#Blog Welcome

[antarcticsloth]

Hello, my name is Dru, and I write a lot! I'm 24, and I use she/they pronouns. I mostly focus this blog on fandom and my OCs for my original story! If there are any headcanons you want to throw my way or hear my opinion on, don't hesitate to send me an ask!

My AO3

#the mysterious mr qi (my tracking tag for my Qi fic)

#uzon (my tracking tag for my original story)

#my writing (tracking tag for anything else I write)

#sloth answers (my tag for answering asks)

#sloth rambles (my tag for talking or making posts)

Commission Status: OPEN

[fckbatmanhiskidsareminenow]

Welcome To My Blog!

This is a batfamily centric blog where you find me shit posting and talking about my headcanons.

Meet The Blogger

My name is Mars, I am a 20 year old Australian and I use they/she pronouns.

Characters I write for

(feel free to send in requests but please follow the request rules below)

Barbara Gordon

Dick Grayson

Jason Todd

Cass Cain

Steph Brown

Tim Drake

Duke Thomas

Damian Wayne

You can also throw these names into the tag search to browse my account for specific characters!!

Request/Ask Rules

you can

send in ur own headcanons

fic reqs

asks about my headcanons

request for headcanons about characters in my list

yap to me about headcanons mine or other ones (i would LOVE for yall to yap with me about mine omg)

you cannot

send stuff not relevant to the blog

hate on mine or anyone else’s headcanons

ask for batcest ships (not my thing)

send any sort of threat

[skeletonbonezzz]

WELCOME TO MY BLOG !!

⊱✮☮︎︎✦𖦹꒷꒦꒷𖦹✦☮︎︎✮⊰

𝙷𝚎𝚢! 𝙸'𝚖 𝚂𝚔𝚎𝚕𝚕/𝚂𝚔𝚎𝚕𝚢

✶ 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗

✶ 𝙵𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚢

✶ 𝙰𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝

✶ 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚎 𝙺𝚒𝚍

✶ 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙿𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚗 ✝︎ ☮︎︎

∘₊✧─────────────✧₊∘

𝙸 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝙼𝚈 𝙱𝙾𝚈𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙳 <𝟹𝟹𝟹

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𝙸 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚜 :3 

𝙱𝙸𝚂𝙴𝚇𝚄𝙰𝙻 - 𝙶𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙵𝙻𝚄𝙸𝙳 - 𝙰𝚂𝙴𝚇𝚄𝙰𝙻

∘₊✧─────────────✧₊∘

𝙵𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖𝚜 𝙸'𝚖 𝚒𝚗 :: 𝙳𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚜, 𝙱𝚘𝚋'𝚜 𝙱𝚞𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝙷𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚝𝚘𝚗, 𝚎𝚝𝚌

∘₊✧─────────────✧₊∘

𝙾𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝙸'𝚖 𝚘𝚗 ::

𝚄𝚗𝚅𝚊𝚕𝚎 :: https://unvale.io/SK3L3T0NB0N3ZZZ

𝙱𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚔𝚢 :: https://bsky.app/profile/sk3l3t0nb0n3zzz.bsky.social

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𝙳𝚘'𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝'𝚜

𝙳𝚘 ::

-𝙼𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚌𝚜

-𝚃𝚊𝚐 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚝 𝚖𝚎

-𝙰𝚜𝚔 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚊 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚘

-𝙶𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚜

-𝙰𝚜𝚔 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 ((𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕)) 

-𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎

𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 :: 

-𝙰𝚜𝚔 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

-𝙴𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚕/𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝

-𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎

-𝚂𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚢 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚝/𝚘𝚌𝚜

-𝙰𝚜𝚔 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 

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𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 <𝟑

[herosneednotapply]

Welcome to my blog! This blog is tragically pinned by T and is semi-selective, multiship/multi-muse. Mun and Muses are 21+. Below you'll find any important information you may need.

Replies: 10* @vvolfstare, @walkitoffrogers, @thrall-of-the-hill

Starters: 0*

Meme: 0*

*Updated 11/22/2024 8:34pm

Rules

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Interest Tracker

Open Rp

AU's

[aroaceleovaldez]

i had a thought of "do people not know what AUs are anymore?" and then i remembered nobody explains fandom stuff to new people anymore so it is entirely plausible people genuinely don't know what AUs are and nobody has explained it to them, so for today's lucky 10,000:

"AU" stands for "Alternate Universe" or "Alternative Universe" (same difference) and is basically any thought scenario for a fandom that isn't canon and can't fit within the canon universe. If it takes place in the canon universe but something is notably different, that is typically what's known as a "Canon divergent AU," because it diverges from canon.

an AU can be absolutely anything. There's a couple of widespread pan-fandom au scenarios that often get thrown around, like coffee shop aus, genderbend aus, hanahaki aus (hanahaki is a whole thing in itself i'd recommend researching on your own), etc. One you might hear sometimes is "crossover AU" which is when you have characters from one fandom interacting with characters from another.

You can have as many aus as you want. They can be whatever you want and you can do whatever you want in them. It's a sandbox for you to play around in and explore how things would be different or how the characters would act in those circumstances or environments. Maybe they have different relationships with each other. Maybe they behave slightly differently. Or you can just say "Okay, [x] is true. How did they get here? How would things have to be different for this to occur?" which can also be fun.

If you are ever confused about why people ship something that seems completely out of the blue or doesn't make sense to you in the canon setting, there's a good chance they like it in an AU setting! Not everything everybody is interacting with is necessarily the canon! Not everybody wants things to exist in canon and just want to explore playing dolls in a different sandbox and that's okay. And their sandbox might look a lot different than yours, and that's also okay. You have the freedom to make your sandbox whatever you please. Do whatever you want forever. Get funky with it. AUs are fun.

Okay that's my schpeal. everybody go have fun and play nice now.

[mortionsickness]

i’ll betray you like a man

[binary-bird]

here we go again

[bloomzone]

2025: #2 u are the main character of ur life

✒️.U.NEED.TO.GET.CRAZY.ABOUT.UR. LIFE .THIS is ur life. your story, your movie and You’re the main character of it . But here’s the problem—you’re sitting there, acting like you’re just an extra. Let me ask you something: when are you going to wake up? When are you going to stop living like someone else is writing your script? Because newsflash—nobody else cares as much about your story as YOU should.

N1 You’re Not Here to Be Average

Do you feel it? That spark inside you? The one that says you’re made for something bigger? Stop shoving it down. Stop telling yourself, 'I’m not special,' or, 'I’ll never be that person.' Because let me tell you something—you already ARE that person. The only difference between you and the version of you that you dream about? Action. Average is safe, but it’s boring. U NEED TO KNOW Being 'okay' is easy, but it’s unfulfilling. You weren’t put on this planet to blend in. You were born to stand out, to do something, to leave a mark. But first, you have to believe that. You have to take risks. You have to dare to be seen, to be heard, to be ALIVE.

N2 Get Obsessed with Yourself

This is the part where people get uncomfortable, but IDGASS . You need to fall in love with YOU. Not in a shallow, fake, selfie-obsessed way—but deeply, madly, passionately in love with the person you are becoming.Spend time with yourself. Take yourself out on dates. Sit in silence and listen to your thoughts. Who are you, really? What do you want? Not what society wants, not what your parents want, not what your friends think is cool—what do YOU want?Get crazy about discovering your passions. Throw yourself into books, art, music, whatever lights you up inside. Because the more you pour into yourself, the more unstoppable you become. You’re not just living life; you’re creating it. So why not make it something spectacular?

N3 Stop Waiting for Permission

Why are you waiting? Waiting for someone to tell you you’re good enough? Waiting for the 'right time'? BRO WTF Let me tell you something nobody is coming to give you permission. Nobody is going to hand you your dream life wrapped up in a bow. You have to go out there and TAKE IT.Stop looking for signs. Stop waiting for everything to feel perfect. It’s messy, it’s chaotic, and sometimes it’s downright terrifying—but that’s the beauty of it. The magic happens when you stop overthinking and just DO. Take the leap, even if you don’t feel ready. Life isn’t about being ready—it’s about showing up, again and again, until you create the life you can’t stop dreaming about AND THIS IS DISCIPLINE

N4 Reclaim Your Power

Let’s get one thing straight: you are powerful. Not in a vague, 'manifestation vibes' kind of way, but in a real, tangible way. Every decision you make is a choice. Every habit you keep is a vote for the kind of person you want to be.But here’s the catch—every time you let someone else control your narrative, you give away a piece of that power. Every time you shrink yourself to fit someone else’s expectations, you lose a little more. Stop giving it away. Own your voice. Own your choices. Own your life.You are the architect of your story. So start building something worth remembering. And if people don’t like it? If they don’t 'get' you? Let them go. Your life is not a democracy it’s YOUR kingdom. Rule it unapologetically.

N5 Romanticize the Hell Out of Everything

Here’s the secret nobody tells you: life is as magical as you decide to make it. Stop waiting for the big moments—graduation, the 'dream job'...—to feel alive. Start finding beauty in the small, ordinary, quiet things.Make your morning coffee an event. Cook ur dinner by urself. Write love letters to urself. Turn sunsets into poetry. Life is happening right now, and if you keep rushing to the 'next thing,' you’re going to miss it.Romanticizing your life isn’t about pretending everything is perfect. It’s about choosing to see the magic, even in the mess. Because when you do that, life stops feeling like something you’re just surviving—and starts feeling like something worth celebrating.

This is Your one life. Your one shot. So stop living like you have forever. Stop waiting, stop hiding, stop playing small. You are the main character of this story, and it’s time to act like it. Get crazy about your life. Get obsessed. Because when you do, everything changes.Now go out there and make something beautiful I'm proud of u 143

@bloomzone 📇

[daryltwdixon]

Joel Miller x Reader

Joel’s jealousy surfaces when he sees you getting invited to one of Robert's men's apartments in the QZ, and it pushes him to confront you and finally admit his feelings.

warnings: smut 18+ only, jealous/rough/possessive Joel. power play, orgasm denial, teasing, dirty talk

word count: ~5k

a/n: my first ever Joel fic :')

The heavy thrum of boots on cracked asphalt echoes as you weave through the busy streets of the Boston QZ, a bag slung over your shoulder. In your hand, a crumpled scrap of paper flutters slightly with your stride, the name and room number scrawled on it already smudged from your grip. You shouldn’t have taken it—every instinct screamed not to—but the man from Area 5 had made refusal impossible.

He’d raked his eyes over you like you were nothing more than a transaction, his smirk thick with implication. Still, you took the note, biting your tongue and clenching your fists to avoid giving Robert’s protection thugs another excuse to single you out.

The noise of the main street fades as you turn into quieter, more desolate alleys, the distant hum of generators and FEDRA radios filling the silence. The bag on your shoulder feels heavier now, the encounter lingering like grime under your skin.

Then, from the corner of your eye, you spot a figure in the shadows.

Joel Miller.

He’s leaning against a crumbling wall near the alley entrance, arms crossed over his chest, his shoulders cutting an imposing silhouette in the fading afternoon sun. His face is a mask of indifference, but his sharp eyes catch the smallest details, their weight pinning you in place.

Even in the gloom, you can feel the tension radiating from him like heat. That scowl—the one that promises nothing good—is set firmly in place, never smoothing from the lines of his face.

You almost roll your eyes at the look. Almost.

"Thought you’d be halfway to the docks by now," you say casually, brushing past him.

“Was,” Joel mutters, pushing off the wall. “Then I saw you chattin’ up that asshole.”

You freeze mid-step, your back to him, before turning around slowly. His eyes are dark, sharp like glass. There’s an edge to his tone you haven’t heard in a while.

“It was just a trade. And so what if I was?” you challenge, keeping your voice light, but there’s a flicker of tension you can’t quite hide.

Joel steps closer, his boots crunching the broken concrete. “So you’re workin’ deals with scum like him now?”

“You mean scum like us?” you fire back, crossing your arms. “I didn’t realize I needed your permission, Joel.”

His jaw tightens, the muscle twitching as he stares at you. “It ain’t about permission,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “You think he’s got your back? He’d sell you out for a can of peaches.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “And what? You’re here to protect me, is that it? Because last I checked, you’re not exactly the hero type.”

Joel’s hand twitches at his side, like he’s fighting the urge to reach for something—or maybe someone. “You think I don’t see it?” he snaps, his voice rising just enough to cut through the humid air. “Robert's usin' you, girl. Throwin' ya to the wolves and you just let them look at you like--”

Your eyes narrow, a hot flush creeping up your neck. “Look at me like what, Joel? Are you serious right now?”

“You’re damn right I am,” Joel growls, stepping closer until the space between you is as tight as the tension coiling in your chest, "You shouldn't be workin' with them. Ain't safe."

“Why do you care?” you ask, your voice quieter now as you search his face, the words slipping out before you can stop them. His broad shoulders envelop you, making you feel small and vulnerable in their shadow.

His mouth opens, but no words come out. Instead, he exhales sharply, like he’s trying to wrestle the truth back down before it escapes. His hand raises briefly, like he might touch you, but it drops just as quickly.

“Forget it,” he mutters, stepping back. “Do what you want.”

Your stomach twists as he turns away, the tension in your chest snapping before you realize what you’re doing. You grab his arm, your fingers curling around the worn fabric of his jacket.

“Joel, wait,” you say, the words coming out sharper than you intended.

He stops, stiff and unyielding, his head tilting slightly like he’s debating whether to face you. Slowly, he turns, his eyes locking on yours, dark and stormy, a barely restrained conflict simmering just beneath the surface.

“What?” he growls softly, his voice low and rough.

The words hang in the humid air between you, heavy and unspoken for too long. You should say something—anything—but your throat tightens, betraying you.

Joel steps forward, the space between you dwindling. His chest rises and falls, his breathing uneven, his eyes flickering to your lips. They part slightly, and when he moves in an inch, you suck in a breath, surprised but also...longing.

He’s so close now that the heat of him is impossible to ignore, his scent—sweat and leather and pine—filling your lungs. His gaze flickers to yours again, and for a heartbeat, you’re certain he’s going to close the gap. You can see the individual sprigs of hair that make up his beard now, which ones are gray and which have kept their darkness despite his age. The curve of his lips beneath the beard is intoxicating, a quiet lure that you can’t tear your eyes from. It takes everything in you not to give in, not to lean forward and close the aching space between you.

For a split second, you think he might be just as close to losing that battle. His breathing hitches, his fingers twitch at his side as though they ache to reach for you. But then his jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a hard line as he steps back, the tension snapping like a taut wire cut loose.

“Forget it,” he mutters, his voice low and jagged, before turning and walking away, leaving you there standing alone.

The crumpled note taunts you from where it’s sat for days on your kitchen table, the edges smoothed from you picking it up, staring at it, then tossing it back down. It’s ridiculous. You barely even want the man who gave it to you—certainly not with the way he’d looked at you like a piece of meat. But the thought lingers, an itch you can’t scratch. It’s been days.

Days since Joel. Since that moment in the alleyway when he’d almost—almost—crossed that invisible line, only to walk away and leave you in pieces. Him avoiding you, pretending you didn’t exist, and making himself scarce in any space you held. It was starting to leave an ache in you that you didn't realize you'd had for him.

You had never thought about Joel like that—

—now there was a damn lie.

You’d be kidding yourself if Joel’s broad, bulky figure didn’t creep into your thoughts late at night when you were all alone. But never had those thoughts been so intense as the past few nights, replaying what might’ve happened if he hadn’t stopped, if he’d kissed you against the brick wall of that alley.

But you couldn’t have Joel Miller. You wouldn’t allow it. Not the skulking asshole who was always sending jabs your way during jobs, overbearing and overprotective, acting like you couldn’t handle yourself. He had this infuriating way of thinking you needed saving, that he always had to be there, hovering just close enough to drive you insane.

Still, the note sits there, and something about its presence feels heavier than it should. You grab it, shoving it into your pocket with a frustrated sigh. It’s not like Joel has a claim on you. Hell, it’s not like you owe him anything after the way he walked away without looking back.

You won’t think about Joel. Not tonight.

But as you step into the dimly lit hallway and make your way toward the other man’s apartment, the little voice in the back of your mind pleads for you to knock on Joel's door instead.

The hallways of the old apartment block are dark, the overhead lights flickering in a familiar, uneven rhythm. Your steps echo faintly against the cracked tiles as you make your way toward the room number scribbled on the paper. Each step feels heavier than the last, and a gnawing doubt twists in your gut.

You pass by doors, most of them silent, others humming with muffled conversations or static from a radio. You’re so focused on pushing the brooding asshole from your mind that you don’t notice the door swinging open as you pass—not until his voice stops you cold.

“You really thinkin’ about goin’ to see that scumbag?”

You freeze, your pulse spiking as you turn to see Joel’s figure fill the doorway just a few steps behind you. His eyes bore into you, dark and smoldering with something between anger and disbelief. His large arms are braced against the doorframe, his shoulders cutting an imposing figure even in the dim light.

“Excuse me?” you say, your voice sharper than you intend, but it’s all you can manage to cover the flush creeping up your neck.

Joel steps forward, his expression hard, his gaze flicking down to the slight bulge in your pocket where the note sits. “Don’t play dumb,” he growls. “I know he lives on this floor. You goin' to see 'em?”

You bristle, your defenses slamming into place. “What does it matter to you?”

Joel takes a step closer, and even in the dim light, the tension in his jaw is unmistakable. “It matters,” he growls, his voice low and uneven, “because I know exactly what kinda bastard he is. And you don’t.”

You scoff, crossing your arms defensively. “What, you think I can’t handle myself?”

His lips twitch, just enough to make your blood boil. “Nah,” he says, the drawl in his voice sharper than usual, his words cutting. “I know you can’t, darlin’. Not with someone like him.”

The sweetness of that word—darlin’—wrapped in condescension is like a match to gasoline. Your blood ignites, the heat rushing up your neck as you step closer, closing the gap until you’re nearly chest to chest.

Your jaw tightens, your fists clenching at your sides as heat floods your cheeks. “You arrogant son of a bitch,” you snap, taking a step closer, your eyes locking onto his with a fire that matches his own, “You don’t get to stand there acting like you know what’s best for me.”

Joel doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch, though the flicker of something darker passes through his eyes. “I know more than you think,” he says quietly, his voice low and measured.

“Oh, really?” you shoot back, leaning in, your finger jabbing at his chest. “Then enlighten me, Joel. Tell me why it’s your problem if I decide to go to someone else. Because last I checked, you’ve been avoiding me for days."

His jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a hard line. “That's what you think this is? That I don't wanna be near you?” he asks, his voice dropping lower, rougher.

You scoff, leaning in closer, your voice dripping with challenge. “Damn straight. I think you’re scared.”

That does it. Joel lets out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head slightly. Then he leans in, his breath hot against your skin, his eyes locked on yours. “I ain’t scared of you, sugar,” he growls, his voice low, smooth, and cutting.

The nickname sends a jolt through you, not sweet like it should be but sharp, taunting. His words, the way his gaze lingers on you like he’s daring you to say something else, make your blood boil.

Before you can answer, he moves. His hand curls around your throat, tugging you forward until you’re almost flush against him. The heat of his skin is like an iron vice, firm but not cruel, and yet the sensation of it sends a shiver through you. Your breath hitches, your heart pounding in your chest as your hands fly up to steady themselves on him.

“You wanna know why I stayed away?” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, his voice rough.

Your heart nearly gallops in your chest as his hand releases your neck just to move up, cupping your face with a contrasting tenderness, his thumb brushing your face.

“I stayed away,” he continues, his lips nearly brushing the skin of your cheekbone, “’cause if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself."

The words wrap around you, pulling you under, and for a moment, the world narrows to just him—the rasp of his voice, the heat of his breath, the intensity in his eyes. Your hands instinctively grip the front of his shirt, grounding yourself in the feel of him.

“Then don’t stop," you whisper, the words trembling out of you like they’ve been waiting to escape.

Joel’s resolve snaps like a thread pulled too tight. His hand falls from your face to grab your wrist, pulling you into his apartment, the door slamming behind you with enough force to make the old hinges shake. The sound reverberates through the quiet space, but you barely register it before he pushes you up against the door.

His hands are at your waist first, gripping you tightly, his body crowding you like he’s trying to absorb every inch of space you hold. His lips crash against yours, rough and unrelenting, his kiss so consuming it leaves you breathless. There’s nothing gentle about it—there's a hunger, as though he’s been holding this back for far too long.

One of his hands moves upward, sliding into your hair. His fingers tangle at the nape of your neck, tightening into a firm fist. The pull sends your head back, exposing the line of your throat, and your lips part instinctively, a sharp whimper escaping before you can stop it.

The sound seems to spur him on. His lips break away from yours, trailing down to your jaw and lower still, finding the sensitive skin of your neck. His beard scrapes roughly against you, and the sharp contrast of his teeth grazing your skin sends a shiver down your spine.

“Joel—” Your voice falters as his lips press against your throat, his teeth scraping lightly before he nips at the soft flesh.

“Mmm," he hums, his voice muffled against your neck, "My name sounds so good on your pretty lips, baby." His hand on your waist grips you firmly, holding you in place as his lips and teeth move against you.

“You think I’d let some bastard like him have you?” he growls against your neck, his voice thick with frustration. “That anyone but me could have you?"

All you know how to do is whimper as you're clawing at his shoulders as he holds you brutally in place, your neck exposed to him as he bites down hard on the flesh of your shoulder, causing you to gasp in surprise.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, the coarse fabric of his shirt doing little to protect him from your frantic grip. He groans low in his throat at the sensation, the sound vibrating against your skin and making your knees weak.

“Shh, shh,” he coos, his voice softer now, pulling himself away just enough to look at you. His gaze drifts down to your flushed skin, the way your chest heaves with each labored breath, your pupils blown wide, and your lips parted.

His thumb brushes your jaw as he leans in, pecking your lips with a tenderness that feels like a stark contrast to the fire from moments ago. It’s soft, slow, making you mewl against his touch.

“I know, baby girl,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. His voice is so gentle now, so caressing and tender, it almost gives you whiplash it's so contrasting to the possessiveness of him, “Don’t ever make me watch you walk toward someone else again, you hear me?”

His hand loosens in your hair, the sharp tug easing into a comforting caress at the nape of your neck. You nod, swallowing hard as you try to catch your breath, your heart still pounding against your ribs.

Without hardly a warning, Joel’s lips crash back into yours, swallowing any words you might have spoken. His hand moves to your hip, gripping tightly as his body presses against yours, keeping you firmly against the door. The hand that was previously tangled in your hair cups gently at your jaw, tilting your head to allow him just the right angle for his tongue to slide into your wanting mouth.

Your hands slide beneath his shirt, exploring the warm, solid planes of his back, your nails scraping lightly against his skin. The sharp groan he lets out vibrates against your lips, his kiss growing rougher, more desperate.

His hands move with purpose now, one sliding under your shirt, the roughness of his calloused palm scorching a path up your side. The fabric bunches as he pushes it higher, his fingers grazing the edge of your ribs. His mouth leaves yours only to drag along your jaw and down your neck again, his teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp.

“Joel,” you whisper, the sound a mix of need and surrender, your head tilting back as his lips find your collarbone.

His hands tug at your shirt, pulling it over your head in one swift motion before his mouth is back on yours. His kisses are ravenous as though he’s been starving for this. You tug at his shirt in return, your fingers fumbling slightly in your haste before he pulls away just long enough to yank it off himself, the muscles in his chest and arms flexing with the motion.

His groan rumbles against your lips as his hands roam your body, his calloused palms grazing your bare skin. He cups your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, teasing until they pebble under his touch.

Eventually he lowers himself just enough to take a nipple into his mouth, his tongue swiping in slow, deliberate circles, coaxing a soft moan from your lips. The sensation has your fingers gripping his shoulders, keeping him close as he lavishes your skin with attention. He hums against you, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine as he switches to your other breast, giving it the same torturous care.

When he rolls your nipple between his teeth and sucks hard, your back arches off the door, a desperate moan escaping your throat. Your hands find their way into his hair, tugging at the soft strands, spurring him on.

When his fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans, he tugs them down in one smooth motion, the fabric pooling at your ankles. His gaze lifts to yours, and the way those dark, molten eyes bore into you makes your knees nearly give out.

He sinks to his knees with a quiet grunt, a faint crack from his joints drawing a flicker of a smile to your lips. But Joel doesn’t even flinch. His focus remains entirely on you, his large hands gripping your hips as he looks up at you, the sight alone enough to leave you breathless.

Joel Miller, on his knees.

For you.

His lips press to your hips, then the tops of your thighs, his beard scraping deliciously against your skin. He moves slowly, purposefully, savoring every inch of you as if he has all the time in the world. When he finally plants a kiss on your clothed mound, starting at the pubic bone and moving lower, your breath catches.

“Joel—” you plead again, like it’s the only word you know. Your brain feels like mush as he pulls your leg over his shoulder, his nose pressing against your panty-clad center, inhaling deeply.

“Knew you’d be so good for me,” he whispers, the shape of his lips forming the words against the fabric. His tongue darts out, teasing through the thin barrier, and the sensation makes your thighs tremble. “Knew you’d taste so fuckin’ sweet, baby girl.”

He flattens his tongue against your panties, dragging it in a slow, deliberate motion that leaves your jaw slack as you watch him. His mouth teases and tastes you, giving you just enough to light every nerve on fire but never enough to satisfy. Goosebumps race across your skin, and your head tilts back against the door as your eyes flutter shut, a soft moan spilling from your lips.

“Can taste this soaked pussy already, honey,” he moans, his voice low and rough, vibrating against you. His hand tightens on your hip, holding you steady as he presses a kiss to your most sensitive spot, still teasingly covered by the damp fabric. “Who’s all this for?”

Your brain struggles to keep up, the molten heat building in your core making it almost impossible to think. But then, that little devil on your shoulder gets the better of you, and before you can stop yourself, you murmur, “The guy down the hall,"

Joel stops.

The room goes silent, the teasing ministrations of his mouth halting as he pulls back just enough to look up at you. His eyes meet yours, dark and unreadable, and in that moment, you’re reminded of exactly who Joel Miller is.

Not just the man whose hands have been roaming your body, whose lips left you breathless—no, the killer. The smuggler. The man who has stared death in the face and walked away without flinching. The man who has done unspeakable things without hesitation, without mercy.

That edge, that dangerous part of him, flashes behind his eyes now, sharp and unforgiving. It makes your stomach twist, your heart pounding in the sudden stillness.

Joel doesn’t move, doesn’t speak at first, just stares at you like he’s deciding what to do with you. His jaw ticks, his expression hardening, and slowly, his grip on your thigh tightens just enough to make you hiss, to remind you of the strength he holds--the sheer power in his hands.

“You wanna say that again?” he mutters, his voice low and laced with quiet menace, and for a fleeting second, you’re not sure if he’s going to kiss you or destroy you.

Within a second, Joel drops your thigh and stands abruptly, towering over you once again. Before your heart can catch up, he’s pulling you across the room with ease, guiding your body toward the bed. He pushes you forward, and you land on all fours, your hands catching your fall against the soft blankets.

You barely have time to process the shift before he’s already behind you. The clang of his belt buckle hitting the floor sends a shiver through you, your body hyperaware of every sound, every movement.

“You’re gonna regret sayin’ that, honey,” he drawls, his voice low and dangerous as his fingers snag the waistband of your panties, dragging them down with a deliberate slowness. The cool air brushes against your bare skin, and you feel the rough calluses of his fingertips as they trail over you.

Joel hisses as his fingers slide along your bare wetness, spreading you open just enough to tease.  Your breath catches when he strokes himself against you, his cock hot and heavy as it presses against your entrance. The head of him is enough to make you freeze, your body tensing at the sheer size of him.

“Shhh,” he soothes, his hand trailing down your spine, the pads of his fingers brushing lightly as they go. “S’alright, baby. You can take it. Just after throwin’ that shit in my face, I can’t let ya have it easy, can I?”

You shake your head quickly, your breath coming in short gasps. “No, sir,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice soft but laced with control. His hands grip your hips, guiding you as he nudges your legs further apart with his knees. “Get down for me.”

You lower yourself onto the bedspread so your cheek is brushing the blanket, your arms splayed out beside you. Your body instinctively obeys his command, your back arching as you raise your hips higher for him. Joel moves one foot onto the bed, bracing himself as he leans over you, the sheer weight of him pressing down, making you feel completely at his mercy.

Joel shifts behind you, his hand splayed over your lower back as he holds you in place. The weight of his palm is grounding, steady, a stark contrast to the tension crackling in the air around you. You feel the heat of him pressing against you, his cock dragging along your slick folds, teasing, deliberate.

“Look at you,” he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. “All laid out for me like this.” His other hand grips your hip firmly, his fingers digging into your skin as he lines himself up. “This is where you belong, baby. Right here. Under me.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and before you can respond, he pushes forward. The stretch is immediate, sharp and nearly unbearable, his cock filling you inch by inch as he moves slowly, giving you time to adjust.

“Shit,” Joel hisses, his grip on your hip tightening as he sinks deeper. “So tight for me, baby girl. You feel that? Feel how good you’re takin’ me?”

You whimper, your fingers clutching the blankets as your body arches back instinctively, chasing the sensation. Joel growls low in his throat at the motion, his hand sliding up to grab a fistful of your hair, gently pulling your head back as he leans down over you.

“Patience,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the curve of your ear. “We’re doin’ this my way.”

He pulls back again, just enough to make you whine at the loss before pressing forward again, deeper this time. Each thrust is slow, measured, driving you to the edge but never letting you tumble over. His control is maddening, the steady rhythm of his movements keeping you suspended in a haze of pleasure and frustration.

Your body arches instinctively, the pressure building in your core, but Joel doesn’t let you move an inch beyond what he allows, his hands still holding you firmly in place.

“Your pussy’s squeezin’ me like a damn vice, baby,” he hisses, his voice gravelly and thick with heat. His hands roam over your hips, rough palms smoothing over the curve of your waist as he grinds into you. “You gonna cum soon, aren’t you, darlin’?”

Your breath catches at his dirty words, the pressure low in your belly coiling tighter with every calculated roll of his hips. “Yes,” you gasp, your voice trembling as you squeeze your eyes shut. “Yes, yes, yes…”

Joel chuckles darkly, his pace slowing even further, drawing out your desperation. His hands still on your hips, holding you firmly in place as you writhe beneath him. “Aw,” he tuts, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. “That’s too bad, ain’t it?”

Your eyes fly open as he leans down, his chest pressing against your back. His lips brush your ear, his voice low and taunting. “Good girls get to cum,” he murmurs, each word slow and deliberate, his breath hot against your skin. “But you and that smart mouth? You don’t get nothin’ until I say so.”

Joel straightens back up, his grip on your hips like iron as he slams into you without warning, the force of it stealing the breath from your lungs. The slow, taunting rhythm from before is gone, replaced by something primal, raw. Each thrust is rough, unrelenting, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the room as he drives into you with relentless precision.

Your fingers clutch at the blankets beneath you, your body rocking forward with the intensity of his movements. The coil in your belly tightens with every harsh thrust, your legs trembling as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

Broken moans continue to escape your lips, your body arching instinctively as you try to meet his pace, but his hands on your hips keep you firmly in place, leaving you no control.

“Not so smart now, huh?” he mutters, his tone laced with dark satisfaction as he drives into you harder. “Thought you could tease me, baby? Play your little games?”

The pressure inside you is unbearable now, your body trembling, desperate for release, but Joel isn’t letting you have it. He keeps you teetering on the brink, holding you there with a mastery that has you whimpering, your head dropping forward as you gasp for air.

“Please,” you finally cry, your voice breaking as the words spill from your lips. “Joel, please!”

He leans down again, one hand sliding up your spine to grip the back of your neck, his breath hot against your ear. “Not yet,” he growls, his voice thick with control. “You don’t get to cum until I hear you say it.”

You sob softly, your body trembling with the effort of holding back as he fucks you harder, his movements leaving you raw and desperate.

“Say it,” he demands, his hand tightening on your neck, his thrusts unrelenting. “Say you belong to me.”

Your breath hitches, your mind too hazy to resist anymore. “I belong to you,” you gasp, your voice trembling, barely more than a whisper.

“Louder,” he growls, his hips slamming into you, pushing you even closer to the edge.

“I belong to you!” you cry, your voice breaking with the force of your desperation, "I'm yours Joel, all yours. It's all for you,"

“Good girl,” he moans, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “Now show me, baby. Show me how good you are for me.”

With one hand still gripping your hip, Joel’s other slides down to where your bodies meet, his rough fingers finding your swollen clit. The sharp jolt of pleasure has you crying out, your body bucking against him as he circles it with maddening precision.

The combination of his thrusts and his fingers is overwhelming, the pressure inside you finally snapping as you’re thrown over the edge. Your body tenses, your thighs shaking as your release crashes through you in waves, pulling a loud, broken moan from your lips.

Joel groans low in his throat, his pace faltering slightly as he watches you come undone around him, your walls fluttering and squeezing him tight. “That’s it,” he growls, his voice strained, “That's my good girl, give me everything,"

He stays leaning down over you now, driving into you, chasing his own high. His arms hold you against his body tightly, his breath is ragged, his movements erratic as he holds you firmly against him.

With a deep, guttural groan, Joel presses deep, his cock twitching as his release spills into you, hot and overwhelming. His hips stutter as he rides it out, his hands keeping you pinned against him, his body shuddering with the force of it.

The room is filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, the both of you trembling and spent. Joel leans forward, his lips brushing against the back of your neck as his hands soften their grip, caressing your skin now instead of digging into it.

After one last exhale, Joel shifts, the tension leaving his body as he falls onto the bed bedside you, laying onto his back and pulling you into him. His arms wrap around you, warm and secure, holding you against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat is warm, grounding you as you relax into him.

His hand moves slowly, gently tracing soft circles along your back, his rough fingers soothing against your skin. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, your breath warm as it fans over his collarbone.

“You alright, baby?” he asks again, his voice softer now, laced with concern and tenderness.

You hum, your hand coming up to his face, tracing your fingers along the rough planes of his jaw. “Better than alright,” you whisper, your voice hoarse but content.

His lips twitch into a faint smile, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “Sorry if I was--”

“You weren’t,” you cut him off softly, your fingers brushing along the valleys of his arm, “It was perfect.”

Joel’s arms tighten around you slightly, his thumb stroking idly along the curve of your shoulder. For a moment, you don’t say anything, content to listen to the rhythmic sound of his breathing, to feel the warmth of his body enveloping yours. His chest rises and falls beneath you, steady and calming, and you let your eyes drift closed.

Joel shifts slightly, adjusting the blanket over the both of you before settling back down, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head. His hands never stop moving, slow and steady, as if to remind you he’s there, that he’s not going anywhere.

“Get some rest,” Joel murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple in a soft, lingering kiss. “I’ve got you.”

And with that, you sink into him, his warmth and quiet affection wrapping around you like a balm, the world outside fading into nothing.

[maiko-coy]

AAAAAA UR DOEY ART IS SOOOO CUTTEEE OMGGG EHJHJKHSH <3333

WAIT, OH ITS YOU!!

Would it be silly if i said that it was actually ur art that got me motivated :)c

Have a happy boy!

[heeluvv]

NATTY! ౨ৎ she/her ── check below for masterlist ↓ requests are always open ✦

read before requesting !

JUNGWON ˎˊ˗

bad day wrecked strawberry with chocolate started their live hate you pretty when you cry

HEESEUNG ˎˊ˗

haunted small series: pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 needy

JAKE ˎˊ˗

attention cramped lovenotes class time see me now minutes your good boy fulfilled sit on it hot & steamy

JAY ˎˊ˗

jealousy small series: pt.1 pt.2 dressing room mine masked beg birthday sex

SUNOO ˎˊ˗

perfect for me off limits subby always been

SUNGHOON ˎˊ˗

under my eyes dream caught, kitty the call teach me velvet fangs

RIKI ˎˊ˗

late one on one backseat consequences first time noona morning

OT7 ˎˊ˗

breaking point after concert heatwave

HEEWON ˎˊ˗

defiant ours

HEEJAKE ˎˊ˗

detention

JAYKE ˎˊ˗

high best friend

HOONKI ˎˊ˗

airplane

JAYKI ˎˊ˗

tutoring

JAKEHOON ˎˊ˗

ruined

WONKI ˎˊ˗

like that

02Z ˎˊ˗

the best

last updated 4/4/25!

[binie-boo]

as someone wise once said: yeah

[ceruark]

☆ killah ☆

♫ "if i get you alone, under your skin and bone, imma try you on for size" the MAYHEM collection. now playing: killah.

[childhood friend! sunday x fem! reader] synopsis: you return home from uni after breaking up with your boyfriend, where your childhood friend awaits you with open arms... and no ulterior motives. wc: 2.0k cw: explicit smut. MDNI. sunday is a bit of a freak. implied obsessive and possessive behavior.

“massive day for sunday oak,” kakavasha jokes when you break the news to your friends back home that you finally broke up with your awful boyfriend.

your relationship with sunday, your childhood best friend, had become… strained, for some reason, after you’d told him that you were in relationship with someone you’d met on campus. things were still tense from you choosing to go to a different college despite the fact that you’d both been accepted into the same prestigious one that he’s currently attending, but this seemed to be the nail in the coffin. sunday still texted you frequently, of course, but you did notice how he would never like or comment on a post or close friends story that featured your then-boyfriend in it.

he’s not the type of person to do something without purpose, after all.

kakavasha, someone you’d both met in high school who is a friend to you (to sunday, too, not that either will ever admit it) hounds you constantly about sunday’s supposed crush on you. 

“he’s being passive-aggressive.” the smugness in his voice somehow always manages to carry through the phone speaker. “i don’t know why you won’t admit to yourself that he’s down bad for you.”

“he’s not,” you insist, even though you know somewhere in the back of your mind, that sunday has always looked at you in a way that kakavasha and veritas never have.

despite your feigned denial and ignorance, though, you’re a bit nervous to be home for the summer. you’d broken up with your ex at the beginning of the semester, meaning that a solid five months have passed since then. you feel like you’ve moved on and are ready for whoever life sends your way next.

a mindset and shift in your demeanor that sunday will be able to pick up on immediately.

sunday knows you better than anyone— undoubtedly, even better than you know yourself. it can get uncomfortable, at times, being under his scrutinizing, all-seeing gaze and being handled as meticulously as one of the projects assigned to him by his adoptive father as a test to see if he is indeed a worthy heir.

maybe you are a personal project to him. he’s always so careful, so calculated in his interactions with you that it leaves you feeling slightly uneasy, but only after the fact. no, in the moment, you’re always blinded by your fondness and long-time affection for him, something which he knows. which he uses to his advantage.

so, yes, you do play dumb when it comes to sunday. you know how he is, what he’s capable of— you’ve been witness to his colder, crueler side countless times, have exchanged your fair share of wide-eyed side glances with robin— and you know that if show even an ounce of interest, he’ll seriously pursue you, and he’ll execute it so flawlessly that you won’t even realize what hit you until you’re already nestled deep within his grasp.

you know this, and yet.

you agree to go over to his house (mansion, really; all these years, and you still get lost in dewlight pavilion if you’re not with sunday or robin) the day after your flight lands. his more questionable behaviors aside, you do love sunday dearly, and you do want to see him again, especially now that things aren’t tense between you anymore.

a foolish thing to do, in hindsight. why do you never trust your instincts when he’s involved?

he’s been driving you insane all day. his touches linger, but not nearly long enough for you to actually be able to call him out on it. you’ll think you catch something needy in his gaze, but when you do a double-take, he’s the perfect picture of innocence, listening to you attentively, as always.

sunday has always been attractive, you’d be an idiot to try and convince yourself otherwise. but you’ve always been hesitant out of fear of ruining your friendship with him— that, and because of the depth of his feelings for you.

you should know that he’s stringing you along, working you up on purpose. he’s always known how to read you, carefully tracing your lines with his finger as if you’re sheet music detailing his favorite song, committing your notes to memory and playing you so masterfully, like he was born to do nothing else but ensure that you are his finest piece of work.

and as you’ve always known, you’re already in too deep by the time your brain catches up to what he’s been scheming; you’ve got him pushed back against his headboard while you straddle his lap, hands tangled in his hair as you kiss him senseless. his hands are at your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he keeps trying to pull you impossibly closer to him. his mouth is pliant beneath yours, following your lead and movements with small moans and gasps slipping out in between. 

he trails after you when you pull back, so you place a hand against his chest to keep him in place. it snaps him out of it enough for him to open his eyes. he looks absolutely debauched with his blown pupils and puffy lips, and you try to ignore what the sight does to the heat building between your thighs. 

“is this—” you clear your throat. “is this really okay?”

his eyes are locked onto your lips as you speak. “why wouldn’t it be?” he asks back. 

“you— you haven’t done anything before, sunday,” you say. “i don’t want you to regret it.”

he finally meets your eyes at that. one hand removes itself from your waist and comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking it gently. 

“i could never regret you, dove,” he whispers, and you feel your face flush bright red at the nickname.

you swallow thickly. the devotion will take some getting used to. “are you sure?”

he drags you toward him, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “of course,” he murmurs against them.

you adjust yourself on his lap, leaning into him fully, your chest pressing against his. he sucks in a shaky breath at the contact, his hand finding its way to your waist again. “you’ll let me know if it’s too much, right?”

he nods weakly, distracted. when you raise an eyebrow, he mutters out, “yes, i will.”

“okay,” you say, satisfied. 

and then you descend on him again, lips meeting in a mess of tongue and desperation. you hike the skirt of your dress up and begin to slowly rock your hips back and forth against his clothed erection, and the groan that leaves his throat sends a rush of heat shooting down your spine, pooling in the pit of your stomach. 

after a few minutes, he pulls away just enough to hiss out a desperate, “please.”

nodding, you lean back and begin fumbling with his belt. once it’s off, you pull his pants as far down his legs as you can without removing yourself from him completely. his boxers are soaked through, and you feel yourself swallowing again in anticipation as you reach inside of them. he jolts again when your hand wraps around his girth, another whine slipping out of his lips as he involuntarily bucks into your hand. with your other hand, you begin moving his boxers down his thighs as well, and pull his cock free.

he’s on the slimmer side, but he’s definitely longer than your ex— the only person you’ve ever been intimate with. you might have some trouble taking him fully, but judging from the amount of pre already dripping down his cock— and the mess between your own legs, dripping down your thighs— it might be able to slip in just fine.

huffing out a shaky sigh of your own, you hurriedly remove your own panties, tossing them somewhere to the side of the bed. you shift upward, carefully lining his cock up with your hole. you both groan a little bit when his tip brushes against your entrance.

you place a hand on his shoulder and rub your thumb in circles against his collarbone and, voice lilting, ask, “are you ready?”

“yes,” he breathes out.

slowly, you start sinking down onto his cock. a soft whine escapes you as his tip stretches you on its way in, a sigh of relief leaving you when it slips in and you start taking in his shaft.

sunday’s grip is near-bruising as you descend fully, and a strangled moan leaves him when you sit down on him completely. a choked gasp leaves you when his tip hits something deep within, a part of you that’s never been reached before.

he leans forward and presses his forehead to your shoulder. you gently card a hand through his hair, letting both him and yourself adjust.

when he leans back again, you place both your hands on his shoulders.

“i’m going to move now,” you say, “that okay?”

“please,” he whines again, and you giggle and press a sweet kiss to his lips.

you move yourself up and off of him just enough so that his tip is barely leaving your entrance before you slam back down again, taking him at a fast pace. 

whatever control he was trying to maintain over himself unravels quickly, and the whines that leave him stoke the flames burning in the pit of your stomach even more, knowing that you’re responsible for picking him apart like this. your own whines mingle with his, as each bounce has his tip slamming into that sensitive spot again and again, pushing you toward the edge faster than your ex or any toy ever has.

he’s getting close— you can feel him twitching inside you, and his whines are escalating into deep, loud moans that he tries to muffle by burying his face into your chest. you’re not quite there yet, but you’re not too worried about coming today; making his first time enjoyable is enough to satisfy you.

as if sensing your resolve, though, sunday removes a hand from your waist— something you don’t realize until his cool fingers are prodding at your clit. your hips jerk forward at the sudden contact, sucking in a sharp breath as he begins kneading it.

his movements are a bit sloppy at first, but he’s always been a quick learner, especially when it comes to you. when one particular motion has you crying out suddenly, he’s pressing harder against that spot and massaging it faster, bringing you closer to your high.

your movements have become erratic and your walls are fluttering when he tries to speak again, voice hoarse. “i— i’m—”

“inside,” you moan out, the word slurring as you feel yourself hanging on by a thread. “‘s okay.”

sunday gives a few a more thrusts before one more loud whine rips itself from his throat. he gives one last aborted jerk as he unloads into you, and the warmth that fills you pushes you over edge at last, and somehow, even through his own haze, he continues rubbing against your clit as you ride out your high.

eventually, you slump forward, collapsing against his chest as you catch breath and bring your racing heart back down. a hand comes up to cradle your hair gently, and he presses a tender kiss to your temple.

now clear-headed, you sigh, poking a finger into his rib. “you did all of that on purpose, didn’t you?”

he laughs, innocent enough if you didn’t know him as well as you do.

“whatever are you talking about?” he asks. he pulls you back by the hair gently, gazing into your eyes. there’s mischief and something a bit darker in them. “you came onto me.”

you roll your eyes at him. “what am i gonna do with you?”

he takes your hand in his, bringing it up to his lips and brushing your knuckles against them.

“i can think of a few things.”

[skrs-cats]

set after leafpool dies, before the bonus scene w jayfeather dealing w that grief gets resolved. guess who was bitter over a certain cardboard character bitch not being included in that

Next

[phrandallanton]

Hello, have you had the design of The Eltingville club Gen Z epilogue version? Your drawings are fantastic, though!

Have a great day or evening! ^^

I didn't make the GZEltingville AU, that belongs to dyellogin. Not sure if they've made an epilogue version. If I remember correctly, they're already adults in the AU. Though this did give me a horrible idea. Here's my parody version of the GZEltingville AU:

Gen Alpha Eltingville.