#You can only put so many expressions on him

[lowrisemiller]

snowbound ⋆⁺₊❅。

joel miller x fem!reader | 7.4k words | masterlist | sickeningly sweet, kissing, grinding/dry humping, fingering, unprotected sex |

summary- you & joel are the only ones left from your group and struggling to get through the harsh winter. until you stumble across an abandoned cabin and decide to stay there the whole winter…what could possibly happen ? ❅

HE KEEPS looking at you while walking, yet he remains silent. It’s one of the harshest winters he has faced since the outbreak, and you appear more like a porcelain doll that ought to be kept safe in a box, rather than a survivor in the wilderness. There were six people at the start of the journey, but now it’s merely the two of you. He has already had to bid farewell too many times in his life. It would be unfortunate to attempt to forget your pretty face as well.

You were shivering despite the many layers you had as you tried to keep up with Joel.

He sighs before he stops and turns around to face you. You can see in his gaze the concern he feels for you.

"You're freezing." He says, stepping towards you.

“N-No shit,” you said through chattering teeth.

He simply huffs at your protest, gently wrapping the coat around you. He then looks down at you, his gaze softens slightly.

“N-No Joel you need it.”

"I'll manage. You're smaller and freezing. Now shut your pretty little mouth and keep warm, okay?"

“O-Okay Joel, T-Thank you,” you said, still shivering but his coat helped.

He nods, a small smirk on his lips. It seems like your compliance has earned his grudging respect.

"You're welcome.”

He starts walking again, but this time at a slightly slower pace so you can keep up with him.

THE CABIN

After walking in the blinding white snow for what seems like forever, Joel's gaze catches a small cabin in the distance. He halts, his eyes focused on the structure. He lets out a small hum, seeming to consider something.

"Looks like we might get some rest."

“D-Do you think it’s safe?”

He looks at you, his expression is a mix of consideration and caution.

"Hard to say for sure. But it's our best shot for now."

He approaches the cabin cautiously, his hand on his revolver as he checks the surroundings.

“O-Okay.”

He nods at you, still wary. He arrives at the cabin's door and presses his ear against it, listening for any sounds inside.

He then gives the doorknob a few experimental twists, but it doesn't budge. He takes a couple of steps back and prepares to kick the door open, but pauses.

"Stay behind me."

You nodded.

Joel gives you one last glance, making sure you're behind him, before he slams his booted foot against the door. It creaks and eventually gives way, opening fully. Joel steps inside, revolver raised and trained on every corner and shadowed spot.

You also took your gun out just in case.

The cabin is empty, which comes as a relief to Joel. He lowers his revolver, letting out a sigh.

"Looks clear."

He steps further into the cabin, quickly checking every corner and hiding place for any sign of danger. After a few moments, he decides it's safe.

"You can come in."

You all but ran in there, desperate to seek any warmth and put my gun back in my pack.

He lets out an amused snort as he watches you rush into the cabin.

"In a hurry, aren't we?"

He shuts the door behind you, locking it to add an extra layer of security. He then gazes around the cabin, his eyes roaming over the tattered furniture and bare walls.

“It was fuckin freezing,” you said, already settling into the place.

He chuckles, his gaze meeting yours. He takes in your shivering form and sighs.

"I can tell.”

He walks over to the fireplace, which is thankfully already stocked with firewood. He starts working to build a fire, his large hands moving swiftly.

You couldn’t help but look at his hands as you helped him with the wood.

He glances at you a few times as you help, taking note of your silent observations. His hands, rough and calloused from a lifetime of survival, move with surprising grace and precision as he arranges the firewood into a neat pile.

After a few moments, the fire roars to life, its flames casting an inviting warmth over the cabin.

As you were warming up you shrugged off his jacket and gave it back to Joel.

He takes the jacket, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief moment. He shrugs it back on, the fabric a little damp from your body heat and the snowflakes that had melted on it.

He settles on the floor near the fireplace, leaning against the wall. He pats the space next to him, a weary but somewhat inviting gesture.

"Come sit."

You nodded and let out a simple “alright,” and sat next to him.

He watches as you take a seat beside him, the firelight dancing across your face. He remains silent for a moment, his gaze drifting back to the fire, but he can feel your presence next to him and it's oddly comfortable. It's been a while since he's had someone by his side.

“This is nice.”

He glances at you, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I guess it is."

He stretches out his legs slightly, the tension from their journey showing in his movements.

"It's been a while since I've had a moment of peace like this. Been non-stop moving since the outbreak."

“Yeah tell me about it,” you chucked.

He lets out a soft chuckle, his eyes still fixed on the dancing flames.

"Yeah, it's a goddamn nightmare out there."

He pauses for a moment, his expression growing serious.

"I can't remember the last time I slept in a bed and didn't have to keep one eye open. And finding shelter like this...it's a small miracle."

“Yeah it’s a cute cabin, I uh actually meant to bring this up but…” You averted your gaze to the wooden floor.

He turns his head to face you, his gaze curious and a bit wary. He cocks an eyebrow, silently urging you to continue.

“Uh I was looking around the place and there’s only one bedroom with one bed…”

He freezes for a fraction of a second, his expression unreadable. He then lets out a scoff, running a hand through his hair.

"Well, that is something to talk about."

He eyes the single bed across the room, then looks back at you. He's trying to act nonchalant, but your observation has clearly caught him off guard.

“I mean I’m fine with it. I think we both deserve to sleep in a bed and we’re both adults it’s okay… unless you’re not comfortable with it—”

You sputtered out quickly.

He cuts you off, his tone firm but not cold.

"No, no it's fine."

He lets out a sigh, running a hand over his face. He's trying to conceal his discomfort. Of course, they were both adults, but sharing a single bed was...intimate. Something he hadn't done in a very long time. But he quickly pushes that thought aside, refusing to show any vulnerability.

"We both need rest. It's just for one night."

“Right. Yeah…Yeah.”

He nods, his gaze returning to the fire, a mix of resignation and exhaustion in his eyes. Despite his attempt to act cool about the situation, he's clearly not used to sharing personal space with anyone.

There's a long, heavy silence as both of you sit there, the crackling of the fire providing the only background noise.

“Do you think… Could we stay here longer? Not just a night?”

You said, breaking the silence.

He considers your question, his eyes distant as he stares into the flames. He runs a hand over his face, a weary gesture.

"I suppose we could...for a few days, at least."

He finally looks over at you, a hint of skepticism in his gaze.

"But it's risky. We can't stay in one place too long. We could get ambushed, supplies could run out."

“Joel c’mon there’s nothin for miles, we could stay here for winter.”

His expression darkens at your words, his jaw clenching briefly. He knows you have a point – the cabin is secluded, and they're surrounded by miles of isolated wilderness during this heavy winter. But that thought alone makes him uneasy.

“Winter? That's months, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah and? All we do is slowly die when we’re walking in the snow. Nothing changes, it's just dreadful and cold,” You said, finally looking back at him again.

He scoffs at your words, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"And what, stay here and wait it out? What if someone finds us? Or if we run out of supplies?"

He shakes his head, his whole body tense. He's not used to being told what to do, let alone by a pretty girl half his age.

“We kill them and we find more supplies, you’re good at that stuff why are you afraid all of a sudden?”

"I'm not afraid."

He snaps, his voice gruff. He's irritated by your insistence and the fact you seem to have no fear.

"I'm being cautious. We can't rely on blind luck forever."

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration clear in every line of his face. Your casual attitude is beginning to wear on his nerves.

“But we should bask in it for a while, c'mon you said it yourself. You need some peace.”

You said in a matter of fact tone.

He can't argue with your logic, and that makes it even more frustrating. He lets out a weary sigh, his gaze returning to the fire.

"Fine. We'll stay here for the winter. But the moment it becomes dangerous, we're out of here, got it? No arguments."

“Yes sir,” You said with a mock salute.

He rolls his eyes at your sarcastic tone, a hint of annoyance on his face.

"Watch it, sweetheart."

He's trying to sound irritated, but there's a hint of amusement in his voice. He's actually a little entertained by your feistiness.

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A few days have passed since the decision to stay at the cabin. Despite the initial tension, the two of you have settled into a somewhat comfortable routine. The cabin is still relatively barren, but it has become a makeshift home of sorts.

Joel sits by the fireplace, sharpening one of his knives. The repetitive scrape of the blade against the stone is the only sound in the room. He glances over at you.

You were sitting in the corner of the worn down sofa reading one of the books in the abandoned bookshelf.

He continues sharpening his knife, but his attention drifts towards you. You seem engrossed in the book, the fire casting a cozy glow on your face. He watches you for a moment, his mind seemingly elsewhere.

Eventually, he breaks the silence.

"What're you reading?"

You turned the book over showing him the cover.

“The Da Vinci Code”

He raises an eyebrow at the title, a hint of surprise on his face. He didn't take you for a Da Vinci Code fan.

“Ah, the Da Vinci Code. Heard about it but never read it myself.”

He sets his knife and sharpening stone aside, turning his attention fully towards you.

“Is it any good?”

“So far yeah, just a bunch of history.”

You shrugged.

He lets out a soft, almost amused chuckle.

"Surprised you're into history."

He's not trying to be condescending, just making an observation. History isn't something he associates with women your age, nor something he usually finds particularly interesting.

“Just somethin’ to read.”

"Fair enough."

He leans back against the wall, crossing his arms. The silence stretches for a few moments, but it isn't uncomfortable. It's the kind of silence that comes with familiarity and shared space. He continues to watch you, his expression a bit softer than usual.

You tried your hardest to move my eyes away from joel and back onto the words on the yellow pages. But joel just looked good like this. Like he wasn’t looking behind his back constantly, warm and domestic even.

Unaware of your thoughts, Joel continues to gaze at you. It's as if he's seeing you in a different light. You're so young, and yet here you are, braving the horrors of this world without breaking. He feels a strange sense of protectiveness towards you, even though he knows you can take care of yourself. He tries to ignore this feeling, but it gnaws at him, like a stubborn itch he can't scratch.

Hours have passed, and the sky outside has grown dark. The only source of light in the cabin is the flickering fire, casting dancing shadows across the room.

Joel is still leaning against the wall, his eyes closed. He looks like he might have been dozing off, but he suddenly stirs, his eyes snapping open. He glances around the room, his gaze finally settling on you.

You fell asleep on the couch with the book on your rising and falling stomach.

He raises an eyebrow at the sight of you, a soft chuckle escaping him. You look so peaceful in your sleep, despite the harsh world outside.

He stands and silently crosses the room towards you. Crouching beside the couch, he carefully lifts the book off your stomach and sets it aside. He covers you with a coarse blanket, his touch surprisingly gentle.

You stirred in your sleep, reaching out for Joel.

He freezes as you reach out, his heart skipping a beat. For a moment, he's torn between pulling away or giving in to the strange urge to move closer. He doesn't understand why the sight of you, half-asleep and grabbing for him, affects him so deeply.

Eventually, he decides to give in to the impulse. He gently takes your hand in his, his rough fingers closing around yours.

“Stay,” you whispered.

His breath hitches in his throat as he hears your whispered request. He was not prepared to hear those simple yet impactful words from your lips. His gaze softens as he looks down at you, your hand still clasped in his.

“I...I'll stay.”

He responds, his voice unusually quiet, almost intimate. He gently squeezes your hand in reassurance, a gesture of comfort and perhaps something more.

You moved to make room for him on the couch.

He hesitates for a moment, his eyes locked onto the empty space beside you on the couch. But he ultimately decides to give in, easing himself down next to you, careful not to disturb your sleep.

His body is stiff at first, the unfamiliar closeness making him feel vulnerable. But slowly, he relaxes as he feels the warmth of your body next to his. He lets out a quiet sigh, his hand still holding yours, as he closes his eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of your breath.

You burrowed yourself more into his warmth.

Despite his initial tension, Joel finds himself responding to your nearness, his body betraying him. He wraps his arm around you, carefully pulling you closer, as if trying to shield you from the world outside.

He breathes in your scent, a mixture of the subtle fragrance of your skin and the slight musk of the wilderness. It feels oddly soothing, grounding him in this moment, this bubble of quiet intimacy.

He can feel your heartbeat against his chest, a gentle rhythm that calms his racing thoughts. For a while, he just lies there, lost in his own musings and the unfamiliar sensations coursing through him. He remembers the days when he rarely let himself get close to anyone, the days when he was so closed off that physical contact felt foreign to him. And here he is now, his arm around a girl half his age, and it doesn't feel wrong. It feels...safe.

You felt very safe in his arms as you drifted off back to sleep.

He feels you relax further in his arms, your breathing slowing as you fall back into a deeper slumber. For a long moment, he continues to lie there, simply holding you close, feeling the rise and fall of your chest against his. Then, he gently shifts onto his side, pulling you even closer, his arm tightening protectively around you.

The pale morning light streams through the lone window of the cabin, illuminating the small space. Joel slowly opens his eyes, bleary and disoriented.

For a moment, he forgets where he is. But then he feels the weight of you in his arms, your head on his chest, and everything comes rushing back. He tenses for a second, reality hitting hard, but he quickly adjusts to the situation.

He glances down at you, his gaze softens as he watches you sleep peacefully.

He realizes that he's still holding you, his arm wrapped around your waist, your leg draped across his, the blanket tangled around both of you. He can feel the warmth of your body against his, the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe. It dawns on him that, for the first time in a long while, he actually slept through the night.

He doesn't move, not wanting to disturb your rest. He simply lies there, contemplating the strange intimacy that has developed between the two of you.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He's getting too comfortable, too vulnerable. But he can't lie to himself - holding you feels good. It feels safe. And that thought scares him more than anything he's faced in this god-forsaken world.

You began to stir a little.

He feels you start to move against him, and he reflexively tightens his hold on you, his protective instincts kicking in. He watches you closely, his gaze fixed on your face as he waits for you to fully awake.

“Mmh you’re warm,” you said, clearly still half-asleep.

A faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he hears your sleepy grumble. He relaxes a little, his grip on you loosening slightly, but his arm remains wrapped around you.

“And you're surprisingly clingy,” he replies, his voice teasing but a hint of affection in it.

You blushed and turned around in his hold.

He chuckles softly as you turn around, facing him. Your sudden closeness creates an intimate moment, and his initial teasing comment seems to have backfired on him. He can see the slight flush on your cheeks, and it does something to him. His arm instinctively tightens again, as if he can't bear the thought of letting you go.

He clears his throat, trying to regain his composure, but he can't find the right words. He just stares at you, the early morning light illuminating your face, making you look soft and vulnerable. He can feel his heart racing, his mind filled with a whirl of conflicting emotions.

You stirred more this time, definitely waking up.

He watches as you continue to stir, slowly coming to wakefulness. He knows that whatever moment they were just sharing is about to end. He loosens his grip on you a bit, not wanting to come across as too possessive.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.” He tries to sound nonchalant, but there's a hint of huskiness in his voice.

“Hi,” you spoke from his shoulder.

He feels a shiver run down his spine as he hears your voice, muffled against his shoulder. The sound of it, sleepy and unguarded, does something to him, and he has to fight the urge to pull you closer.

"Sleep well?" He asks, clearing his throat again to mask the unexpected effect you have on him.

“Hm don’t let it get to your head but that might’ve been the best sleep I’ve ever had.”

He can't help the smirk that forms on his lips at your comment, the pride he feels in knowing that he was a part of your peaceful slumber. He gives you a light nudge with his shoulder.

"Oh, trust me, it's already getting to my head, sweetheart."

You pushed at his chest and laughed.

God your laughter, it was one of the sweetest things Joel has ever heard.

He laughs along with you, surprised at how easily you make him laugh. It's a sound he hasn't made in a long time. When you push at his chest, he feigns being hurt, clutching at his heart.

“Hey, careful there. I'm an old man, you know.”

“Oh right I forgot I was dealing with a senior citizen.”

He narrows his eyes at you, the smirk returning to his face. He can't help but find your playful banter entertaining.

“Watch it, sweetheart. It's disrespectful to speak to your elders like that. I might have to teach you a lesson.”

He says this with mock seriousness, his hand coming to rest on your waist.

He catches the shift in your laughter, the tension suddenly palpable. His hand stills on your waist, fingers gently tracing circles on your skin, almost involuntarily. He looks at you, studying your reaction, his expression a mixture of amusement and something deeper.

“Something wrong?” He asks, his tone low and gruff.

“N-No of course not.”

He can see the slight flush on your cheeks, the way your eyes dart away from his gaze. It makes him curious, it makes him want to push you further.

“You're not a good liar, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his hand trailing higher on your waist, his touch becoming more deliberate.

“Wasn’t lyin—”

He notices your breath hitching, a smirk tugging at his lips. He knows he's getting a rise out of you, and he can't help but enjoy it.

“Really? Your face says otherwise.”

He takes a chance, leaning in a little closer, his other hand coming up to graze your jawline.

“Joel…”

Hearing his name come from your lips, so soft and breathy, has an effect on him he hadn't expected. He swallows hard, his gaze locked on you. He can't help but close the distance between you a little more, his hand still on your waist.

“Yes?” He asks, his voice gruff and low.

His gaze darkens, and his grip on your waist tightens a fraction.

“I want you. All of you.”

He says it with a quiet intensity, as if the admission is both a confession and a realization. The last remnants of his composure are slipping away, leaving only raw desire in their wake.

You blushed and put your softer smaller hands over Joel’s big rough ones.

The simple gesture of your hands covering his, so innocent and yet so intimate, nearly undoes him. He lets out a ragged breath, his gaze locked on you, his whole being consumed by the need to be closer to you. He tugs you closer, his arm around your waist sliding down to your hip, pulling you onto his lap so you're straddling him.

You gasped at the sudden change in position. The grogginess from your sleep is now gone.

Your gasp sends a thrill down Joel’s spine, and he watches your eyes widen as you settle over him. His hands stay firm on your hips, grounding you, keeping you close. There’s something almost reverent in the way he looks at you—like you’re something he’s been craving for longer than he’d care to admit.

“You good?” he murmurs, eyes scanning your face, even as his thumbs stroke slow, lazy circles into your skin.

You nod, breathless. “Y-Yeah…”

That’s all he needs.

He leans in, brushing his lips against yours—not quite a kiss yet, just a tease, a promise. You chase his mouth instinctively, and he grins into it, finally closing the distance and capturing your lips in a kiss that’s slow and deep and filled with heat. There’s nothing rushed about it—Joel kisses you like he wants to memorize you, like he wants to make it last.

Your fingers slide into his hair, tugging gently, and he groans into your mouth. That sound vibrates through you, making your core tighten, your body arch into his. He shifts his hips beneath you, and the friction pulls a soft moan from your lips. You feel him—hard and warm beneath the thin barrier of clothes—and it only heightens the growing ache inside you.

“You feel what you do to me, baby?” he whispers against your lips, his voice thick and gravelly. “Every damn time I’m near you…”

His mouth moves to your neck, kissing a line up to just below your ear, sucking lightly on the spot that makes your hips twitch. His hands trail up under your shirt, calloused palms brushing up your spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Take this off,” he growls softly, tugging at the hem of your shirt. You lift your arms and let him pull it over your head, and the moment your chest is bare to him, he curses under his breath.

“Christ…” His hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your nipples until they pebble under his touch. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect.”

Your head falls back when he leans down and takes one into his mouth, sucking gently while his hand keeps working the other. The pleasure blooms fast, hot and dizzying, and you can’t stop the sounds you’re making—needy, breathless gasps that make Joel’s grip on you tighten.

You grind down against him instinctively, and the way he growls low in his throat makes you feel powerful and small all at once.

“You gonna let me have you, sweetheart?” he rasps, pulling back just enough to look up at you—his pupils blown wide, his chest rising fast beneath you.

“You already do,” you whisper, hips rolling against his once more.

His lips crash into yours again, hungrier now, more urgent. One hand slides into the waistband of your shorts, slipping inside to find the heat waiting there.

“Fuck… you’re soaked,” he murmurs, rubbing slow, tight circles over your clit with his fingers. “You want me this bad already?”

You can’t even form words—you just nod, whimpering when he presses a thick finger inside you, then another. He works you open slowly, watching your face the entire time, learning what makes you tremble, what makes you gasp.

And then he’s pulling his fingers out, tugging his shirt over his head and shoving his sweats down just enough to free himself. Your eyes drop, and you suck in a breath—he’s big, thick, and already leaking at the tip.

“You sure?” he asks, voice wrecked and barely holding on. “Tell me now if you’re not.”

“I’m sure,” you breathe, bracing your hands on his chest.

He guides you down onto him inch by inch, the stretch making your breath catch, your nails dig into his skin. Joel groans, low and deep, as he sinks all the way into you.

Once you’re seated fully, he stills, letting you adjust, his hands holding your hips tight. Your forehead rests against his as you both breathe through the heat coiling tight between you.

“Look at me,” he whispers.

You meet his eyes, and then you move—slow, grinding circles with your hips that make both of you moan. Joel’s hands help you set a rhythm, and soon you’re moving together, your bodies rocking in sync, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the quiet room.

Every thrust, every grind, builds the pressure in your belly higher, tighter. He kisses you again, messy and deep, and then trails his lips down your throat.

“That’s it, baby… come for me,” he growls. “Come on my cock.”

His words send you over the edge, your body trembling as pleasure crashes through you, and Joel follows with a guttural groan, spilling into you as he buries his face in your neck.

You collapse against him, both of you breathless, skin sticky with sweat and heat. He holds you close, fingers drawing lazy shapes on your back.

“Yeah,” he murmurs after a beat. “Definitely the best sleep you’ve ever had.”

You laugh softly, chest still rising fast. “And the best wake-up.”

“Damn right,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “But just so you know… I ain’t done with you yet.”

The fire was down to glowing embers when you finally slipped out of bed, the heavy chill in the air biting at your bare skin. You tugged on one of Joel’s flannels and some thick socks, the scent of him still clinging to the fabric. Joel sat on the edge of the bed lacing up his boots, his brow furrowed in that familiar, quiet determination.

“Where are you going?” you asked, voice still a little hoarse from sleep and everything else.

He looked up, softening a little at the sight of you bundled in his shirt. “Out to check the traps. Might be somethin’ in ‘em. We’re down to one can of beans and a bag of rice.”

You frowned, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “It’s freezing out there. Can’t we do it later? Or… I’ll come with you.”

He shook his head, already shrugging on his jacket. “I won’t be long. Just a loop around the ridge. No sense in both of us freezin’ our asses off.”

“You always say that, Joel, but it’s been getting colder every day. What if you slip on the ice or—”

He stopped lacing, looked up at you with that patient-but-firm look that made your stomach twist with frustration and affection.

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart. Done this kinda thing more times than I can count.” He stood and crossed the room, cupping your cheek with a warm, calloused hand. “I just need you to keep the fire goin’ and maybe have some coffee ready for when I’m back.”

You leaned into his touch despite yourself. “I hate it when you leave.”

“I know.” He brushed his lips over your forehead, then your mouth—slow and sweet, like a promise. “I’ll be back before you miss me too much.”

And just like that, he was gone, boots crunching through the snow, axe slung over his shoulder.

The hours passed slowly.

You kept the fire fed, stacked kindling, reheated what little food you had. Every time the wind howled against the cabin walls, you peeked out the frosted window, searching for his shape.

But true to his word, Joel returned just as the sun began to dip, cheeks red from the cold, a rabbit slung over his shoulder and a small proud smirk on his face.

“Told you,” he said, shaking the snow from his jacket at the door. “Still in one piece.”

You rolled your eyes and threw your arms around him anyway, burying your face in his chest. “Took you long enough.”

He held you tight, his body radiating warmth, and nuzzled into your hair.

“Missed me already, huh?”

You mumbled against him, “I always do.”

He kissed you again, this one a little hungrier, hands cold on your waist but body warm and solid, the rabbit forgotten on the floor.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” he muttered, breath hot against your cheek, “I’m gonna have to earn my coffee another way.”

Joel’s arms tightened around you, the weight of his return finally settling in your chest. He was always gone longer than he said he’d be—always underestimating the cold, or the time, or maybe just how anxious you got when you were left alone in this empty cabin with nothing but the wind and your own thoughts.

You stayed wrapped around him for another few moments, breathing him in. Snow and pine and faint sweat. That leather smell of his jacket, the scratch of his beard against your temple.

“You’re freezing,” you murmured.

“Snow’s gettin’ thicker out by the ridge. Almost lost the trail twice.” His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, thawing through the layers. “Traps were half-buried. I dug ’em out.”

You pulled back enough to glance up at him, your fingers brushing over his beard where the tips of it still glittered with frost. “You didn’t fall, did you?”

Joel huffed. “No. Took it slow. Careful, like I promised.”

That earned him a quiet smile, but the worry hadn’t fully left your chest. “You really found something?”

He nodded and gestured toward the rabbit lying just inside the door on a patch of burlap. “One little guy, but he’s good-sized. That’ll stretch us a few meals if we ration it.”

Your stomach gave a quiet gurgle in agreement. He caught it and grinned.

“Why don’t you sit?” you said, stepping back toward the hearth. “I’ll heat up water. Your hands are like ice.”

Joel sat with a soft grunt, joints stiff from the cold and the work, and stripped off his jacket and gloves. You poured water into the tin pot and set it near the fire, watching him from the corner of your eye as he rolled his shoulders and rubbed at his hands.

They were raw and red, the backs of them weather-beaten and scarred from years of hard work, and you found yourself crossing back to him with the little tin of balm you kept on the shelf.

“Give me your hands,” you said gently.

Joel blinked at you. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

With a quiet sigh, he surrendered them, holding them out palms-up as you dipped your fingers into the salve and began working it gently into the rough skin. He didn’t speak at first, just watched you. Watch how your brows furrowed in concentration, how careful you were with him.

“You got good hands,” he said softly. “Real gentle.”

You glanced up, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “I’ve had a lot of practice taking care of stubborn men.”

He chuckled low in his chest, but it faded quickly, replaced by something quieter.

“I’m not used to this,” he admitted after a moment. “Comin’ back to someone. Feels good. But it's strange.”

You paused, fingers still curled around him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes searched yours for a long, heavy beat. “I know.”

The fire popped softly behind you, filling the quiet that followed. You finished tending to his hands, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist, just where his pulse beat steadily. He watched you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“Alright,” you said, breaking the spell before it got too thick between you. “Let’s clean that rabbit.”

Joel stood slowly, groaning like the old man he always claimed to be, and retrieved the burlap sack. You helped him set up on the back table near the door where it was cooler, handing him his blade while you gathered bowls and cloths. The two of you worked in sync, the process methodical—Joel skinning and cleaning the meat with quiet skill, you preparing a small stew pot to simmer bones and scraps.

“You ever butcher anything before?” he asked, glancing at you.

“Nope. I just pretend to know what I’m doing.”

He smirked. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re more helpful than most I’ve known.”

You shrugged. “You bring home the food, I make it last. Fair deal.”

You caught him watching you again—like he was tucking the image away for later. The pot clanged softly as you set it over the fire, steam already curling upward as the fat began to melt.

Soon the little cabin filled with the smell of meat and rosemary—leftover from a stash you’d found in a forgotten spice cabinet. The mix of warmth, firelight, and the comforting aroma created a bubble against the harsh world just outside the frosted windows.

As the stew simmered, you both settled by the fire again. Joel sat with his back to the hearth, legs stretched out, while you leaned into his side, your head resting on his shoulder. He pulled a blanket over the two of you and settled his arm around you like it was second nature.

Outside, the wind howled, snow sweeping past the windows in swirling white ribbons, but here it was warm. Safe.

Your eyes slipped shut as his hand idly traced up and down your spine, the rhythm of it as steady as his breathing.

“Still cold?” he murmured.

You shook your head against him. “Not with you here.”

Joel didn’t answer, but you felt the way he held you tighter.

The worst of the cold had finally loosened its grip.

It didn’t vanish overnight, of course. Winter in this part of the country never did. But there were signs—tiny, quiet things. The way the wind didn’t scream quite as hard through the cracks in the cabin walls. The longer stretch of golden light that filtered through the windows in the late afternoon. The sound of dripping icicles on the porch roof, melting slow and steady. A promise, almost.

You and Joel had settled into something unspoken but good. A rhythm. A way of moving around each other that felt easy. Reliable. Like the creak of the cabin’s floorboards or the hiss of the kettle heating on the stove.

Mornings came quietly now. Not with desperate shivers or the panic of dwindling rations, but with small moments of peace. Joel always rose first—he’d stoke the fire, make coffee, and sometimes if he was feeling generous, dig out some of the dried fruit you both had been hoarding. You’d wake to the sound of the tin cups clinking or the soft hum of him stirring oatmeal. And sometimes, if he thought you were still asleep, he’d mutter a tune under his breath—something old and Southern and low enough that it blended with the wind outside.

You didn’t call him out for it. Just smiled quietly against the pillow and pretended to sleep a little longer.

You’d help him with the chores after that. He’d go check the traps while you swept the floor, tidied the shelves, boiled snow for drinking water. When he came back, you’d help him skin whatever he’d caught—rabbit, mostly, sometimes a squirrel if he was lucky. You never liked the mess, but he’d watch your hands, always patient, always ready to nudge you through it.

“You’ve got a stronger stomach than you think,” he told you once, rinsing blood from his hands in the snow. “Just takes gettin’ used to.”

And maybe he was right, because none of it felt so jarring anymore. None of it felt wrong.

In the evenings, you’d sit by the fire together, sharing whatever meal you managed that day. There was rarely enough for full seconds, but neither of you complained. Joel would whittle sometimes—little pieces of wood that he shaped into animals or stars or once, a crooked little bird you kept on the mantel. He’d pass it to you without a word, and you’d accept it like a gift, because it was.

You didn’t talk about what came next. Neither of you brought up spring in the way that people do when they’re planning to move on. You didn’t make maps or speak of the nearest settlement. No talk of returning to the road, or of going back to the people who might be waiting somewhere.

You just stayed.

It was one of those days when the snow was soft instead of sharp, when the sky outside the cabin glowed with pale light and the chill inside wasn’t unbearable. You’d both been inside most of the day, tending to little things—patching a tear in your coat, organizing the few supplies in your pack. Joel had been quiet, more than usual, but not distant.

After dinner, the fire had been roaring strong. You were sitting on the floor in front of it, your knees tucked under you, Joel behind you on the edge of the mattress. You’d pulled your hair back, neck bare, as you rubbed balm into the dry skin on your hands. His gaze had been on you for a while—unspoken, steady.

“C’mere,” he said, voice low.

You looked up. “What?”

“Come here.”

You stood slowly and moved toward him. When you stopped in front of him, his hands came to your hips, slow and careful. He looked up at you like you were something that had crept quietly into his chest and refused to leave.

“You cold?” he murmured.

You shook your head. “Not right now.”

“Good,” he said, and his hands slid up under your sweater.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. The firelight made his eyes look darker, and his touch was soft—just fingertips tracing the curve of your waist, up your ribs, over the hem of your worn shirt. You inhaled quietly, and Joel watched the movement of your chest, eyes flickering there, then back to yours.

“I think about this all the time,” he admitted. “How you look. How you feel. What it’d be like.”

You licked your lips, heat coiling low in your stomach. “You already know what I feel like.”

He pulled you gently down, guiding you into his lap, his knees spreading so you could straddle him. Your legs settled around his hips, your hands going to his shoulders for balance. It felt natural. Like this wasn’t the first time, even though it was.

“But not like this,” he said, eyes roaming your face. “Not slow. Not how you deserve.”

You reached down and ran your fingers through his hair, brushing your thumbs along the curve of his jaw. “Then show me.”

That was all it took.

Joel’s mouth was on yours, slow but sure. Not tentative—he didn’t kiss like a man unsure of himself. But there was care in it. Patience. The kind of kiss that made your hands shake a little and your chest ache. He held your waist while you kissed him back, your body flush against his. You could feel him getting harder beneath you, feel the quiet groan he let out against your lips when your hips shifted instinctively.

“You feel good,” he muttered against your skin, lips brushing along your jaw, your throat. “So fuckin’ good, sweetheart.”

Your sweater was pulled over your head in a smooth motion, and Joel’s hands were on you—exploring like he was memorizing. No rush. He didn’t just grab; he held. Palmed the curve of your back. Let his rough fingers ghost over your chest, your stomach, leaving heat in their wake.

When you pulled his shirt off, you took your time too. Traced the line of his collarbone, the faded scars along his ribs. He let you. Watched you.

The mattress creaked quietly beneath you as he lowered you down, blanketing you with his body, the fire crackling behind him. And when he finally pressed into you—slow, thick, deep—you felt the air leave your lungs in one long breath.

“Joel,” you whispered, overwhelmed by the stretch, the heat, the way he filled you so completely.

His head dropped to your shoulder, his breath ragged. “You’re alright,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

You moved together slowly. No frantic pace. Just the kind of rhythm that came from knowing each other—really knowing. Joel’s forehead pressed to yours, his hand laced with yours above your head, your other palm resting over his thudding heart.

You didn’t say much. Just soft gasps, whispered names, the occasional curse when the pleasure overwhelmed you both.

When it was over, Joel didn’t pull away.

He stayed on top of you, warm and heavy and safe, his nose pressed into your neck. Your fingers played lazily with the hair at the nape of his neck, your leg curled around his.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he said, voice low and hoarse.

“I know,” you whispered.

And you meant it.

One month bled into another one. Joel started teaching you how to shoot—slow, careful lessons with his old pistol in the clearing out back. He’d stand behind you, one hand steady on your shoulder, the other adjusting your grip.

“You’re a good learner,” he said once, after you hit the bottle dead center. “Better shot than me when I was your age.”

You’d laughed, breath fogging in the cold. “You were probably wild and reckless.”

“Still am,” he teased, nudging your side. “But now I know how to aim.”

That night you cleaned the pistol together on the table, Joel’s flannel draped over your shoulders as you sat beside him. He handed you the cloth and watched you move with the same focus he gave to every task. No distractions. Just the work. Just you.

There were no declarations. No sudden confessions. But the way he touched your back before bed, or the way he pulled you closer under the blankets without a word—those were his language. That was how Joel said stay.

And you did.

Every morning, you woke to the quiet weight of him beside you. Sometimes his hand brushed against your hip. Sometimes your legs tangled under the blanket. Sometimes you’d wake in the middle of the night, and he’d already be awake, watching the dying fire like it held all his thoughts.

He never said what haunted him, and you never asked. You just leaned into him, warm and soft, and his arm would come around you like it always did—steady, grounding.

You never had a moment of decision. No single conversation. But one morning you woke to the sound of birds—actual birds—and Joel handed you a mug of coffee with a faint smile and said, “Spring’s comin’.”

And instead of saying anything about leaving, you just sipped your drink, leaned your head on his shoulder, and nodded.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “It is.”

tags: @yuskitty @moonshapedflan @xodilfluvr @annulmaelae @zevrra @alidiggory92

[crushmeeren]

I know Kenma is the cutest dad. :c

Finding him on the couch at 4 am is sure to happen. He’s sitting up straight, head tipped back on the couch, passed out. Your sweet little baby girl is curled against his chest. She’s only ten weeks old, and his hand, out of instinct, rests protectively on her back so she doesn’t slide off.

It’s so sweet, and you snap multiple pictures before covering Kenma’s legs with a blanket and taking the chance to spread out in bed alone.

x x x

Kenma’s fans kept asking about his daughter. No matter how often they pestered him, his answers remained vague. He allowed them the small bit of knowledge you were recovering well and his baby girl is growing fast and healthy. They’d never seen a picture, as he’d kept his personal life private for the most part.

It took months for him to show her, and even then it wasn’t on purpose. You were running late, off to meet with your friends, and you called out to him.

“Kenz?”

“Yeah?” Kenma replies, cursing under his breath as his character dies. He skimmed some of the comments from his followers asking if that was his wife. He ignored it.

“I’m running so late, can I bring Kiyoko in there?” You don’t wait for his response, rushing into the gaming room with the baby on your hip.

Kenma forgets his stream for a moment, swiveling in his chair with a soft smile. “Always,” he replies, eyes gentle as he reaches out for her. She giggles when he coos at her, making grabby hands at her daddy, feet kicking.

Kiyoko settles in his lap and Kenma dips down to place a kiss on her forehead, brushing hair from her face. She nuzzles into the side of his neck and he could cry.

When he glances at the forgotten chat it’s blowing up. Hundreds of questions and comments flooding his discord chat, mentioning how they’d never seen him look so soft before. How she’s his mini me because she really is.

His eyes go wide. In a flash, Kenma tilts the camera towards the ceiling and cuts the streaming off without a word.

His fans never quit asking about her.

x x x

When they nap together, they wake up identical.

Kenma’s hair sticks up all over and so does Kiyoko’s. They both rub sleep from their catlike eyes, yawning. She clings to his neck when they join you in the kitchen for lunch, crying when he tries to sit her down in the high chair.

Kenma doesn’t mind, he just eats one handed.

x x x

Whenever you go out in public, Kenma insists on carrying her. Turning his nose up at putting her in a high chair from a restaurant or in a shopping cart or whatever. He loves walking her around in one of those baby carriers strapped to his chest, or he’ll hold her until his arms fall off.

So many women comment on how adorable it is. They don’t bother you. The cute pink blush on Kenma’s cheeks and his flustered expression is worth it.

And when you double down on how cute it is, the wrinkle between his brows appears as they scrunch. He scowls, angrily snatching your hand, and you never stop teasing him.

master list

[hotchnerwrites]

Heyy!!! Oh my god i love your writings SO MUCH i am obsessed!! And i have a request 💘💘 can you do Hotch and girlfriend just moving in together after some times of dating and Hotch noticing issues with her eating habits, her putting on home workout videos at night after dinner out of nowhere etc etc? You can do however you like smut, fluff, angst whatever feels right. YOU'RE GREAT! LOVE YOU💋💋💋💋💘💘💘 CANT WAIT!

Not So Fancy

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: SFW, allusions to smut, mentions of disordered eating, hurt/comfort

A/N: hello hello!!! thank you so much for your kind words and your patience <333 really appreciate it. i hope you don't mind, i changed your request just a little bit to make it more of a oneshot rather than many events building up. if you'd still like me to write it as separate events, please feel free to shoot me another req! more than happy to do so. anyway, i really hope you like this and it's what you wanted. enjoy the read! mwah mwah mwah <3

My requests are open. Send me stuff! Please read the rules before asking, and be advised there is a slight wait time right now. But I will post for sure. :)

The air was still thick with the warmth of what you’d just shared. 

You lay with your head on Aaron’s chest, his arms wrapped around you. You could hear his heartbeat beating rhythmically. Steady. Reliable. 

His fingers traced gentle patterns against your skin, and you inhaled deeply, trying to match your breathing to his pulse. But even as you lay there, content for a moment, the familiar unease still tugged at your bones, hidden beneath the surface.

Aaron stirred then, breaking you out of your reverie. He stretched his arms above his head with a satisfied sigh, ensuring not to jostle you. “You hungry?” He asked, kissing the top of your head, “Wanna eat in bed? I’ll grab some snacks.”

A simple question. So why did the malaise keep spreading?

You’d been trying to avoid this. It’s not that you weren’t hungry, but the idea of food right now felt like too much. So you forced a smile and said, “No, I’m fine,” hoping he wouldn’t notice. You weren’t trying to be difficult, but you couldn’t help it. “Thank you, though,” you added, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. 

But Aaron noticed. He always did. The way your shoulders tensed and how you instinctively tried to curl inwards. He didn’t even need to profile you; he had always been able to read you like an open book.

“Are you sure?” he asked, a teasing lilt to his voice, though it was clear he was picking up on something more. “What about some chips, or maybe some chocolate? I’ve got those After-8 Mints you love…”

“No,” you cut him off a little too quickly, trying to make your voice sound as casual as possible. “I really just don’t wanna eat right now.”

His eyes were on you now, playfulness gone. You could feel him searching your gaze, trying to make sense of every micro-expression. You were already naked under the sheets, but this— this exposed you. Like a bloodied shard of glass laid bare for him to inspect. And you hated it.

"Hey," Aaron said softly, his tone muted, "Talk to me. What’s going on? You’ve barely eaten today."

You hesitated, trying to push away the knot in your stomach, but it only seemed to tighten with every word he spoke. You sat up slightly, arms wrapped tightly around your knees, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

“I’m fine, Aaron,” you said, this time with more firmness, though your voice still trembled ever so slightly. “Really. I’m just not hungry.”

Aaron's gaze softened for a moment, but there was something behind his eyes—a concern, a quiet worry. He knew you too well by now to let this slide. “What about something light, then? Maybe some fruit? Or just a little snack?” His voice stayed gentle, but there was no mistaking the way he was probing now, trying to find a way in.

“No, Aaron. I don’t want anything.” You sighed, growing more agitated, your patience beginning to wear thin. “I really just don’t wanna eat right now, okay?”

Aaron’s jaw tightened slightly as he leaned back on the bed, still watching you closely. “You’ve been saying that for the past few days. And every time, you get more and more distant. What's going on, really?"

You tried to brush it off, but it was starting to feel like a pressure cooker, the conversation simmering beneath the surface. The fact that Aaron wasn’t backing down only made you more defensive. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this conversation was about to go in a direction you didn’t want it to.

“I told you, I’m fine,” you snapped a little too harshly, your shoulders stiffening. You tried to turn away from him, hoping he’d drop it. "I just don’t feel like eating right now."

But Aaron wasn’t about to let it go. His voice dropped a few degrees, and you could hear the frustration underneath the calm. “Okay, stop. I’ve seen what’s going on. You’re acting like this isn’t a big deal, but it is. You’ve barely touched any food, and I’ve noticed you sneaking in workouts late at night. You’re pushing yourself too hard, and I can’t just stand by and pretend like I don’t see it.”

Your breath hitched, and you instinctively pulled the blanket tighter around yourself as if it would shield you from the tension growing between you two. You wanted to hide, to bury the feelings, but he was too sharp, too attentive. 

“I’m just trying to get healthy,” you said quickly, hoping it would be enough of an excuse to end the conversation. “I’m just making some changes, Aaron. That’s all.”

His eyes searched yours, a mixture of confusion and concern in his gaze. “Get healthy? You’re already healthy. You don’t need to starve yourself or overexert yourself to be that. What’s really going on?”

You hesitated for a moment, trying to formulate something that wouldn’t make you sound ridiculous. But the truth was, you didn’t know how to explain it without feeling vulnerable—without feeling exposed.

“I just... I don’t know,” you began, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “You’re a big, important man, Aaron. You’re a fancy guy, and I just feel like... I don’t know. I want to match up with you. To look the way you deserve. To be perfect, especially around your coworkers. You always have everything together, and I don’t want to be the one who looks out of place. I don’t want them to look at me like I’m... less than.”

He didn’t say anything after your little speech. He wasn’t even making eye contact. The silence stretched on. This was exactly why you hadn’t said a word. 

You stared down at your hands, your nails digging into your palms from how tightly you were clenching them. Humiliation prickled under your skin. You wished you could claw the words back into your mouth, pretend none of it had ever been said.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, trying to withdraw the moment. “Forget it. I don’t know why I—”

“Stop.”

His voice wasn’t sharp. It was soft—firm in the way only Aaron Hotchner could be when he actually cared about something. It rooted you to the spot.

Finally, finally, he looked up at you. His brow was furrowed like he was thinking so hard it hurt. And then he said, very quietly, almost like he was forcing it out:

“You don’t need to look a certain way for me. Or for anyone. I love you just as you are—just you.”

You blinked at him.

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks,” he continued, the words sounding clumsy in his mouth, like he wasn’t used to letting them out. “I care about you. You could show up to a Bureau gala in pyjamas and I wouldn’t—”

He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair. His ears were slightly pink.

The ache in your chest tightened, loosened, tightened again.

“I’m… I’m just trying to get healthy,” you repeated— weakly, stupidly. Trying to hold on to the walls you’d built.

Aaron didn’t argue anymore. He simply reached over, gently touching your hand. “I don’t need you to be anything but who you are. Healthy doesn’t mean forcing yourself to be something you’re not, and it doesn’t mean changing to meet some idea of perfection. And honestly, I think you already look pretty perfect to me.”

There was a long silence between you, the tension beginning to dissolve. No grand gestures or big speeches—just him showing you he understood, and that you didn’t have to prove anything.

“You... you don’t think I’m embarrassing?” you asked, his words acting like a balm on your heart.

Hotch let out a breath that was almost — almost — a laugh. 

“No," he said. "I think you’re the only thing that feels easy anymore.”

The world tilted a little sideways. 

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“You’re not so fancy either, Agent Hotchner,” you mumbled, leaning into the warmth of his embrace.

Thanks for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[sukukuna]

スククナ EMOTIONAL SUPPORT SORCERER (UNPAID)

part 1 / part 2 / part 3

premise; Shoko is done with being the only one who has to constantly handle everyone else's trauma and curse induced breakdowns. So when you casually mention you're pretty good at giving advice, she immediately recommends you to the higher ups as the new, unofficial therapist.

authors note; thank you for the support in the first chapter :) my requests are open if anyone wants me to write any specific characters for this series- i’ll also expand on my short satoru one dwdw

1.6k

CASE NO.2 SUGURU GETO

The moment you saw Geto Suguru slotted on the 'appointments list' that Shoko had hand written for you, you nearly physcially recoiled in dread, and something else you refused to name.

You're fine. You're used to difficult clients- like Gojo. You're a somewhat professional at this point. This is just another hour of emotional therapy with a sorcerer who will treat the session like a game of dodgeball. Except the game is therapy, and you're the ball.

Suguru sat across from you, arms loosely crossed, wearing the expression of someone who knew exactly what was wrong with everyone else around him, but absolutely nothing about himself - but if he did, he would never admit it.

There's nothing to worry about.

Except before the session you find yourself straightening the chairs a little too often, too carefully. Checking the clock too often. Wiping invisible dust off from your desk off your desk in fear that he'll actually notice. Your fear is valid. he notices everything.

"So," you started gently. "Let's talk about your feelings."

He blinked once.

Then again, Like you'd just asked him to recite the entire alphabet backwards.

"My feelings are perfectly rational," He said smoothly, straightening his posture. "Its the world that's...not."

That's not very helpful. Or comforting.

However you only nodded, having gained masses of patience after your previous therapy session with Gojo- Which had taught you that most of the sorcerers and Jujutsu High were ticking time bombs of their own contradictions.

Deep Breath. You're hardly a professional, but you can pretend you are. And you also can handle this single special grade sorcerer with a god complex. Maybe.

Its not like he'll start up a monologue about how societal problems have led him down a path of destruction-

"Society is the problem, not me."

Of course. You nodded politely, jotting notes down that read, "ABORT MISSION" over and over. You focus, and put on the best, calm therapist voice possible. "Tell me more about that."

He smiles. He does it with that polite, fake innocence that has your skin crawling, like a predator watching over its prey. You wince slightly.

He leaned forward, dangerously close. "I think we should talk about you."

You blinked. Once. Twice.

"This is about you. Not me."

He pondered for a second. "Hmm," and flicked his hair back over his shoulders. It looked so healthy. You honestly felt a bit jealous. He turned back to you with a sly grin, like he knew something you didn't. "Is it?"

He's exhausting in the way only someone terrifyingly intelligent and deeply stubborn can be. He knows exactly how to dance around your questions and project them back onto you, deflecting effortlessly. He knows exactly how to weaponize your sympathy, and exactly how to make you second guess your own job.

Well, your part time job.

You narrowed your eyes. "Stop trying to therapize me."

He smiles sweetly and replies, "How have you been feeling lately?"

He has this way of making you feel unprepared no matter how many notes you take. One minute you're asking him open-minded questions, and the next you're defending your previous life choices without knowing how you got there.

He's so smug. He's infuriating. And worse- he's interesting.

"Stop trying to therapize me, Suguru."

For a second, he looks caught off guard, and falters at the use of his first name. His smirk falters. His lazy amusement fades.

Suguru speaks quietly, "I'm not trying to therapize you."

You raise an eyebrow, He laughs once, hollow and sharp, like the inside of a broken bell. "Its just easier. Picking you apart rather than letting you pick me apart."

You blink. The confession isn't loud. It isn't grand. It's tossed out like it means nothing, like he's hoping you'll miss it.

But you don't.

You speak softly, like you're talking to a toddler or a small child, careful not to spook. "Why does it scare you so much? Letting someone see you?"

For the first time since you met him, Suguru doesn't have a comeback. He stares past you, something tight and ugly flickering in his eyes.

He mutters something hardly intelligible. "If someone looks too close, they'll realise there's nothing to save."

Oh. You didn't expect that.

You expected some snarky comment, or something. Anything but that. Your heart cracks a little, quietly, under the weight of his words.

He says it so casually, likes its an unchangeable fact- like the sky is blue, like water is wet, like Suguru Geto is already gone.

At least he was progressing, even if it was the most depressing thing you've heard all month?

You lean forward, voice steady, "You're wrong, you know."

He is, you truly believe. He lets out a soft, disbelieving huff.

"Am I?"

You nod.

"You're sitting here, you showed up, you stayed," His stare pierces through you but you don't relent with your words. His perfect posture and image continues to falter. "Even if you want to pretend this doesn't matter, part of you came here for a reason."

For a long moment, he says nothing. The silence is heavy and suffocating with all the things he's too proud, too scared, too tired to say.

He finally slouches lower into the chair, covering his face with one hand.

"God, you're annoying."

You smile a little. "Good. That means we're getting somewhere."

He peeks at you through his fingers, eyes shining with something close to amusement, and with something softer underneath, something soft. His eyes are shiny, slightly glossed over. You don't comment on it.

The silence after your last words stretches. Not heavy now, but thick. Thick like you're walking through fog.

Suguru shifts in his chair, suddenly looking about ten times more restless than usual. The easy, smug energy about him is, cracked.

Not broken. Just enough for you to see the real version of him squirming underneath. He clears his throat, unneseceraily loud. Drums his fingers on the plush of the (haunted- not the time) beanbag. He looks at anything and everything but you.

He speaks flatly, breaking the silence, "Well, congratulations. You got your emotional moment. Are you going to frame it and hang it on the wall?"

He taps once, twice on the wall of the cosy janitors closet, your makeshift therapy room.

You bite back a smile. You tilt your head, considering him.

"Tempting."

He scoffs, but it sounds weak, performative. He scratches at the back of his neck, the motion stiff and weirdly boyish. And then he snorts - almost a real laugh, and immediately schools his face into a mock glare, Like he's furious you made him feel any real human emotion.

"You're unbelievable."

You shrug, "So are you."

Another long silence. This ones different, and suddenly the air feels less tense, and more clean, unfiltered. He kicks his foot out lazily, so far you're worried he's going to slide right off the beanbag.

"Don't get used to it."

You smile, quiet and real, "Wouldn't dream of it."

You both sit there for a moment, the air between you a little lighter- still full of ghosts, sure, but now with room for something else. Maybe trust, or hope.

Or whatever Suguru will let you provide him with.

OBERSERVATIONS; attempted to redirect emotional vulnerability onto me (again??? ninja-speed deflection)

stop trying to therapize me - surprisingly effective!!!

i think i made him laugh???

SOLUTION; a hug?????

You're still staring blankly at your desk after Suguru left, half a cup of forgotten coffee cooling by your elbow when theres a knock at the door. You jump a little, still stuck in your thoughts, and mumble a quiet, distracted, "Come in."

The door swings open with zero subtlety. Satoru in all his sunglasses-wearing, overly casual glory.

Satoru grins, "Hey, doc. You got time for me?"

You sigh- not because you're annoyed, but because the whiplash you're receiving from the rapid switch between Suguru Geto to Satoru Gojo may give you actual whiplash.

"If its non urgent, it cant probably wait."

Gojo ignores your words and steps in anyway. "Oh no, see, its urgent to me, which is what really matters."

You're not sure it works like that, but you roll with it anyway.

He plops down in the beanbag that Suguru just vacated, sprawling like he owns the place. You wrinkle your nose. It still feels haunted, somehow. Too fresh. the beanbag growls intently.

Gojo tilts his head, piercing blue gaze sharp as a knife behind the shades. "Rough session?"

You blink at him, caught off guard. "You're not supposed to ask that."

Satoru grins, widely, "Just making an observation. You look like someone ran you over emotionally and backed up again just to make sure."

You snort despite yourself. He's infuriating- and worryingly accurate.

You shake your head, trying to refocus, but Satoru watches you a little too closely. His words come out softly, like a sneak attack, "Was it Suguru?"

You freeze for a fraction of a second, and thats all the conformation he needs. He leans back in the chair, Folding his arms behind his head. He smiles wistfully, "Yeah. he does that."

You stare at him, heart rattling weirdly in your chest. You forget sometimes that Satoru knows Suguru better than anyone. You also forget that behind the sunglasses and the ego, Satoru's also got his own set of ghosts.

"He's...complicated?"

Gojo huffs a laugh. "He always has been."

Satoru pushes himself up from the beanbag. "Anyway. I'll stop bugging you. Just thought you looked like...never mind."

He flashes you a thumbs up and heads for the door.

"Thanks, I think?"

taglist: @surethingmoto @l1f3isf00d

suguru ver requested by @meganbaby

[gothamite-rambler]

Batman gives a good example as to why he has the contingency plans he has to the Justice League. This isn't hate to any of the heroes in this either. I love the JLA, but after reading many of these comics and watching the shows I can see why Batman has these plans, prep times and slight paranoia of those he sees as friends or associates. Also I'm a big fan of Aquaman too so... Fair warning there's some Aquaman praise in this.

Batman turned his back on the Justice League members who were scolding him, their voices rising as they told him to get rid of his contingency plans or at least make them less brutal. Ignoring their protests, he whistled sharply, the sound cutting through the tension in the room.

With that, he strode purposefully toward the window in the JLA meeting room, determination in his step.

Batman: You know, when four of you got Jokerized and attacked me, I was recovering from fear toxin. That made things even worse that day.

Batman went silent for a second, the other members backing away until only Superman, Flash, Wonder Woman, and Aquaman remained front and center.

Batman: I don't like having to fight you, but I almost died that day. I actually feared some of you, and that’s saying a lot since I rarely take you seriously. You were in hospital beds for two weeks, wearing those sick, twisted smiles and completely unmoving. I could've been killed if I didn't have my plans. You could've died yourself from the Joker toxin and God knows the damage you four could do to your own cities.

Batman cracked his neck and took a deep breath. Wonder Woman looked down at the floor, ashamed. Flash frowned, his shoulders slumping. Superman struggled to find the right words, and Aquaman felt the same weight of the moment.

Batman: I have these plans so you don't kill me. I have these plans so you don't kill the people in your cities. I have these plans to protect everyone on Earth! I want to not have them and I do see you as... friends... Associates.. colleagues to a degree, but you haven't given me a good reason to put my life on the line for any of you.

No one spoke for a few seconds. Superman cleared his throat hopeful what he said wouldn't sound bad.

Superman: I mean if you could just make them less intense.

Green Lantern (John): Man, that was actually the worst thing you could've said.

Batman turned to face the group, his expression neutral, but the fury inside him was boiling over. He was at his breaking point, the metaphorical water slipping from the pot. While he regretted having to raise his voice, he felt he had no other choice.

Batman (shouting): I am a Justice League member and I will work with you, but if you don't stop pestering me about my contingency plans, I will go insane and I am taking you all with me!

Most of the Justice League: …

Batman: If the next person who talks says something that I find even a little irritating and makes me have those insane people's thoughts, I'm taking away every single vending machine in this building as well!

Aquaman: Hey, just speaking for the group here, but you seem to be going through some stuff and we're exacerbating that frustration. You're still mad at some of us for getting Jokerized and attacking you.

Batman: Which led to me contemplating death more and losing my memory.

Aquaman: Yeah, we said some rude things.

Batman (deadpan tone): Wonder Woman said she always hated me.

Wonder Woman: I wasn't in my right mind.

Batman: Superman talked like Bizarro and almost killed me.

Superman: I am really sorry about that, buddy.

Batman (glaring at the speedster): Flash… go to hell, Barry.

Flash (saddened): How come mine wasn't descriptive?

Batman (to Aquaman): And you ... I actually find you pleasant when you're not insane so I'm not that mad.

Wonder Woman: Why did that wound me?

Aquaman: While I appreciate that, you have every right to not trust us for a while. You saved us and kept us safe while we got better. I can't believe what I'm about to say... Batman, after what I went through, I get why you have those plans.

Batman: You do?

JLA members: You do?

Aquaman: I do now. Batman, first, thank you for saving us after we went Joker levels of insane. I'm sorry for attacking you and all the awful things I said which weren't true. The others are sorry as well.

Batman: You're forgiven, I wasn't mad at any of you since you weren't in your right mind that day, but my contingencies are what I keep for a reason.

Aquaman: I don't blame you, they came in handy; you got us an antidote before we got worse and although my face hurts from smiling that much, I'm glad that I'm better now. If it weren't for your incredible paranoia and quick thinking, I wouldn't be back with Mera and my son. For that, I am eternally grateful and again deeply apologize for dismissing your plans earlier.

Batman blinked, crossing his arms, secretly relieved to hear this, even if he did get called paranoid. That paranoia had helped him in the past.

Everyone else stared at Aquaman, some at how charming he was, the others annoyed he was siding with Batman. Superman was just jealous.

Wonder Woman: I often forget you're a king until you start talking like that. Impressive.

Aquaman: I'll take that as a compliment. Batman, if we hold back on criticizing most of your contingencies can you give us a tenth chance?

Batman closed his eyes, mentally debating what to say next.

Batman (clearing his throat): Apology accepted, Arthur. Thank you for understanding my plans. I can find it in my heart to give you all a hundred and twentieth chance. But don't mess it up.

The JLA members nodded, voicing their gratitude for the second chance. Batman sighed, feeling a headache forming.

Aquaman: Alright, thanks. Now, will I see you for movie night this Friday?

Superman: Movie night?

Batman: Yeah, I don't find you nearly as annoying as everyone else. Especially Hal.

Hal Jordan: I didn't even say anything! And I didn't even attack you!

Superman: You don't find him nearly as annoying as everyone else? I'm not included in that am I?

Batman: Most of the time.

Batman walked past the group, heading out the building.

Superman: Most... Most of the time? Okay I can accept that, but look at him! He looks like a surfer dude! No offense Aquaman.

Aquaman: That's not an insult to me, thanks for the compliment.

Flash: Hm, I see it now.

[elliespuns]

Going through your post-shower routine while Joel lays in bed reading a book... but he can see you from his spot on the bed and he's too enamored to look away. His eyes are glued to you, completely distracted from his book, it's almost like he's in a trance... he watches as you do your skincare routine, put on lotion, brush your hair, brush your teeth, pull on some underwear... his eyes follow you as you walk past him to the closet to grab one of his t-shirts to wear to sleep... and you notice he's hard. Really hard. His dick is tenting his soft sweatpants. The moment you snicker at him and go "real subtle, Miller" he breaks out of his trance and goes "what...?". You point to his crotch, he looks at it and goes "oh..." as if he's only now noticed how much of an effect you have on him. He looks at you with a soft dumb and in love expression on his face, clears his throat and goes... "well, you do look very sexy doing your post-shower routine... what can I say?". The moment you're in bed with him, he reaches out to touch your skin, skims his hands over your thighs, shoves his face against your neck and chest to smell your lotion... he runs his hands over body, kissing your hands, your legs, your arms, your neck, pushes your (his) shirt up so he can kiss your tummy and your chest... and they're the most reverent and soft kisses, it feels like he's worshipping you... he removes your (his) shirt before he kisses above the hem of your panties and asks if he may look at your pussy. Once you give permission, he pulls off your panties and literally just sits there staring at your pussy as comments about how pretty it looks and how much he loves it. Then he asks if he may touch her and, with your consent, leans down to kiss your mound and nuzzle his face into your bush, still showering you and your pussy in praises... he kisses, sucks, and bites all over your inner thighs and your pussy until you're wet and dripping for him. Only then does he lean down to lick your pussy and eat you out. He starts off slow and gentle, like he's not just eating you out but downright worshipping your pussy, and then adjusts his pace and rhythm as you tell him to. One orgasm is not enough for Joel Miller, he wants you coming on his tongue as many times as you can. He probably cums in his pants at some point, unable to hold himself back as he sees you cum on his tongue once again... but seeing you orgasm again gets him hard again fast. The only way to get him off your pussy will be by yanking him off by his hair, pulling on his soft curls and telling him to "get up here". He'll kiss you, wanting you to taste himself on his tongue, before looking down at his hard and throbbing dick, covered in precum and his own spend, and telling you "look what you do to me"... he's a wreck, eyes dazed and half-lided, mouth nose and chin covered in your arousal, fingers wet from your pussy, dick hard and covered in a mess of semen and pre-cum, breathing hard, sweaty... he looks utterly fucked out. The moment he sinks into your pussy, he lets out the most fucked out and feral groan, panting against your ear as he holds you as close as he possibly can. He holds you close through the whole thing, giving you slow but powerful thrusts, panting and praising you non-stop... he moment you cum for him a last time and squeeze his cock, he almost chokes on his breath, breathing heavily and moaning as he chases his own orgasm in an almost feral way. Once he cums, he almost collapses on top of you, barely able to hold himself up... he lays his head on your chest as you two try to come back from your insane highs. He's utterly fucked out, a complete mess. Once his legs are working again and his brain isn't ao foggy, he lifts himself up and kisses you, asking if you're okay. Then he gets up to fetch you two some water. He helps you to the bathroom and cleans you up before changing the sheets. Joel falls asleep with you fast asleep on his chest and wrapped around his torso under the blankets.

My therapist told me to find my passions. I know I found them in Joel Miller. Also, I think I need to do laundry.

[zo1nkss]

I want to talk about this kiss so, so, so badly. I literally can't stop thinking about it; it plays on loop in my mind 25/8.

(gif courtesy of @tortibomb - couldn't find it in the gif search so I'll credit this way.)

Quick TW because I will be discussing DV in this analysis, but only briefly in my 3rd point.

This is hands down my favorite kiss in the entire series so far. There are so many layers to their exchange here. It's so brief, but just from that we can conclude several things.

Before I dive in, I just want to touch on what this scene even represents within the plot. Akin has just been through something utterly devastating. From thinking he did something unforgiveable to realizing he was literally assaulted over the span of, what, a few days? A week? Considering we picked up right where we left off, I doubt it could have been more than 3 days, but I haven't always been the best at following timeframes so I can't be certain. But in this scene, the last person to put his hands on Akin's body in even remotely the same way was violating his right to consent. The stark difference between that, and Akin being fully conscious and welcoming every touch Jin offers him is undeniable. They are taking back his body together. Taking back his autonomy and consent. Taking back his security and sense of safety. That fact is integral to what I'm about to say.

First of all, can we talk about the way Jin physically handled him in this moment? That is a commanding action, yet still such a gentle and loving touch. We can feel a sense of reverence in the way he directs Akin's movement. He's not being forceful or aggressive; the only compelling emotion behind this is desperation and thats clear in the very motion of his hand.

My second point is Akin's level of comfort with being touched like this by Jin. He goes willingly, without even a moment of resistence. Not only does he allow his body to be manipulated at Jin's will, but through microexpressions we can see that he's actually enjoying it. He likes it when Jin tells him what to do or where to go. Likes giving up control, even of his own body, and allowing this man to do what he wants. To have that level of comfort and trust in someone after what Akin has just been through absolutely speaks volumes.

That fact alone brings us right to my third point, which is the amount of trust Akin has in Jin to not only allow this to happen but to like it. Any DV survivor can probably tell you that a hand on your throat means you're 3x more likely to die in an abuse situation. The fact that Akin shows no signs of fear or resistence, there's no moment of hesitation, there's no pause to remind himself where he is or who he's with. His eyes are closed, his mouth is open, and he responds instantaneously when Jin pushes his chin. He has absolute faith in this man's intentions. He knows without a shadow of a doubt that Jin would never, could never, lay a violent or aggressive hand on him. If anything, he is comforted by the way Jin puts his hands on him. He welcomes him without fear or insecurity. Not only craves, but revels in the way Jin touches him.

And we can absolutely trace back their interactions and understand exactly why. There has never once been a moment when Jin so much as expressed himself loudly. He's never raised his voice, never spoken with force, never made Akin feel unsafe or insecure in any way. Jin has genuinely earned the right to touch Akin in whatever way he pleases, thoughtless of the effect it could have, because he has shown time and time again that his hands will never be used to cause harm to Akin. They will only ever show his love and devotion. And the fact that Akin has absolute faith in that is really such a beautiful thing.

In conclusion, this is - in my opinion - the most telling and revealing kiss they have shared. Jin loves him absolutely, and Akin trusts that love without a shadow of doubt. They really have built a solid foundation to develop this relationship on, and I won't be surprised if it's completely unshakeable from this day on. I don't think Jin is going to doubt Akin's faithfulness again after this, and Akin is certainly never going to question Jin's willingness to admit when he's wrong. I really feel like those two facts are expressed so openly through this specific kiss.

I don't really know how to end analytic posts bc I haven't done this in over a year but thats all I wanted to say. Thanks for coming to my ted talk or whatever xD

[babysubinnie]

racing for your... heart? (lee heeseung) - too close to hate, too hurt to love

🥚 pairing :: richboy!heeseung x richfem!reader, streetracer!heeseung x streetracer!reader, 🥚 genre :: emotional, fluff, angst (lowkey a lot) 🥚 warnings :: suggestive, lots of swearing, flirting from hee, tension!!!,, grabbing wrists,, confrontation, jealousy and past relationship tension, crying, reckless driving (brief), slight emotional miscommunication. 🥚 synopsis :: he may have been the heir to the Lux hotel empire, but that didn’t stop him from being a reckless, cocky asshat—fast cars, faster girls, and a reputation for never losing. but then there was you—the one girl who refused to fall at his feet, the only racer who could actually keep up. you were his biggest competition, his biggest frustration, and worst of all, his biggest distraction. no matter how many races you went head-to-head in, you never lost—especially not to him. but this time, the stakes were higher, and whether he admitted it or not, heeseung wasn’t just racing to win. he was racing for you.

masterlist!

a/n:: sorry loves it's been a while since i posted a chapter but i'm done school now so i should be able to post at a better time now but enjoy <3

——————————————————————————

"why, you don't wanna be seen with me?" he teases, but that was the actual reason. you didn't want anyone thinking that you were the new girl of the month right?

"uhm.." you struggle to find the words to speak, his eyes darkening realizing what you were trying to say. he wraps his arm around your waist pulling you closer towards him, your hands landing on his chest. "w-what are you doing?"

"you think I was playing with you? god, no. i just didn’t know how to ask you to stay without sounding like i'd fall apart if you didn’t."

"w-what?"

"you heard me. you think that i'm just using you? that's.. not.. at all what's happening." he leans down, pulling you even closer. you look up at him your breath hitching as you feel the heat of his body against yours. "that's exactly what i thought this was." you shake your head laughing.

"is that all you think of me as?" his expression becomes serious, and you drop your smile. he was actually being serious, it was weird to you that he was being so serious..

"well that and an annoying piece of sh- poo." you decided to lighten the mood, but he wasn't having it. he noticed you held back from swearing, but he broke, and smiled at you.

"yeah? i suppose i can't deny that." he smirked, leaning closer as he lowered his voice, unable to defend his self.

"oh god help me, you can't even go five minutes without flirting huh?" you scoff and roll your eyes still not realizing he was still holding you close. he lets his hands run down your back and rest on the small of it, chuckling, amused by your words.

"i really, really can't. flirting with cute girls is way too fun, and you're the most amusing person that i've flirted with in a long time." he raised an eyebrow at you, eyes flickering around your face for any type of reaction. you roll your eyes, laughing as you push him away.

"speaking of which," you freeze when he speaks, not knowing what unexpected thing he was going to say. his eyes flick down to your lips, and you shake your head laughing it off. "can i-"

"no. whatever you're thinking, no." you smirk, turning on your heels to walk away. when you hear him walking up faster, you slowly start running. he laughs as he runs after you. you run to the parking lot, seeing a group of girls leaning on the hood of his car, your car sparkling next to his under the sun. you slow down, and he catches up to you putting his hand on the small of your back, "just stay here. i'll-"

just as he spoke, the famous ex-girlfriend, se-ri, walks up to us, with a big smile on her face. when she notices his hand on your back, her eyes narrow. she scoffs and rolls her eyes before putting her hand on his wrist, pulling him towards her. she glances at you, then up at him with batty eyelashes. you laugh in disbelief, walking towards your car, but she stops right in front of you.

"can i pass?" you try to step to the side, but she only moves in front of you while keeping her eyes up at heeseung.

"what are you going to do about it if i don't?" she moves her eyeline to you, shooting daggers out of her eyes. you scoff and reply, dripped with venom,

"don't fuck with me, se-ri."

her eyebrows raise, and she chuckles, "or what? you going to throw a tantrum?" and in the corner of your eye you see heeseung step forward. you hold out your hand stopping him, smirking at se-ri. then you remember the conversation she was having in the classroom with her friends and you step closer to her,

"oh like you when your dad didn't buy you that bag?" you smirk, knowing that she was itching to hit you. she grabs your uniform shirt in her hand pulling you close. "oh, i'm so scared of you." she pushes you away from her and lifts her arm to hit you, but heeseung was faster.

his hand wrapped around her wrist, voice lower than usual, "enough." her face drops, and clenches her fist before pulling out of his hold, and letting you go. you continue smirking at her, walking past her, stopping shoulder to shoulder to her.

"i told you not to fuck with me." you walk up to your car, and her minions run over to her, as you hear heeseung's footsteps running after you. "you okay?"

you turn around smiling leaning on the hood of your car. you tilt your head and cross your arms. "why did you do that?" he gets nervous, rubbing his neck, then looks up into your eyes.

"i- fuck." caught red handed.

"why hee? you care about me that much?" you smirk, stand up, meeting his eyes. your heart skips a beat, not knowing if this was a good idea, and it definitely wasn't. before he could do anything, you got into the car, and watched him run to the passenger side, got in quickly so you couldn't lock it. "what do you think you're doing?"

"getting in your car. you're driving me home." he smirks and nods at you. with a roll of your eyes you glance at his car, then back at him.

"you have-" he cuts you off, tapping on the gear shift. you shake your head but decide to listen when his eyes narrow. you change gears, starting to drive. the drive is somewhat silent, but he watches you drive the whole time.

"what?" you glance at him shaking your head laughing. you were taking the long way to his house, hoping he didn't notice. you had no idea why you even wanted to take the long way. he looks down when you look at him, then looked up seeing the street you were driving down.

"uh... y/n?" he starts, and poked your shoulder with his finger. "we're going the wrong way. you know that right?" he pokes you harder getting a sigh from you.

"i know. it's on purpose. stop poking me!" you roll your eyes continuing to drive, stepping your foot on the gas, speeding up before he could get in a word. you gripped on onto the steering wheel with one hand, and one hand on the gear shift. he put his hand on top of the hand on the gear shift,

"easy y/n.. you're going too fast." he says cautiously and you push his hand off, "you the police?" you scoff waiting for him to reply, and the heat in the car definitely went up. you take a deep breath, stopping to breath when he spoke, lowly, almost a growl.

"no, but i don't want you to get a ticket."

you place both hands onto the wheel, and you see an empty parking garage, speeding up to pull in, parking anywhere you wanted. his eyes widened as you sped up. you scoff at his response turning to look at him, pissed.

"what is your issue?" you broke. you needed to know why he was doing this, playing a push and pull game with you. you were getting sick of it, waiting for him to respond.

"nothing is with me. i just want to- i mean- i don't want you to see you do something stupid oka-" he starts fumbling over his words like you caught him doing something bad. you cut him off, completely going off at him.

"no. you’re so fucking confusing heeseung! one minute you’re all over me, next minute you’re making out with the whole school, and then by the next day you’re protecting me and being all.. like this!! what is with you? decide how you fucking feel for fucks sake!!" you raise your voice, throwing your head back against the headrest groaning as you try to calm yourself down. you needed to know the answer, no matter what it was. even if it was a rejection.

"y/n.. i-" you look up as he starts to talk, then you turn to look at him. his jaw was clenched, putting his hand through his hair and sighing. god he's pretty. you betrayed your thoughts scoffing,

"no. don't talk. i don't want to know anymore." you say with a shaky voice, changing the gear. you start driving, but he finally speaks.

"what the hell? you don't even want to hear what i have to say? even after screaming at me like that?" he frowned, halting you to stop the car again, switching it off completely. you get out of the car, taking in the fresh early evening air. you look back at him, and he's looking down at his lap. your heart aches as you get back into the car sighing.

"it's going to hurt, and i don't want to know. that's why i don't want to know." you held your breath the whole time you spoke, without looking at him once. his expression hardened,

"please just- just listen." he cleared his throat hoping you would listen to what he had to say. you took another deep breath, feeling your throat get dry, but you stayed quiet. "i'm just- i don't know.. i'm.. i knew i was messing around with your feelings, but i still did it, and that was.. wrong of me. i knew that i was hurting y- or even if i'm not, i knew that i was playing with your feelings, and i'm so-"

you laugh bitterly, "i don't want your sorry, and i'm also not hurt by you messing around with girls. i'm just confused why you're.. being so confusing because like i said, one day you’re all over me, not looking at any girl except me, then the next you won’t even look at me. maybe you're doing this because it's fun," you look up at him, he was listening so well that it seemed crazy that you were even in this situation in the first place.

"because you like seeing me get mad, and you like seeing me react to you, that’s why. but then you go around caring about me, coming to my races even when i don't invite you, protecting me from se-ri, telling me you don't want to see me do something stupid.. do I need to go on?" his eyes widened, meaning you hit the target exactly. you take a deep breath after you're finished talking, and he looks down at his lap from looking at you, then swallows.

"nothing to say right?" you waited for a second, his mouth opening to speak, but quickly closing again. "yeah.. i thought so." you smiled weakly, driving to his house.

the drive silent the whole way, you both not looking at each other the whole ride. you arrive at his house, and with not even a glance at him, you speak up, "goodnight."

his voice low and quiet, "don't be mad at me.. i can't fucking bare seeing you mad at me. please." he turns to look at you, placing his hand on your arm on the armrest. you look away from his house, turning to glance at him sighing. "i'm not."

before you knew it, tears fill your eyes, and you had no idea why. were you really falling this hard for him? it's just because you're frustrated. yeah. that's why... right?

"please don't cry.. i'm sorry." he places his hand under your chin, turning you to look at him, then moves his hands to cup your cheeks. "i'm so fucking sorry. i'll sto-"

"fuck i hate you so much." you take his hands off your face, then laugh bitterly again. you shake your head, biting your lip then looked down into your lap. he speaks again, voice sounding almost desperate. "y-you really hate me that much?"

you shake your head glancing at him then dropped your head.

"damn it, lee... no. I can't stop. no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I tell myself to walk away, I just-" you choke on your own words, the lump in your throat burning.

"I fucking hate it. I hate how much you get to me. I hate that I care this much."

[hufflezki]

helloooo! could you write for 3rd-4th year harry and reader going on a date in hogsmeade? but they're actually just stealing food under the invisibility cloak and eating it in a secluded area LOLOL thankyuuu<3

[ 🌺 ᝰ.ᐟ ] thanks for requesting lovely!!

-> harry potter x gn!reader, word count: 742

　　“Where are you off to now?”

Hermione reveals herself—standing in the doorway of Harry’s dorm—asking a very obvious question, though her tone suggests that she might already know the answer. This was the second time she had caught Harry in the middle of sneaking out to see you. Of course, she had pieced the puzzle—that is the two of you dating—long ago. Even before the others did. It wasn't that hard to figure out, especially not when the both of you were indiscreetly holding hands under the table whenever you were together.

And it certainly wasn't hard to figure out the fact that Harry has been sneaking you both to Hogsmeade, using his invisibility cloak. But in his defense, he was only making do with what he has. All thanks to his aunt and uncle for not signing his consent letter.

“You know where.” Harry responds easily, his back turned towards Hermione still, as he picks up his book bag along with his invisibility cloak, putting it around him—immediately hiding himself. She shakes her head, which was more out of amusement if anything.

　　“Well, have fun with your date.”

　　“I’ll keep that in mind.”

And he did. After seeing you waiting in the courtyard, he immediately swooped you in his arms—and inside the invisibility cloak. On the way to Hogsmeade, you hear him ask. “So where should we go to this time?” And, honestly, no matter how many options you had—the two of you always seem to end up in the same place.

　　“Three Broomsticks?”

“Good one.” Harry jests, making you chuckle. Yet again, he couldn't really think of anywhere else to go, which is why he leaves most of the decision making to you.

“Do you ever think Madam Rosmerta notices?” He adds, as you enter Hogsmeade. You shrug, a part of you thinks she does but doesn't give you two much trouble for it. Hagrid does hang out there pretty often. “Maybe. But I don't think she pays much mind.” Harry smiles at your response, squeezing your hand in agreement.

Your dates in Hogsmeade were pretty interesting. Seeing as Harry isn't supposed to be in here, you had to sneak into shops. And while it was unethical, the two of you still end up leaving with food—that definitely aren't yours—in your hands. But, hey, sometimes you leave some little tips when you can remember.

And before the sun could set, you share whatever snacks you both have in a quiet and secluded area, overlooking the town.

Though, sometimes Harry worries that you might not be as pleased as you let on. There’s been several times where he had to apologize for not being able to take you to a proper date. And, well, you had to reassure him that you didn't really mind. If anything, it feels like he really cares, putting so much effort just to accompany you to Hogsmeade. Its not everyday you get treated like such.

“Thanks for putting up with me.” You shake your head, leaning against his shoulder. And Harry finds your hand once again, liking the way they fit perfectly with his. “You’re acting as if you forced me to be here.” He can't help but laugh, now that you put it that way, it does sound a bit ridiculous.

　　“You know I’d do anything you ask me to, right?”

　　“Mhm, I know that. And its a tad bit worrying.”

“Then, I guess, you’d also know that if you ever want to go on those fancy dates, I will take you to one.” And you look at him as if he’s said something ridiculous, but Harry’s expression is anything but kidding.

“I’d let you take me anywhere, and I would still consider it a date.” You squeeze his hand, but he doesn't look near convinced. Letting go of his hand, you turn to him and cup his face. “Listen, Harry, I really don't mind where you take me, okay? And its a bit cheesy, I know, but I enjoy them because you’re there.” Despite how cliché it may be, those were the exact words Harry needed to hear.

Feeling the sudden surge of emotions, he leans closer to kiss you, catching you off guard at first. But when you do kiss him back its sweet and short, sending flutters to your chest.

　　“I don't think we need to stop by Honeydukes anymore.”

　　“Harry, don't.”

　　“I’m just saying, too much sweets isn't good for us.”

golden trio masterlist ꩜ .ᐟ

[jnw1813]

Breakfast

You and Conquest have breakfast together.

In the kitchen, you prepare breakfast, sureness in every movement. Hunger gnaws at Conquest the second you begin.

He's not used to actually having the desire to eat. It was always a chore before. Meals on Viltrum were focused on getting as many calories and vitamins into them as possible, taste and texture be damned. Another result of his kinds desire to be the best of the best, the result of putting strength above all else.

That is not to say feasts didn't happen. What was the point of winning a grand battle or conquering a planet if you did not celebrate it even a little?

No Viltrumite would ever admit they enjoyed those feasts. It was the only time food would be focused on flavour than anything else. A decadence not often allowed.

With you, however, every day was like a feast, regardless of what you made or if you even made it yourself. Conquest had never understood the importance some cultures put on food before, but he did now.

A soft humming fills the air, blending with the sizzling of eggs and bacon; the smell was simple, grounded, yet divine simply because he was not used to it.

With an increasing sureness, Conquest sets the table, grabs the plates and utensils, gets the jams out (so many– humans were such frivolous yet wonderful creatures), gets the tissues– he even pours you both a glass of fruit juice!

It's the most domestic Conquest has ever been. The most domestic any Viltrumite has probably been– except Nolan.

Had he done this, too? With his human wife and half-breed son? Conquest can finally see the appeal, can finally understand why one of their best turned traitor.

If Conquest got this every morning for twenty years straight, he'd turn traitor as well!

(If he wasn't already, that is.)

The toast pops out of the toaster, and he grabs them without even a blink. His mouth waters at the thought of smothering it in jam. So far, strawberry is his favourite.

You finish cooking, and fill his plate. "A big man's gotta eat." Is all you said the first time you cooked for him, and it had taken all of his self-restraint from mating with you there and then. It was the only way he knew how to properly show his appreciation.

Eggs, bacon, fried tomatoes, and toast; the yellow centre wobbles as he adjusts his plate, popping when he dips a bit of toast into it. It leaks, and he runs the bacon through it, tastes mixing and exploding on his tongue the second he takes a bite.

Appreciation for your work comes in the form of a satisfied moan, and you smile to yourself, proud.

Food was an expression of love, Conquest discovered not long after meeting you. A form of labour, work, effort put in to satiate a need, a necessary part of life; what was not necessary, however, was just how much effort you put into it. The tastes were always pure bliss, the food's appearance carefully adjusted to appear as appealing as possible. Unnecessary, but appreciated.

When he was done, his plate was wiped clean. He licked his lips, then drank his orange juice– he prefers pomegranate or strawberry (again), but he's not picky– muffling an embarrassing belch in his fist.

He's full. Satisfied. And the day hasn't even fully begun.

When he opens his eyes from where they'd fallen shut, a moment taken to simply appreciate this moment, he meets your gaze from across the table.

Sunlight streams in, reflecting in your irises, adding depth to their colour.

Beautiful. He thinks. And he knows without a doubt, sunlight filtering in and warming his face, that you think the same.

[mollyluz]

A night to Remember - Frank Castle x Reader

Pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader (oneshot)

A/N: Hey! This fic has been sitting in my notes for a while, and then I decided to post it on AO3, and why not here as well? It’s the first time I’m posting here, so here you go! Enjoy reading! (Sorry for any potential mistakes, I’ve corrected them but you never know!)

Sitting on the large bar stools, she laughed with a gentle and muffled laugh. The alcohol coursing through her veins was felt, though she hadn't had many drinks. The man across from her laughed too, and oh, that smile—it dazzled her completely. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his expression, as if seeing him like this was rare and she had to savor it. He is so handsome, she thought. It was late now, and she needed to go home. She got up from her chair. "Well... I’ll have to leave you, my dear. I have a heavy day ahead tomorrow. I didn’t realize how late it had gotten..." she said, glancing at her silver watch that gleamed on her slender wrist.

"I can walk you home."

She looked up at him, incredulous. He continued, "It’s late, and it’s dangerous to let you walk alone in these dark streets. Please, let me escort you." Generally, she would have likely thrown her little black handbag adorned with gold details at the face of a stranger who made the same offer. But the man in front of her was not just anyone. If someone had told her that Frank Castle, known as The Punisher, would take an interest in her, she would have laughed at them with her angelic laugh before walking away, the sound of her high heels echoing throughout the room.

"Alright. Why not have some company on my way home?" She smiled at him.

The entire walk was filled with aimless laughter. They were just there, occasionally illuminated by the moonlight, which made Frank’s face look even more handsome. She ended up holding his arm, and he didn’t flinch at the contact, silently allowing it by putting his hands in his pockets. They both enjoyed the moment that the night offered them. When they reached the bottom of her house, she let go of him, climbed the two small steps in front of her, and turned back to the man who was already watching her. Five seconds passed, which felt like an eternity, as they looked at each other as if it was impossible for them to take a step toward their respective homes. Now that she was on the same level as him on the step, in an unexpected move, she leaned in, gently placed her hand on his shoulder, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Good night, Frank."

She whispered in his ear. She smelled of vanilla—a sweet, delicate, and subtly floral fragrance. It was a comforting sensation that he felt like a heartbeat. After this intimate gesture, she released him, taking with her the sweet scent that Frank barely had time to savor. He was almost in a daze until the sound of a closing door brought him out of his reverie. It was only when he got home that the alcohol in his system evaporated, and all his senses returned. ‘Good night, Frank.’ At that moment, standing in the middle of his apartment, he realized he had never revealed his real name to her and was sure she only knew him as Pete Castiglione, the identity he hides behind.

[tupanaraul]

This is so true, but what really bothers me is that they compare the painting to the ring. (I saw it and the post was from 2022 💀💀)

(I went crazy and write a lot, sorry 💔)

Yes, both of them are gifts, but one of them represents how the other person sees his loved one, how Will talk about it and how he sees the painting while doing it is so precious to me.

Bro he puts all his heart in that painting because that's how Will can express himself (we saw it before in season 2) and he put Mike like the heart of the group. LIKE HIS HEART.

Wills plot in season 4 is mainly about that painting, his feelings for Mike and him being upsed about it and no one can say otherwise.

Why would they have to do the painting to look perfect?

Why would they re-film the van scene until Noah couldn't cry more because it had to be perfect, do all that merch, make the funkos (It would have been cute if we had gotten Will holding painting, but we got Mike instead and some other funkos based on the painting)?

And make the Duffers tell Finn that the van scene Will would "pay off" only for the ring to end up being more important??? Are we going crazy??? THAT RING WASN'T EVEN MENCIONED ONCE IN THE SHOW.

And how many times do we get Will painting being imporant? Well,

1. "Wills been painting more often -- maybe is for a girl, I think there's someone he likes he has been acting... Weird" = el assuming that Will liked someone only by the way he acted about the painting.

2. "What's that?" "Om... it's nothing, it's just... Something I've been working on" "cool."

3. Will being mad and wrinkling the painting.

4. Will picking the painting when we thought that things were going good with mike.

5. WILL GIVING THE PAINTING TO MIKE

6. WILL SAYING THAT THE PAINTING WAS COMMISSIONED BY EL BECAUSE MIKE WAS WORRIED ABOUT HER.

They had to do a "cool detail" post about it to people to start noticing it. And you say that this is enough proof for mileven to be endgame???

That painting and that scene shawn us the pain of a gay boy in the 80s feeling unable to be loved by the person he is IN LOVE with, putting himself down and lying to him for the first time just to make him feel okay. The ring was just a nice detail shown in bts.

Your ring and our painting are not comparables.

Why is everyone talking about El's ring now? I thought everyone knew it was from Mike like a year ago and I didn't hear a thing back then- Am I going crazy or was I not the only one who already knew???

[noctilu-uca]

Nrc staff sketch page but im scared to draw trein and couldnt fit sam bc i accidentally drew vargas too big

Oct 26th edit: guys why is this getting so much attention rn who out of the staff is trending

[aq2003]

twelfth night is not a Shakespeare I have read or seen but now I’m a bit terrified of ever consuming it. I definitely would never touch that audio drama with a 10 foot pole though (so so tempting. I might give in)

i was normal about twelfth night and held many normal emotions about it i really liked it for being this fun very messy queer drama until i listened to david tennant malvolio which ruined my life i cannot stress enough all of my evil derangements are because of david tennant malvolio if he had not done any of that i would have been FINE

[snekdood]

not sure who needs to hear this but i do not see myself as above anyone, like, at all. if something I posted makes you think I think I am you're probably misreading it or my intentions. I dont feel the need to compare myself and make myself feel like i'm above people, i'm just not really that kind of person. in fact, people make a point of constantly trying to make me feel below them on here so dont worry, you don't gotta help em'.

[akkivee]

we’ve had a few instances in canon where we hear that jyushi in his vkei king mode calls kuukou his master but like???? have we ever heard jyushi refer to hitoya as his god in canon yet???? that can’t still be arb exclusive right???? *crying* right?????