs. “Come for me. Right here in my bed.”
You break apart with a soft cry, your legs trembling, hips shaking. Joel follows with a growl, hips jerking once, twice before he buries himself deep and stills.
You both lie there, breathless.
The rain has stopped.
He brushes hair from your face. “You sleepin’ here from now on.”
You smile, turning in his arms to press your lips to his jaw. “Yeah. I know.”
Tumblr media
jackson joel!
“You leave ‘em on purpose?”
Joel’s voice cuts through the quiet of his house, low and thick with that rough Southern drag that curls right down your spine.
The front door’s locked. The snow’s started to fall again outside.
His fingers hold the delicate black lace between two fingers, swaying slightly like a warning—or a promise. Ellie had waved them at him earlier in the week, grinning like the devil, told him she almost tossed them in the fire before realizing they weren’t hers.
You’d turned scarlet.
Now they’re dangling from his hand, that slow smirk playing on his face.
“Well?” he asks, stepping closer.
The fireplace crackles behind you. His house smells like cinnamon and pine and something he picked up from the bakery this morning. You’d promised to make him a pie tonight. Apple. Just the way he likes it.
But Joel’s only hungry for one thing right now.
You lean back against the kitchen counter, heart thudding.
“Maybe,” you murmur.
His brow lifts. “Maybe?”
“I wanted you to find ‘em. Just… not Ellie.”
Joel chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “You’re trouble.”
He tosses the panties onto the table like a challenge, then closes the distance until his hips press yours into the counter, one hand bracing beside your head. His other hand coasts under your sweater, slow and warm and possessive.
“You walkin’ around town,” he mutters, “bakin’ pies, smiling like that—like you ain’t got your panties layin around.”
You squirm, breath hitching.
He leans in, lips ghosting over yours, not quite kissing yet.
“She said they were in my hiking boots, darlin’,” he adds, a little gruff. “Was that supposed to be some kind of message?”
You smile, innocent as sin. “Did you get it?”
Joel’s eyes flash.
The kiss is immediate—hot and deep, all tongue and teeth and quiet groans in the warmth of the kitchen. His hands explore like he’s been waiting weeks, sliding down to grip your hips, then lower, pulling you flush.
“Turn around,” he growls against your mouth.
You hesitate, but something in his tone makes your knees go soft. You turn, palms flat on the counter, back to him. He kisses the back of your neck, slow and reverent, while his hands travel under your skirt, pushing it up until the cool air hits your thighs.
He reaches for the lace again—those damn panties—and slides them slowly up your legs, back where they belong. His hands pause at your hips, fingers slipping under the elastic.
“Leave ‘em on,” you whisper.
He hums, satisfied. “You like makin’ me wait.”
You don’t answer—not when he pushes the lace to the side and drags his fingers through you, slow, methodical, feeling how ready you are.
Joel doesn’t rush. He keeps one hand on your hip and the other between your thighs, teasing you until you’re gasping softly, forehead pressed to your arm on the counter.
Then he pulls away, just long enough to undo his jeans.
You feel the blunt pressure of him against you, his hand guiding himself where you need him most.
He slides in slowly, a hiss through his teeth.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “Always so good for me.”
You arch back into him, and his hands grip your hips hard as he starts to move. The rhythm is slow at first, deep and thorough, each thrust hitting just right with the lace still clinging to your thighs. The sounds of the fire crackling, your soft whimpers, and his low curses fill the room like a song only the two of you know.
“Thinkin’ about this all damn week,” he murmurs. “My kitchen. You in those little panties. Bent over like this.”
“Joel—”
He shushes you with a hand sliding up your front, under your sweater and bra, fingers finding your breast.
“Don’t you worry, baby,” he rasps, voice like gravel and honey. “Gonna give you every damn inch.”
And he does—again and again—until you’re unraveling in his arms, legs shaking, mouth open in a silent cry. He follows fast, hips stuttering against your backside, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath hot and shaky.
When it’s over, he wraps his arms around you from behind and holds you there against the counter, both of you breathless, tangled in lace and heat and quiet laughter.
You tilt your head back against him. “So... still mad about the boot?”
Joel chuckles, nuzzling into your neck.
“Only ‘cause now I gotta start checkin’ all my shoes.”
Tumblr media
1K notes · View notes
cherryyluvs · 3 months ago
Note
Mark Grayson with a s/o who is a witch?? Head canons please? 💕🙏
Ahhh, witchy vibes with Mark?? You’re speaking my language (⁠。⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧
Tumblr media
The first time you showed Mark your powers, his eyes widened in disbelief, “Wait seriously? You can actually do magic?”
Teasing him with spells, you'd love messing with him. Levitating things just out of his reach or enchanting items to follow him around the house. “Babe seriously?” but you’d just grin
Protective spells, you would create a protection charm for mark. He’d wear it as a necklace and get all soft when he realized you'd made it just for him (∗˃̶ ᵕ ˂̶∗)
After a tough fight, Mark would show up to your house. All bruised up and exhausted and without a word you'd sit him down and press your glowing hands to his skin. Healing all the cuts and bruises as he leans his forehead against yours and whisper “You’re a lifesaver, literally”
Sometimes after kissing him, he would pull away all dazed and be like “Did you put a spell on me?!” And you’d laughed it off “Nope, That just you being obsessed with me”
Mark lowkey obsessed, he would watch you practice your magic with a soft awestruck look on his face. “How do you make it look so easy?”
Mark always carries a piece of your magic, he would keep a small charm you made for him in his pocket. A small crystal or token that glows faintly with your energy. Anytime he would be in trouble he would feel it warm against his skin and know you were there with him.
Teaching him some simple spells. Mark would beg for you to teach him some basic spells. You’d hand him a crystal and tell him to focus on his energy. He tries so hard but ends up failing miserably – you’d kiss him on his cheek and say “Don’t worry you're magical enough”
He is super supportive, helping you gather herbs and magical ingredients. Even though he has zero clue of what they are, He still tries and sometimes brings you rare plants from other planets becauseee why not?? He loves youuuu
Magic going wrong, one time you accidentally casted a truth spell on Mark, making him blurt out everything he felt and thought of. “Yeah I think about kissing you like…. Every five seconds”
1K notes · View notes
lilislegacy · 1 year ago
Text
i feel like percy is the person that people bring with them when they need to go somewhere or do something potentially dangerous. or more realistically, he’s the one who people’s loved ones tell them to take with. it just makes people feel better knowing percy is there. you know what i mean?
sally has a meeting with someone who sounds a bit weird (and paul can’t go)? paul tells her to bring percy.
paul needs to go to a really sketchy part of town? sally asks him to bring percy
piper got a weird anonymous note and needs to go meet them at a location? annabeth tells her to bring percy
leo has to go get some magic machine part from a really shady dealer? piper tells him to bring percy
frank has to go on an unofficial quest to investigate some shady legion history, and hazel has to stay with camp? hazel tells him to bring percy
and it’s NOT because any of these people can’t take care of themselves. they are all strong and brave and badass, and can handle anything. but for one, percy is intimidating as hell. his “wolf stare” sends literal gangs running the other way. you can avoid conflict before it even happens, because no one is messing with percy. and second, percy just makes you feel safe. his presence is comforting. not only has he been through all the demigod-hero-world-saving shit, and is powerful as hell, but he also grew up in new york city. he can handle pretty much any situation. plus he’s super sweet and funny, and you can always count on him to make you laugh and decrease your anxiety. and he’s always got your back. he takes care of the people he loves.
he’s just the best company. for so many reasons.
when in doubt, bring percy
4K notes · View notes
rafeyssugar · 4 months ago
Text
baby girl
Tumblr media Tumblr media
rafe treats y/n like she’s made of glass. like she’s something soft, delicate—something his.
and she lets him. because how could she not? when he’s always looking at her like that? when his touch is always so gentle?
like now—when she pouts at him from the passenger seat, arms crossed, lips pursed in that way that makes him weak.
“what?” he asks, fighting back a smirk, reaching over to squeeze her thigh.
“you didn’t let me carry the bags.”
rafe exhales, shaking his head. “because you don’t need to. what kind of boyfriend would i be if i let you carry heavy shit, huh?”
y/n huffs, turning to the window. “they weren’t even that heavy.”
and that’s when he knows—she’s just being a brat.
so he leans over at a red light, pressing a kiss to her temple. “my sweet girl,” he murmurs, lips dragging down to her jaw. “so spoiled, huh?”
she mumbles something under her breath, but he catches it—“not spoiled.”
he just grins. “nah, you are, angel. i made you that way.”
because he does spoil her. carries her bags, opens her doors, pulls her into his lap just because. worships her. and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
so when they get home, and she starts trying to grab the shopping bags again, he just tuts, plucking them right out of her hands.
“what did i say, baby?”
she pouts up at him. “but—”
rafe just shakes his head, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “no buts. let me take care of you.”
she lets out a dramatic sigh but doesn’t argue, instead watching as he carries all the bags inside like it’s nothing.
“you know,” she says, plopping onto the couch, stretching like a cat, “i could have helped.”
rafe raises a brow, setting the bags down before making his way over to her. “oh yeah?”
“yeah.”
he hums, settling beside her, pulling her into his lap with ease. “but you like when i baby you, huh?”
she rolls her eyes, but he sees the way her lips twitch, how she doesn’t move away when he starts pressing slow, lazy kisses to her neck.
“admit it,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing. “you like being my spoiled little baby girl.”
she exhales, tilting her head slightly as he keeps kissing, hands gripping at his shirt.
“maybe.”
rafe chuckles, pulling back to look at her. “yeah?”
she shrugs, playing with the collar of his shirt, but when she finally looks up, she’s got that look in her eyes—the one that makes him weak. the one that tells him she’s just as obsessed with him as he is with her.
so he kisses her—slow, deep, like he’s got all the time in the world.
when they finally pull apart, he brushes a thumb over her cheek, voice soft. “good girl.”
-
now she’s curled up in his lap, fingers lazily playing with the chain around his neck, lips slightly swollen from how he’d kissed her stupid just moments ago.
and he can’t help himself.
his hands roam—slow, lazy, like he’s got nowhere else to be. one hand resting on the small of her back, the other tracing patterns along her bare thigh, dipping beneath the hem of her shorts.
“you tired, baby?” he murmurs, voice soft, knowing.
y/n hums, blinking up at him, looking dazed, floaty. “a little.”
he smiles, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “you wanna nap?”
she makes a noise, nuzzling closer, pressing her face into his neck. “mmm. just wanna sit here.”
and his heart melts.
because she’s never really said it, but he knows—knows she feels safest when she’s with him, tucked against him like this, wrapped up in his warmth.
so he just hums, rubbing slow circles into her back. “yeah? my lap comfy, huh?”
she nods, sighing contentedly. “mhm. best seat in the house.”
rafe chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “yeah, ‘cause it’s your seat, angel.”
she doesn’t respond, but the way she sighs again, soft and sweet, is enough.
he keeps holding her, fingers tracing slow, absentminded shapes against her skin, lips pressing light, fleeting kisses to her temple, her forehead, her jaw.
and when he feels her breathing even out, feels her relax completely in his arms, he knows she’s drifted off.
he smiles to himself, tightening his hold just a little, letting his head rest against the couch.
yeah, he thinks, pressing one last kiss to her forehead. he could hold her like this forever.
-
rafe doesn’t move—not even an inch. not when his leg starts going numb, not when his arm starts to tingle. because y/n is asleep, all warm and tucked against him, and he’d rather die than wake her up.
his baby girl—soft, sweet, always pressed up against him like she belongs there. (she does.)
he’s careful as he shifts just slightly, just enough to cup the back of her head, fingers threading into her hair. she stirs a little, sighing in her sleep, pressing closer.
rafe just smiles, running a thumb over her cheek. she looks so peaceful like this, face smushed against his chest, lips parted, lashes fluttering faintly.
he has to kiss her.
so he does—just a light press of his lips to her forehead, lingering for a second before pulling away.
but she feels it.
she exhales softly, shifting in his lap, stretching like a cat before blinking up at him, still sleepy, still floaty.
“…how long was i out?” her voice is quiet, groggy.
rafe grins, brushing some hair from her face. “’bout an hour.”
her brows furrow slightly. “you let me sleep that long?”
“‘course i did, angel.” his fingers move down, tracing the side of her neck, his voice dropping slightly. “you looked too pretty to wake up.”
her lips part slightly, and rafe knows he’s got her.
he smirks, dragging his hand down her arm, slow, teasing. “feel good?”
y/n nods, still dazed, blinking at him like she’s not sure if she’s awake or still dreaming.
rafe hums, tilting his head. “yeah? what feels good, baby?”
she exhales. “you.”
and he’s done for.
he cups her face, tilting it up as he leans in, lips brushing hers—soft, teasing. “yeah?”
“mhm.” her hands slide up his chest, gripping his shirt weakly, like she’s trying to pull him closer, but he’s already as close as he can be.
“wanna kiss?” he murmurs, voice low, teasing.
she nods again, breath hitching slightly. “please.”
rafe grins before finally—finally—closing the distance, kissing her soft and slow, like he’s got all the time in the world.
because he does. because he’s not going anywhere.
when they finally pull apart, she exhales, nuzzling into him, hands still fisted in his shirt.
rafe just chuckles, running a hand down her back. his baby girl.
more daddy!rafe
y/n trying to smoke
love bites
teaching y/n how to kiss
2K notes · View notes
anythingneverythingnstuffs · 5 months ago
Text
simon 'daddy kink' riley
the first time you called him 'daddy' during intimacy, it had been a total accident. your face had turned red as a tomato and your skin as hot as the sun as it dawned on you what you had called your massive and semi-new lover. you had never called anyone that before. you had no idea where it came from.
but Simon didn't seem to give a singular flying fuck as to the reason you called him 'daddy'. he was just glad you did.
immediately, he got with the program. he noticed your flush, but didn't draw attention to it.
"Ya like that, babygirl? You like daddy's big, bad, monster cock stretching your sweet little pussy open as you make those beautiful sounds for me?"
and he didn't slow down. he never slowed down, unless you specifically asked him to.
that had only happened once, because you really thought you were going to pass out from the physical exertion he took being intimate with you. it had only turned him on even more, but he had relented for you.
he'd really do anything for you.
masterlist
2K notes · View notes
slytherinzz · 7 months ago
Text
Sebastian: “Let’s make a pact: if either of us gets expelled, the other will smuggle us back in.”
Ominis: “If you get expelled, I’ll personally escort you out.”
2K notes · View notes
chubby-p1nk · 3 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Here's a little Sketch of a Tiny Tim and Damian- I'm doing something... Something Something.
2K notes · View notes
obihoebikenobi · 7 months ago
Text
Logan likes kissing. Like, really likes kissing.
Every time he comes home from work and finds Wade lounging on the couch, he clambers over and presses a kiss to to the top of Wade's head, asking him about his day. When Logan finds him in the kitchen cooking breakfast, he wraps his arms around Wade from behind, kissing down his neck, asking how he slept. Right before going to sleep Logan presses a closed lip kiss to Wade's lips, another to his cheek, and it's goddamn irritating because Logan's such a fucking tease and he doesn't even seem to realize it.
Logan seems to like making out on the couch more than he likes having sex, always taking copious amounts of time to lick into Wade's mouth, suck open mouthed kisses underneath his chin, all the way down to his chest.
Of course they have sex, lot's of sex, all the time, but the soft shit? Logan does it all the time, almost like he doesn't have to think about it.
Walking two blocks down the street to the grocery store? Logan's holding Wade's hand. Riding the train? Logan's pressed up close, arm wrapped around Wade's shoulders. Busy Saturday market? Logan's pushing through the crowds, leading Wade to an open spot in the park, smiling and pressing a kiss to his forehead, asking if he wants a croissant.
It annoys Wade, not because he doesn't like it, but because it's so fucking gentle and sickly sweet and so different from the Logan he first knew who would bite Wade's damn head off and shove him up against the wall, all possessive and shit.
One day Wade asks him about it, and Logan smiles all fondly at him, cupping his cheeks, looking straight into his eyes like they're starring in a fucking hallmark holiday movie.
"Because I love you," Logan says matter-of-factly, "When I see you, I kiss you. Want my hands on you all the time. Want to make you feel good, bub."
And maybe Wade doesn't miss the possessive manhandling after all.
2K notes · View notes