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gullemec · 3 days ago

Text

Dead Weight

Bitten - Part III

Bitten Masterlist ao3

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You and Joel try to navigate this bizarre, new reality you've found yourselves in. But as physical wounds heal, emotional ones begin to fester.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, gun use, description of injuries, misogyny (not from Joel), alcohol use, description of infected, death/dying, blood, loooots of angst!

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 7.7k

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who had kind words to say about this series so far. I'm so excited with where it's going and can't wait to share the next few chapters I have brewing!!

You sleep later than usual, the sun already halfway to its arc in the sky by the time you rouse.

The cabin’s heavy curtains have cocooned you in a comforting darkness, granting you a rare reprieve from the searing brightness of the open wilderness you’re used to. A luxury, in theory. But it doesn’t feel like one now.

The cool, shaded quiet is suddenly suffocating when you poke your head out of the sleeping bag and find the cabin empty. For a sharp, panicked moment, your heart lurches. Joel has left you behind. Your chest tightens, breath catching in your throat as your eyes dart around the small space, desperate for proof otherwise.

And there it is, his sleeping bag, neatly rolled and tucked into a corner. His pack, leaned against the far wall. Evidence of his lingering presence. Relief comes reluctantly, settling in like a stone in your stomach rather than lifting the weight off your chest. He hasn’t abandoned you, not yet. But the thought doesn’t soothe the way it should.

Instead, a gnawing guilt sinks in, colder than the morning air. You slept in. You wasted time. You were dead weight, a burden. Again.

You groan softly as you push yourself upright, the movement tugging painfully at your side. The stitches pull against the swollen flesh, a sharp reminder of yesterday’s outburst. You’d let anger and frustration bubble over, and now you’re paying the price, your body punishing you for every impulsive word and motion. Hobbling toward the small bathroom, you peel your shirt up gingerly, half-afraid of what you’ll see.

In the harsh light, the wound stares back at you, a gnarled mix of swollen purple and fading red. The worst of it, the undeniable imprint of the stalker’s teeth, is etched just above your hip bone, deep and accusing. Beside it, a smaller bite mark rests in its shadow, and yet it’s no less damning. Both are framed by long, jagged slashes left by its claws, torn through your flesh in its frantic quest to tear you apart.

But it’s not the bites or the gashes that make your breath catch in your throat. It’s the tendrils. Thin, branching marks radiate outward from the largest bite like delicate, spindly roots spreading beneath your skin. You’ve seen them before, on others, in the terrifying hours after they were bitten. Only theirs were red and angry, pulsating with infection, spreading death with every heartbeat. Yours, though… yours are different. Faint. Dormant. They just stop, like a vine that’s failed to grow. They don’t crawl toward your chest or creep into your brain. They just… sit there, frozen in time.

You can only look for so long before your stomach churns and your chest tightens again, a faint buzzing overtaking your ears. You grip the edge of the sink, squeezing your eyes shut as nausea wells up.

Forcing yourself to breathe through the panic, you focus on the facts. There’s no pus. No new bleeding. No spreading infection. These are the things you cling to, the only threads of logic in the mess that’s become your life. You try to convince yourself that these signs are good, even as the sight of the tendrils lingers in your mind, impossible to forget.

What are you?

Why are you still here?

Straightening up, you turn away from the mirror and tug your shirt back down, fingers trembling slightly. You need to move. You can’t afford to let your mind spiral any further. Whatever this is, whatever you are, it doesn’t matter right now.

Joel hasn’t abandoned you, and you’re still alive. For now, that will have to be enough.

You sling your pack over one shoulder and step out into the morning light, the chill of late fall biting at your exposed skin. The cabin is quiet, Joel nowhere to be seen, not chopping wood by the side of the building, not fishing down at the river. You stand there for a moment, scanning the small clearing for any sign of him. His absence twists at your gut, equal parts unease and irritation. You tell yourself you’re better off not facing him just yet, not with everything that happened yesterday still fresh and raw, but the silence gnaws at you nonetheless.

With nowhere else to go, you meander down the narrow trail that leads to the river, your boots crunching softly against frost-laden grass. The sound of rushing water grows faintly louder as you approach, but it’s a far cry from the thunderous roar you’d heard days ago. The river has calmed, its waters now a subdued flow that no longer crashes violently against the rocks. It’s shrunken in size too, exposing wide, rocky banks on either side.

You exhale, relieved. You don’t need another reminder of what happened. You have plenty of those already.

The water glimmers under the pale sunlight, inviting in its stillness. Bracing against the chill in the air, you set your pack down on a dry patch of rocks and strip down to your underwear. The bite of the breeze sends a shiver racing up your spine, and you hesitate for a moment, arms wrapped around yourself. It’s been days since you’ve had the chance to properly wash, and you can’t stand the feeling of grime clinging to your skin any longer. Still, it takes effort to will yourself forward, the cold air already sapping your resolve.

You step gingerly into the river, your toes curling against the slick, icy rocks beneath the surface. The shock of the cold water is immediate, seeping into your skin and pulling a sharp gasp from your lungs. You clench your jaw and keep going, one unsteady step at a time, as the water rises higher up your legs.

The riverbed is treacherous. Smooth stones shift under your weight, and the mud beneath them sucks at your feet. Your balance wavers, arms flailing slightly as you try to stay upright. Then your foot sinks deeper into the riverbed than you anticipated, throwing you off-kilter. You overcorrect, trying to stop yourself from falling sideways, but it’s too much.

Your knees hit the riverbed with a sharp, jarring impact, the bite of tiny, pinprick rocks breaking through your skin. Pain shoots up your legs and lances through your side where your stitches pull painfully taut. You stifle a shout, hissing sharply through clenched teeth as your palms slap against the water to steady yourself. The cold water rushes over your thighs and knees, soothing the sting almost immediately, but the ache remains, deep and persistent.

For a moment, you stay there, crouched in the water, the pain in your knees and side a dull throb that refuses to ebb. The river flows around you, indifferent, its quiet current a stark contrast to the chaos in your body and mind.

You tilt your head back, closing your eyes, and take a shaky breath. This wasn’t supposed to be this hard. Even the smallest things, washing off dirt, finding balance, have become impossible challenges, each stumble and misstep a cruel reminder of your limitations. Of what you’ve become.

When you open your eyes again, your gaze falls to the water, clear enough to see your distorted reflection staring back at you. The tendrils of the bite peek out above the waistband of your underwear. Stretching up your side, loud and unavoidable.

Your hand darts out, all frustration and anger, splashing the image away.

You push yourself up, ignoring the sting in your knees and the sharp pull in your side. You’re tired of feeling weak, of feeling inhuman. Gritting your teeth, you straighten your back and wade deeper into the river, determined to scrub away the grime of the last few days, no matter the cost.

Because if nothing else, you need this. A moment of clarity, a moment of control. Even if it comes at the cost of blood and bruises, it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to yourself in a world that feels increasingly unfamiliar.

The past few days have been a harsh lesson in checking your pride and sense of self. You've always been ruthless. Had to be, really. Merciless, some might even say. You made quick work of raiders and infected alike, never hesitating or showing remorse. You couldn’t afford to. Not in this world. Weakness means death here.

That, if you had to guess, was what first drew you and Joel together.

…

Disposal duty was where it began. Burning the corpses of infected and the unclaimed dead was the kind of work that stripped you raw. It was thankless and brutal, but necessary. It offered little dignity for the living or the dead. The stench of charred flesh clung to everything, your skin, your clothes, even the air you breathed. Still, you took the job because you had to. It was the only way to prove yourself in the Boston QZ, where your age and gender already painted a target on your back among the men who sneered at you, labeling you as dead weight from the moment you arrived.

You knew the drill. From your time in other QZs, you'd learned that no one handed out respect for free, you had to earn it. You worked with a single-minded determination, dragging shrouded forms across the yard, tossing them into the roaring flames without flinching. The oppressive heat, the smoke that stung your eyes, the silent weight of knowing these bodies had once been people, none of it stopped you. It couldn’t. You wouldn’t let it.

It was on your first day that Joel had approached you.

You were on your knees, sweat streaking soot down your face as you wrapped your arms around a shrouded figure, the fabric clinging to it in the damp heat. When the shadow of a man fell over you, you glanced up, squinting against the sun. Joel stood there, tall and imposing, his face half-covered with a bandana. His eyes were hard to read, but they were focused on you. For a moment, you thought he might be there to chastise you, to tell you to hurry up or that you were doing it wrong.

“Here, let me,” he said, voice low and gravelly.

At first, you thought it was a joke. A cruel one. Like a manifestation of every insecurity gnawing at you had stepped out of the shadows to taunt you.

“I’ve got it,” you snapped, your voice sharp enough to cut through the haze of smoke. You shot him a glare before heaving the body into your arms, your knees wobbling as you carried it to the pyre. When you tossed it in and turned back, you didn’t expect him to still be there, watching. His face was half-hidden, but his eyes crinkled slightly at the edges, and you could’ve sworn he was grinning beneath the bandana.

See? your glare seemed to say.

After that day, you noticed him watching you. Not constantly, but enough for you to feel the weight of his gaze. His expression was unreadable, and it irritated you. He didn’t offer help again, nor did he criticize. He just… observed. There was something steadying about it, though. It felt like a silent acknowledgment, like he saw what you were doing even when no one else did.

And the others certainly didn’t. They grumbled and slacked off, complaining about the smell, the heat, the weight of the bodies. They cut corners, dumped bodies improperly, and blamed anyone but themselves when caught.

But not you.

You worked harder than all of them combined, and Joel noticed. Even if he didn’t say anything, you could feel it in the way his eyes lingered on you.

This silent routine went on for weeks, the two of you bound together by the grim necessity of disposal duty. The stench of burning flesh worked its way into your hair, your skin, your soul. Every night you scrubbed yourself raw, trying to wash it away, but the smoke still lingered in your nostrils when you lay down to sleep.

And Joel Miller kept watching.

He wasn’t the only person who noticed you, though.

Your shift had been wrapping up, bringing a line of tired, soot-covered workers waiting for their ration cards. The stench of burnt flesh lingered on everyone’s clothes, mingling with sweat and exhaustion. Joel stood a few places behind you in the line, arms crossed and gaze distant, the hard mask of indifference firmly in place.

When your name was called, you stepped forward, wiping your hands on your pants before taking the cards from the FEDRA soldier. You’d stepped off to the side to count your cards when an agitating, grating voice sounded.

"What the hell is this?" the man behind you in line barked, stepping out of line.

Greg. He was broad-shouldered and quick-tempered, the kind of guy who was used to throwing his weight around. He jabbed a finger toward you. "Why’s she getting more than the rest of us?"

The FEDRA soldier barely glanced up from his clipboard. "Rations are allotted based on work completed. She did more than you."

Greg’s face darkened, a vein twitching in his temple. "Bullshit. She didn’t do more. She’s just—" He sneered, looking you up and down. "She’s just spreading her legs for you guys, huh? That’s how it works?"

A beat of silence. The line shifted uncomfortably. In your periphery you saw Joel’s jaw tighten, and his gaze snap to you.

You knew you should ignore him, should just keep your head down and be on your way and stay out of trouble. Greg wasn’t the first insecure asshole to be sore about a woman able to outperform him, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last. And maybe it was the way your back twinged with pain or the way his whiny voice hit your ear, but there was something in your veins that day that emboldened you.

"You wanna say that again?" you said, your voice low and cold. You stepped toward him, not backing down an inch.

Greg’s bravado faltered for a second, but he doubled down. “I said you didn’t earn those cards. You’re just—”

“Just what?” you cut in sharply. “Say it. Go ahead.”

“You’re just some weak little—”

“Right,” you interrupted, stepping toward him. Your eyes locked on his, unyielding. “Because dragging bodies all day, breathing in smoke and rotting fucking flesh, that’s not real work, right? Maybe if you spent half as much time working as you do whining, you’d have enough rations to shut your damn mouth.”

His face flushed red with anger. "Watch it, bitch," he snapped, stepping closer, looming over you.

Joel’s fingers flexed at his sides, ready to step in, but he didn’t move just yet. He watched, measuring the tension like a coiled spring.

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you tilted your head, a sharp, defiant smile playing on your lips. "What are you gonna do? Hit me? Prove to everyone here that you’re not just lazy but pathetic, too?"

Greg’s hands balled into fists, but he hesitated. The rest of the line was watching now, and the FEDRA soldier shifted uneasily, hand drifting toward his weapon.

Joel stepped forward then, slow and deliberate, his presence a looming shadow. "That’s enough," he said, his voice calm but cutting through the tension like a knife. He didn’t look at you, his eyes locked on Greg. "Go back to your spot."

Greg muttered something under his breath but didn't push it further. He spat at the ground near your feet before turning back to the line.

Joel joined you on the walk back to your housing block wordlessly, the journey heavy with silence. He kept pace with you, not saying anything. The sun was sinking, casting an orange haze over the crumbling streets of the QZ when you finally broke the silence.

"You didn’t have to do that," you said finally, breaking the quiet.

"Do what?"

"Step in. I had it handled."

Joel glanced at you, his expression unreadable. "Yeah, I know you did."

You blinked, surprised. "Then why—"

"Because he wasn’t gonna back down," Joel interrupted. "Not until someone reminded him to."

You scoffed. "Well, thanks, I guess."

Joel didn’t respond right away. You walked another block in silence before he spoke again. "You drink?"

You raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. "What?"

Joel shrugged, looking straight ahead. "Got a bottle of whiskey back at my place. Thought you might want to share it."

You studied him, trying to read his intentions, but his face gave nothing away. Still, there’s something about the offer that felt… genuine. You hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Okay. Sure."

When you reached his apartment, Joel opened the door and gestured you inside. The space was sparse but clean, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. He poured two glasses of amber liquid, handing one to you without ceremony.

"To your first fight on the job," he said, raising his glass.

You smirked, clinking yours against his. "And to shutting up assholes."

Joel chuckled, a sound you hadn't heard from him before. It was quiet and fleeting, but it lingered in the air between you.

That night, you talked, just enough to lay the groundwork for something more. Joel didn’t pry, but he listened, and you found yourself sharing more than you expected. When you left, there was a strange sense of understanding between you, a fragile but undeniable connection.

…

“The hell are you doin’?”

Joel’s voice cuts through your daydream, sharp and gravelly, pulling you out of your fragile reprieve. Your eyelids flutter open, squinting against the golden light of the dying sun as it bounces off the river’s surface.

You’re floating on your back, bobbing gently in the cool, weightless embrace of the water. For a few blissful moments, the world had felt still. The ache in your side had dulled, the constant churn of worry in your mind had quieted, and for just a little while, you’d found a truce with the chaos of your life.

But Joel’s presence shatters that peace.

He stands at the river’s edge, rifle slung over his shoulder, his face shadowed in the fading light but unmistakably irritated. His shoulders are tense, his stance rigid, and his eyes, dark and piercing, are locked on you.

You scramble upright, your feet slipping on the uneven, stony riverbed. The sudden movement sends a sharp pang through your side, but you grit your teeth and push through it, water dripping down your skin as you try to compose yourself.

You’re in only your bra and underwear, something Joel’s seen plenty of times before when circumstances demanded it. But now, with the weight of his gaze and the tension crackling between you, you feel uncomfortably exposed. Your arms instinctively cross over your chest, though the water obscures most of your body.

“I was just…” you start, your voice faltering under the intensity of his stare.

“Just what?” he cuts in, his tone clipped. “Floatin’ around, makin’ yourself an easy target?”

The accusation stings, sharp and unexpected. “I wasn’t making myself a target,” you snap, defensiveness flaring.

“No?” He gestures toward the surrounding woods with a sweep of his hand. “’Cause last I checked, the world don’t stop bein’ dangerous just ’cause you’re takin’ a goddamn swim.”

You bristle at his tone, your arms dropping to your sides as irritation rises to meet his. “I wasn’t wandering off or doing anything reckless, Joel. I was right here. You’re acting like I—”

“Like what?” he interrupts, stepping closer. “Like you don’t think? Like you don’t remember what happened last time you went off to the river alone?”

The words hit their mark, dredging up memories you’ve spent the last hour trying to suppress.

You awkwardly trudge out of the water, keeping your eyes down and away from Joel.

“That’s not fair,” you say quietly as you fish your folded clothes from the riverbank, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. You pull them on quickly, your still wet skin making it uncomfortable and difficult.

“Fair?” He scoffs, his voice rising slightly. “This ain’t about fair. S’about stayin’ alive.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the murmur of the river filling the silence. Joel’s jaw works like he’s trying to rein himself in, but his frustration simmers just beneath the surface.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he finally says, his voice lower now but no less cutting. “If somethin’ happened to you—” He cuts himself off, dragging a hand down his face, the movement almost weary. “Just… get your ass back to the cabin.”

You nod stiffly, biting back the retort that’s clawing its way up your throat. You trudge past him, water streaming from your clothes and hair, your chest tight with a mix of shame and anger.

When you reach the cabin, you find the deer he hauled back lying in the clearing outside, its lifeless eyes fixed on the sky. Joel follows shortly after, his boots heavy against the wooden steps as he steps onto the porch.

“What’s with the deer?” you ask, your tone sharper than you intended. This is way too much meat for the two of you to preserve for the road, and Joel’s never been the wasteful type.

He doesn’t look at you as he sets his rifle aside and kneels beside the animal, pulling a knife from his belt. “We’re stayin’ put for a while,” he says simply.

You blink, confused. “What?”

“You’re hurt,” he says, his voice matter-of-fact as he begins dressing the deer. “We ain’t goin’ anywhere ’til you’re healed enough to keep movin’.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you say, stepping closer. “We can’t stay here. What are we supposed to do with all this meat? We can’t preserve it. It’s going to spoil—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he cuts in, his tone final. “We’re stayin’.”

His refusal to even entertain your argument ignites a spark of anger in you. “You can’t just decide that without talking to me,” you snap. “I’m not some… some child you can order around.”

Joel looks up at you then, his expression unreadable. “You wanna keep pushin’ yourself? Get us both killed? Fine. But I ain’t movin’ from this spot until you’re good enough to handle the road.”

The words land heavy, each one driving home the gulf that’s grown between you. You want to believe his stubbornness is born out of concern, that his anger is just a mask for something deeper, but it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like disappointment. Like you’ve let him down again.

“Fine,” you say finally, your voice hollow. “Do whatever you want, Joel.”

You turn and head inside, the door creaking shut behind you as you leave him on the porch, alone with the deer and the quiet tension that now fills the air between you.

…

The cabin is quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fire Joel built just before sunset. Shadows from the flames dance along the wooden walls, casting the room in a warm but flickering glow. You sit on the floor by the fire, knees drawn to your chest, staring into the embers as they pulse and fade. Your side aches in dull, persistent waves, but you ignore it. Pain has become a constant companion, like the gnawing hunger or the chill that creeps in when the fire dies down.

Joel is at the table, his back to you, meticulously sharpening his knife. The rhythmic scrape of metal against stone grates on your nerves, though you’d never admit it aloud. You can feel his presence like a weight in the room, heavy and unyielding. He hasn’t said much since he came back from dressing the deer, and you haven’t tried to start a conversation. The distance between you feels insurmountable tonight, a chasm neither of you seems willing, or able, to cross.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he works, his movements precise and methodical. He’s always like this, all focus and discipline, as if distraction might kill him. Maybe it will. He pauses for a moment, tilting the blade toward the light to inspect his work. His eyes catch yours for a split second, and you look away, heat creeping up your neck.

An hour later the cabin is filled with the warm scent of cooked meat.

“Food’s ready,” he says finally, his voice gruff but quiet.

You glance toward the counter where a modest meal of roasted venison sits, steam rising from the plates. Your stomach twists, both from hunger and something else you can’t name. You push yourself up, careful not to strain your stitches, and join him at the table.

Joel slides a plate toward you without meeting your eyes. You mumble a thanks and pick up the fork, the first bite dissolving on your tongue with a flavor you haven’t tasted in weeks. It should feel like a luxury, but it doesn’t.

The silence stretches between you, thick and uncomfortable. You want to say something, anything, but the words won’t come. What is there to say, anyway? You’re here because you need to heal, and Joel’s here because… Well, you don’t know why. Because he feels obligated? Because he pities you? The thought makes your chest tighten, and you shove another bite of venison into your mouth to distract yourself.

“You’re gonna need more protein if you wanna heal up properly,” Joel says after a while, his tone flat but not unkind.

You glance at him, startled that he’s spoken at all. “I’m eating, aren’t I?” you reply, sharper than you intended.

He looks at you then, really looks at you, his brow furrowing like he’s weighing whether to press the issue. He doesn’t. Instead, he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You scared me today,” he says abruptly.

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“At the river,” he clarifies, his gaze dropping to the table. “Could’ve hurt yourself. Could’ve drowned.”

You bristle, the defensive wall coming up before you can stop it. “I’m not a kid, Joel. I can handle myself.”

His eyes snap back to yours, hard and unyielding. “That what you call it? Floatin’ around like you didn’t have a care in the world? We’re in the middle of goddamn nowhere, and you think it’s a good idea to let your guard down?”

Your jaw tightens, heat flooding your face. “I wasn’t letting my guard down,” you bite out. “I just needed—” You cut yourself off, unsure how to finish the sentence. Needed what? A moment of peace? A break from the constant weight of survival? A moment where you didn’t feel like an enormous burden on him?

He wouldn’t understand.

Joel exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter what you needed. It’s not safe out there, and you know it.”

There’s something in his voice that gives you pause, not anger, exactly, but something close to it. Frustration, maybe. Worry. You want to believe it’s the latter, but your mind twists it into something darker, something uglier.

“Right,” you say bitterly, pushing your plate away. “I forgot. I’m just another thing for you to worry about, aren’t I? Another burden.”

Joel’s face hardens, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, guilt, maybe, or regret. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure it isn’t,” you snap, pushing back your chair and standing, the ache in your side flaring as you do. You don’t care. The urge to put distance between you and him is stronger than the pain. “Thanks for dinner,” you mutter, already walking toward your bedroll by the fire.

Joel doesn’t stop you. He just sits there, watching as you settle onto the floor and turn your back to him. The weight of his gaze is almost unbearable, but you refuse to acknowledge it.

The fire crackles softly, the only sound in the otherwise silent cabin. You stare into the flames, your chest tight and your mind racing. You want to believe that Joel cares, that his harsh words are his way of protecting you, but it’s hard to see it that way when all you can hear is the echo of your own insecurities.

A burden. A liability. A monster.

You close your eyes, willing sleep to take you, but it doesn’t come. Behind you, Joel shifts in his chair, the sound of his boots on the wooden floor breaking the silence. You hear him sigh, low and weary, before the chair creaks as he stands.

The sound of his footsteps fades as he moves toward the door, and then it’s just you and the fire and the distance between you and him that feels larger than ever.

…

The smell hits you first, cloying and putrid, like rotting meat left too long in the sun. It invades your senses, choking you, making it impossible to breathe. Then, a weight against you. Heavy, suffocating, pinning you to the ground.

You don’t know where you are. Somewhere cold and damp, the ground beneath you slick with mud. Your arms are trapped at your sides, your legs kicking uselessly against the crushing force above you.

The creature is on top of you. Its guttural snarls fill the air, hot breath washing over your face. You catch flashes of jagged teeth, glistening with saliva. Its hands, its claws, dig into your shoulders, sharp and unrelenting. Pain radiates through your body, but it’s nothing compared to the icy dread in your chest.

You try to scream, but no sound comes. Your throat burns with the effort, but the silence mocks you, amplifying the creature’s growls and the sickening sound of its teeth snapping inches from your face.

You thrash, your fists pounding against its torso, your legs kicking wildly, but it’s like punching stone. The creature doesn’t budge. Its strength is inhuman, its weight unbearable.

A sharp, searing pain erupts in your side, and you know—it’s over. You’re going to die here. The cold dread settles deep in your gut, heavier than the creature itself. This is it. This is the end.

And then, a voice.

“Get off her!”

Joel.

His voice cuts through the chaos like a blade, sharp and commanding. Hope ignites in your chest, fragile and desperate. You twist your head, straining to see him, and there he is. Joel, standing just a few feet away, rifle raised and steady.

“Joel!” you cry, but your voice still doesn’t come. Your lips move, but the words are swallowed by the oppressive silence.

Joel doesn’t hear you. He doesn’t need to. He steps closer, his jaw set, his eyes locked on the creature.

The weight on your chest shifts as the creature rears back, turning its attention to Joel. Relief floods through you, your lungs filling with air for the first time in what feels like forever. He’s here. He’ll save you. He always does.

But then you see it.

The creature’s face.

Your face.

It stares back at you with hollow, lifeless eyes, its features twisted into something grotesque and unrecognizable. Its mouth stretches into a snarl, blood staining its lips. Your lips.

“No,” you whisper, the sound finally breaking free. “No, no, no…”

But it’s too late.

The creature lunges at Joel, faster than you thought possible. He fires a shot, but it goes wide. The rifle falls from his hands as the creature slams into him, knocking him to the ground.

“Joel!”

You try to move, try to scream, try to do something, anything, but your body is frozen, paralyzed by fear and horror. You watch, helpless, as the creature—you—tears into him.

His screams echo in your ears, raw and agonized. Blood sprays across the ground, pooling beneath him, soaking into the dirt. You want to look away, but you can’t.

It doesn’t stop. The creature doesn’t stop. You don’t stop.

And then, silence.

Joel lies still, his lifeless eyes staring up at the sky. The creature, your monstrous reflection. turns back to you, blood dripping from its mouth. It smiles, a twisted, mocking grin that makes your stomach churn.

“You did this,” it says, its voice your own.

The weight returns, crushing you, suffocating you. You close your eyes, tears streaming down your face, but the image is burned into your mind. Joel, broken and bloodied. The monster, wearing your face.

“You did this,” it repeats, the words echoing in your head as the darkness swallows you whole.

…

No! No, stop, stop it!

Your voice tears from your throat, raw and jagged, as you writhe against the suffocating force pinning you down. You thrash and kick, your limbs flailing against an enemy you can’t see, can’t fight. The darkness is everywhere, thick, heavy, alive, pressing against your chest like a vise. Your screams are hoarse, broken, a desperate attempt to claw your way back to something, anything.

“Hey, hey. Shh. Calm down.”

The voice cuts through the chaos like a lifeline. It’s soft, steady, familiar in a way that tugs at your frayed edges. It isn’t your voice, not the guttural growl of the monster.

“You’re okay. You gotta calm down.”

Joel.

The name lodges in your mind, a single point of clarity amidst the storm. His voice, low and warm, anchors you. It’s not commanding, not sharp like it has been. It’s patient, soothing. Like he’s speaking to a wounded animal, coaxing it away from the edge of its terror.

The darkness loosens its grip, receding inch by inch, until the oppressive weight begins to dissolve. It’s still there, a shadow lingering at the edges of your consciousness, but it no longer suffocates.

The weight pressing against you shifts, no longer a force of dread but something solid, grounding. Arms wrap around you, holding you firm but gentle. The realization dawns on you slowly. Joel is holding you. His hands rub slow, deliberate circles on your back, the friction warm against your shivering body.

Your breathing is a wrecked staccato, each inhale catching in your throat, each exhale trembling with the effort. The screams that had ripped from your throat moments ago fade into croaking sobs, quiet but broken.

“That’s it,” Joel murmurs, his breath warm against your hair. “Just breathe.”

You try. The air is thin and sharp, your chest heaving as you attempt to match the slow rhythm of his breathing. His grip tightens slightly as if to remind you he’s there, that he isn’t letting go.

Your limbs feel like water, drained of strength, the fight bled out of you. Slowly, hesitantly, you relax into him. Your forehead drops against his chest, and you feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, a quiet metronome against the chaos still echoing in your mind.

The moment feels fragile, like glass balanced on a ledge, and you don’t dare shatter it. The warmth of his body seeps into your chilled skin, grounding you further. You’re acutely aware of the wetness on your cheeks, the way your tears have soaked into his shirt, but you don’t pull away. Not yet.

“You’re okay,” Joel says again, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand moves from your back to your hair, his fingers combing through it in a motion so tender it brings fresh tears to your eyes.

You stay like that, cradled in his arms, the silence between you heavy but not uncomfortable. Your mind is too fragile to process anything beyond the immediate sensation of his presence, the way he steadies you without asking for anything in return.

You want to say something, anything, but the words won’t come. You can’t look at him, not yet. The vulnerability feels too raw, too exposed, and you’re not ready to face the look in his eyes, whatever it might be.

The moment lingers, stretching out like an unbroken thread. For now, you let him hold you, let him be the solid presence you so desperately need, even if you don’t feel like you deserve it.

Joel doesn’t let go, not even when your sobs quiet to faint hiccups, not even when the cabin settles into silence, save for the faint crackling of the embers in the fireplace. The warmth of his chest against your cheek is steady, anchoring, as you feel the weight of reality creeping back in.

You shift slightly, your body sore and stiff from the strain of the nightmare. The movement causes his hand to still in your hair. Slowly, as though giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted, he loosens his grip.

“You back with me?” he asks, voice low, barely above a murmur.

You nod, though you still can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. “Yeah.” Your voice is a rasp, hoarse from screaming.

He lets out a long, heavy breath, like he’s been holding it this entire time. His hands fall to his sides, the absence of his tough leaving you cold and untethered.

“I didn’t mean to…” you start, but the words die on your tongue.

“To what?” Joel’s voice is calm, but there’s something underneath it, something guarded.

“To wake you. To… be like this.” You gesture vaguely to yourself, your chest tightening with shame. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop.” The word is firm, cutting through your shame like a blade.

Your eyes snap up to his, and the weight of his gaze pins you in place. His expression is unreadable, a mix of exhaustion, weariness, concern, and something else, something softer, something that tightens the knot in your gut.

“I was getting attacked,” you say, the words slipping out in a barely audible whisper. “And then it—it hurt you, too.”

Joel stiffens slightly, the tension in his frame palpable, but he doesn’t pull away.

“And it…” You stop yourself, the words dying on your tongue. What are you going to say? That you stood there, frozen, as a creature wearing your face tore into him? That it felt more real than the moment you share with him now?

He doesn’t need another reason not to trust you, not right now.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says, his tone quieter now.

The sincerity in his words makes your throat tighten. You want to believe him, want to let those words sink into the cracks and empty spaces inside you, but the voice in your mind, the one that whispered to you in the dream, won’t let you.

“Joel…” you say, his name slipping from your lips like a plea, though you don’t know what you’re asking for.

He shakes his head, cutting you off before you can spiral further. His gaze falters, and he rubs a hand over his face, like he’s trying to scrub away the weight of his own exhaustion. When he looks back at you, his eyes are heavy with something raw and unspoken.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he admits, the words gruff but quiet.

The admission hangs in the air between you, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. “It was just a dream,” you say finally, though the words feel hollow even as you speak them.

Joel shakes his head again, his jaw tightening. “Sure as hell didn’t sound like just a dream.” His voice dips lower, quieter. “Sounded like…” He trails off, his fingers curling into fists on his knees. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, the lie automatic and instinctual.

Joel’s eyes narrow slightly, the weight of his gaze heavy with doubt. For a moment, you think he’s going to call you on it. But then he leans back, putting just enough distance between you to make the air colder.

“You’re not fine,” he says simply, matter-of-fact. “You don’t gotta be fine all the time.”

The words hit you hard, a lump forming in your throat. You want to tell him that you can’t afford to not be fine, that any weakness could be the difference between survival and death. But you don’t.

Instead, you swallow the lump in your throat and look away, your gaze falling to the flickering embers in the fireplace. “I’m not used to this,” you admit quietly.

Joel doesn’t answer right away, and the silence stretches out long enough that you begin to think he won’t respond at all. But then his voice comes, softer than before. “Used to what?”

“To… someone being there,” you say, the words feeling foreign and awkward, like they don’t quite belong to you.

His gaze lingers on you, and though you can’t bring yourself to meet it, you feel the weight of it, heavy and unwavering. Finally, he nods, like he understands, though he doesn’t say anything more.

“Get some rest,” he says after a moment, his tone gruff but not unkind. “You need it if you’re gonna heal.”

He rises to his feet, and for a fleeting second, you’re tempted to reach out, to ask him to stay. But the words catch in your throat, and you let him go, watching as he moves to the front door of the cabin and settles down on his bedroll.

The silence that follows is thick, but bearable. You lie back down, your eyes fixed on the ceiling, the ghost of Joel’s touch still lingering on your skin. The nightmare clings to the edges of your mind like a shadow, but the memory of his voice, steady and grounding, drowns it out.

You close your eyes and pray, to whoever might be listening, that when sleep comes, it will be kinder this time.

…

You wake before Joel does, this time from a blessedly dreamless sleep. The room is quiet, save for the faint rustle of wind through the cracks in the cabin walls and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

He’s still where he was last night, propped up against the door, his rifle balanced across his lap, a silent sentinel even in rest. Your protector. Your watchman. The one who bears the weight of both your lives without complaint.

Well, mostly without complaint.

The pale light of early morning softens the hard edges of his face, painting him in cool hues. His brow, so often furrowed in worry or concentration, is smooth now, the tension melted away. His lips, perpetually set in a grim line, part slightly with each quiet breath. He looks younger like this. Peaceful, even. Human.

It strikes you how rare it is to see him like this. The apocalypse doesn’t leave much room for softness or vulnerability, and Joel wears his armor well. But now, in this fleeting moment, you can see the man beneath the layers of grit and survival.

You realize it’s the first time you’ve had a chance to really look at him since everything happened—since the attack, the bloody fight for your life that left you battered in more ways than one. Since your humanity was tainted and your relationship with Joel was irrevocably changed.

Since you told him.

The memory crawls to the surface unbidden, sharp and vivid, a wound that refuses to scab over. You were convinced you were about to die, that your life was seconds away from being snuffed out like the weak, flickering flame of a candle in a storm. And in those desperate, final moments, the walls you’d so carefully built around yourself came crashing down. You told him the truth.

That you loved him.

Even now, you don’t regret it. Not entirely. If death had come for you that night, at least you’d have gone without the weight of those unsaid words pressing against your chest. It had been a release, a final gasp of truth before the void swallowed you whole.

You can’t blame him for how he reacted, either. You hadn’t expected him to say it back—not then, not like that. Joel Miller wasn’t the kind of man to throw words like love around carelessly, and you wouldn’t have wanted him to. A lie, even one meant to comfort you in your last moments, would have been far crueler than his silence.

No, the regret you carry isn’t in what you said, but in the timing. You wish you’d told him sooner, before everything fell apart, before you became this hollow, fractured version of yourself. Would it have made a difference? If you’d reached out that night he lay beside you, so close you could feel the warmth radiating off his body, would he have taken your hand? Would he have pulled you closer instead of pulling away? Could you have built something out of the wreckage of both your lives?

The thought twists something deep in your chest, a sharp ache that feels dangerously close to hope, a feeling you’ve tried to kill in yourself a hundred times over.

And yet, another thought creeps in, darker and more insidious. Wouldn’t it have been easier for both of you if you’d just died that night?

Joel could have moved on, unburdened by the weight of you. You would have been just another ghost in his long history of losses, another name in a growing list of people he couldn’t save. He would have mourned, maybe—probably—but he’s used to mourning. It’s a rhythm he knows well.

And you… You would have been free. Free from this endless fight for survival, free from the gnawing guilt that eats away at you with every passing day. Free from the crushing weight of being both a danger and a burden to the only person who’s stuck by you.

Maybe there’s an afterlife. You’re not sure if you believe in heaven or any kind of promised land where the dead reunite in peace, but even the void of nothingness seems preferable to this. To waking up every day with the knowledge that your continued existence is a liability, a condemnation for some mortal sin you can’t remember committing.

But you didn’t die.

For some reason, some cruel, inexplicable twist of fate, you lived. Others might call it a miracle, a second chance. But in the harsh light of day, you can see it for what it really is.

A punishment.

You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, your gaze lingering on Joel’s sleeping face. He stirs slightly, a faint crease forming between his brows, and you wonder what he’s dreaming about. You hope it’s something good, something far away from this place and this life.

Because you know the truth.

You’re no miracle. You’re a curse.

Taglist:

@eviispunk

@javierpenaispunk

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #tlou hbo #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller series #joel x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal #the last of us game #the last of us #the last of us hbo

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tojisun · 9 hours ago

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john price x reader; minimal plot but it’s daddy issues and making out and just yk the sorts; mini religious analogy

it starts with a tap to the mouth—john's thumb rough against your glossy lips. he tips your head up just enough so that you can meet his eyes, crinkled in his deep smile and shining with the depths of his desire.

his adoration is palpable, rippling from his body in burning waves. it makes you feel small in the softest of ways; like you are being tucked into the pockets of his chest, wedged within the spaces of his ribs.

it makes you ache, your body racked with shivers.

no one has ever loved you this way. no one was ever this devoted—all-consuming and scorching in the way it strips the world into nothing, leaving it bare, all for you to use. to yield. to pick apart and abandon, as you see fit.

john looks at you like you're all that matters.

the tears spring up before you could stop them, prickling the backs of your eyes until they trickle down the slopes of your cheeks. you hear john's breath stutter, his hand twitching from where it's cupping your jaw, before it drags up to the side of your temple, thumb swiping at the patch of skin just underneath your eye.

"shh," he rumbles, a gentle coo. "y've got nothin' to be sad about, sweetheart."

you sniffle, ducking your gaze away, turning shy. it makes him chuckle, his voice passing through his teeth with such fondness, it fills you up with warmth; cascading down your spine, setting you ablaze alive.

“now, then,” john says, tapping the apple of your cheek. “won’t you come here an’ kiss me?”

his voice is thick and sticky with his own need, rumbling in that sort of tone that always makes your thighs squeeze shut. you nod, not knowing what else is there to say, and slide to his lap. he helps you throughout—rough palms perched on your hips as he pulls you close, adjusting ever so slightly, until your chest is snug against his and his breaths are hitting your chin.

john is so warm like this, or is it you? burning with the fever of your own desires that it buzzes into your skin and etching him with it?

whatever it may be, he presses close, dragging his palms from the meat of your hips to your back, mapping along the expanse of your skin like he’s truly feeling you; like he’s truly grounding himself through you.

you let out a shaky breath. john mirrors it.

and, finally, the two of you meet in between. the kiss is soft, careful, then it is cataclysmic. he devours your every gasps, his beard scratching against your chin as he kisses and nips and licks.

it is so debauched; sinful in the way you moan into his mouth and john swallows it whole; destructive in the way that his kisses chase the burn from your lips and force them through your synapses, leaving your nerves to moan a song until the pleasure burrows in your core—thrumming and building, your nub hardening slowly; teasingly; more.

more. moremoremore—

“john,” you gasp out, fingers tugging at his hair. “john, i want–!”

“shh,” he rumbles, pulling away just enough to press his forehead to yours. “i’ve got you, peanut. i’ve got you.”

his words douse you in the holy flames because you feel—

absolved.

you feel forgiven. you feel loved.

oh.

“please,” you hiccup, crying out again. and john pulls you in, even closer, and closer, until you no longer know where you end and where he begins.

please—

“i’ve got you,” john repeats like it is a prayer; a testimony. “i’m here f’r you.”

and you fall into him, so trusting. so faithful.

so devoted.

so small in his greatness.

#or. tldr: a love so overwhelming that you don’t know how to even comprehend it #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #price x reader #john price #x reader #suns

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deadhands69 · 16 hours ago

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Hitching a Ride there's only one bed?

Tomura Shigaraki x Reader Dabi/Touya Todoroki x Reader [separately]

Choose your own adventure with Shig//Dabi routes. Lightly suggestive, but no smut.

previous - this is part 3 - next (coming soon) [series masterlist]

As you walk through the parking lot to the door of the motel, you realize you’re about to spend the night alone with a man who you met jumping into a stolen van less than 48 hours ago. On its face, this should be a red flag but, thus far, it hasn’t felt like it. If anything, he looks more nervous about being in a room alone with you than you are.

You slide the keycard four times before the light flashes green and beeps. Shoving open the door, you flick on the lights and -

“There’s only one bed?”

Tomura Shigaraki ᝰ⛐

“At least I only have to share with you,” Shigaraki shrugs, “the last hotel stop there were three of us in each bed and Twice kicks in his sleep.”

You laugh, feeling a bit less nervous about the situation. Your laughter also hides the grumbling you feel in your stomach. You wish there was room service, or even a restaurant close. The lackluster dinner you had did nothing to stave off your hunger. As if he could read your mind, Shigaraki walks to the door.

“I think I saw a vending machine earlier, I was about to head over there. Want me to get you anything?” he asks.

“I’ll go with you!” you exclaim, a little more excited than you intended to sound. “I need to move my legs a bit after sitting all day anyways.”

The two of you wander back into the dimly lit parking lot and around the building. Snack and drink vending machines glow side by side like an oasis in the desert.

“Watch,” he says, hitting the machine with his hip at just the right angle to make a drink fall out. He repeats it again, and another drops. You try the same on the snack one to no avail. Everything seems to be tucked solidly between the metal coils. Without thinking, you pull a semi-large bill from your pocket and shove it in the machine.

“Pick whatever you want,” you say to him, stepping aside.

“You don’t have to pay for everything,” he mumbles, hitting C6 to send a bag of chips plummeting to the bottom.

“Yeah, but I want to. You’re the only reason I’m not-” in prison right now, you think. “I definitely owe you. For the ride.”

“It’s fine,” he mutters as the two of you alternate picking more snacks until you each have an armful.

After dropping some gummy candies while you try to get the keycard to work, you’re back in your room dumping your haul on the motel comforter.

He gives you the first turn for the shower. Dragging your bag in there, you open it to find not much that will be helpful in this situation. You try to clean up the best you can, but at the end of it all, you’re still putting your dirty clothes back on. After looking in the mirror for the first time in months, you decide this is the best it��s going to be and walk back out.

“You’re carrying around a giant bag of money, but no clothes?” Shigaraki asks.

“Wait, how do you know-”

“We picked you up by a bank robbery and you’ve been paying for everything, I put two and two together.” He doesn’t seem phased by this, barely bothering to look away from the motel info sheet he’s reading his way through. “You can’t sleep in that. If you want, you can borrow one of my shirts.”

You nod, thank him. He throws you a shirt from his backpack before heading to take a shower. With the time he’s in there, you fiddle with the remote. Trying to find something worth watching but it’s three cable tv channels and static.

Not ten minutes later, he comes back out in a t-shirt and underwear. You try to keep your eyes glued to the tv, but fail miserably. He’s very attractive, you decide. Every bit of fabric hugging in exactly the right places. Through the corner of your eye, you catch a slew of scars over his legs. Some are scratches, others look like bullet wounds. No wonder he didn’t bat an eye at sharing the room with a bank robber.

“What,” he muses, climbing under the covers by your side. “Still going to sleep in pants?”

Admittedly, you wanted to be comfortable but weren’t sure if you’d make him feel weird by sleeping in your underwear. But if he is… You slide your pants off under the covers, feeling relieved already.

“I’m not a perv,” he asserts, while flipping through the channels and finding nothing you didn’t already skip. “I won’t touch you or anything.”

Before you can stop yourself you find your mouth mumbling, “but what if I want you to.”

He laughs and before turning off the light you notice his face has darkened a few shades of pink.

Ten minutes later he asks, “wait, were you serious?”

After that, you end up talking for half the night while watching infomercials. While you couldn't quite place when it happened, by the time you're falling asleep both of your legs are tangled up together under the covers.

[scroll to continue the story]

Dabi/Touya Todoroki ᝰ⛐

“It’s fine,” Dabi mumbles, “still more space than sleeping in that van.”

“Yeah,” you remember how you woke up with his arm around you this morning and hope that’s his default sleeping position.

“We’ve been crammed in that thing all day though, I’ll give you space.”

You think to yourself how unnecessary that is, but appreciate the gesture. Unpacking what you do have, you bring your toiletries into the bathroom to brush your teeth. When you come back out, Dabi's wandered off somewhere already.

Not up for much but still not tired enough to go to bed yet, you look at the hotel info sheet to see what’s around here. There is a pool and hot tub on the other side of the building, with seemingly no hours. You strip down to your underwear, everything covers as much as a swimsuit would which is close enough for you. Grabbing a towel and your keycard, you head out the door.

Arriving at the pool, you see you’re not the only one there. Dabi is already sitting in the hot tub, staring up at the stars.

The area is dimly lit, a humming light above casting a warm tint over everything, but at least the water looks well-maintained. You unhook the metal gate fencing the area in, drop your towel on a broken plastic lounge chair, and climb in. The bubbles tickle your legs as you sink into a spot across from him. He flashes you a smile in acknowledgement but stays quiet.

Looking up at the clear night sky, it really is beautiful. You get lost in it until the jets slow to a stop.

“I’ve got it,” he says, already half out of the water by the time you look up.

He’s in his underwear as well, the wet cotton clinging to his body as he walks to the control panel. You try not to notice the way the thin fabric gives you a view of everything. Water drips down his back, over the scars which you now know cover most of his body. The bubbles resume and you promptly look up, pretending to have been staring at the sky the whole time.

When he gets back, he mentions how nice of a night it is and how beautiful it’s been getting out of the city. Small talk turns to more, and before you know it at least an hour has passed, your skin is pruney, and you’re laughing hysterically. Shigaraki Someone yells out of one of the windows at you to be quiet. Glancing at each other, you laugh even harder while grabbing your towels and heading back inside.

You let him take the first shower, knowing it’ll take you a while to scrub the chlorine off your skin. When he comes back out, he’s wearing nothing but his underwear again. Knowing he’ll be sleeping next to you in that hits differently than sitting with him in a hot tub.

“What,” he taunts, walking past you to climb into bed, “nothing you haven’t already seen.”

You hoped he hadn’t noticed you checking him out earlier, but based on the look on his face he doesn’t seem to mind. He makes himself comfortable while you take your turn washing off.

One issue.

The small hair dryer attached to the wall does a slow job of drying your underwear, leaving small damp patches all over the fabric. At some point, you decide it’s good enough and pull them back on along with the shirt you’ve been wearing all week.

Dabi laughs, “I take it there aren’t clothes in the bag.”

“That is correct,” you walk past him, shoving the massive sack under your side of the bed. “But something tells me you already knew that.”

“I had a suspicion,” he smiles and the world melts around you. “Grab one of my shirts to sleep in, you don’t have to dress like a bank robber 24/7.”

Your jaw drops at the bluntness, but he’s not wrong. You go back into the bathroom, changing into the shirt he let you borrow. When you come back out, the lights are off and he appears to be drifting off to sleep. You climb in next to him.

His arms wrap around you and this time you think it’s on purpose.

⛙ Continued ⛙

According to the alarm clock by the bed, 9:14. Checkout is at 10.

Begrudgingly, you extricate your entwined limbs from his to let him get a few more minutes of sleep. He looks so peaceful and you’d hate to interrupt it. You throw your pants on to see what a free continental breakfast looks like in a place that doesn’t even have wifi.

Making your way through the parking lot, you think back on the conversations you had last night. Life wasn’t necessarily easy prior to this, there’s a reason you’re on the run with nothing but a stolen bag of money and the clothes on your back. He could have pried more when you declined to talk about it, but he didn’t and you’re grateful for that. Honestly, being on the run with the group has been an amazing break from life, feeling more like a vacation than anything else.

That’s partially why you offered to share some of the money (that and the fact that you involuntarily made them all accomplices when they picked you up so you felt like you at least owe them some portion of it.) When you brought it up last night, you could tell he wanted to say no but knows that everyone needs it.

The breakfast is exactly what you expected, but at least it’s a meal. You throw a few pale orange slices on a plate with a pastry and whatever else looks edible. Sitting next to Compress and Magne, you begin eating as everyone else slowly trickles in. There’s an occasional knowing glance at you wearing his shirt, but no one says anything until Toga shows up.

“Ooooooooohh,” she starts before Magne kicks her leg under the table.

After everyone eats their fill (and fills their pockets,) you quickly pack up, and you’re all back on the road again.

series masterlist - bnha masterlist

taglist: @kitkat13001 @bitchyfestivalbouquet @shigarakislaughter @idkidk32

#dabi x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #my hero academia x reader #league of villains x reader #dabi x you #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x y/n #dabi x y/n #touya x reader #touya todoroki #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #dabi mha #bnha x reader #hitching a ride

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varda-star-queen · 19 hours ago

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Thank you @itwillbeourswansong - I cordially accept your invitation! When do I ever not need an excuse to wail about Adar? (Also, I very much enjoyed reading your thoughts! Nicely put as ever.)

I'll go straight to the questions for my wail-therapy session

-Your most wail-worthy Adar moment of TROP Season 1 or 2

He died! 😭 I don't think I'll ever get over it - not after all the build up and the amazing redemption arc he had. I hear what everyone says about it mirroring what he did to Sauron, but so what? It wasn't a befitting end for such a great OC.

However - TBH I think EVERY scene that Adar features in is wail-worthy (in S2 - and I'll explain that in question 3, but it's no slight on S1 Adar). The scenes where he speaks elvish and black speech... OMG 🔥. His chemistry and interactions with other characters. His tenderness coupled with ferocity on the battlefield! All of it.

I can't watch his scenes without wailing (for happy or sad reasons!)

-The detail/headcanon about Adar that keeps you up wailing at night

Very much like @itwillbeourswansong - It's Adar's huge capacity for love that gets me. We only see his physical scars, but his emotional and psychological ones are likely much worse. Yet, through all that he retains enough heart and soul to dedicate his entire existence to loving the unlovable. At no point do you feel that he would walk away or stop caring. He's capable of malice, of course, and, in many ways, he's ruthless, but always with the underlying motive of providing for his children.

He knows he's broken - when he says to Glug 'with all that is left of my heart', it feels to me like an acknowledgement. And I think when he puts on Nenya and feels whole-hearted again, it intensifies his capacity for love even more. So much so that he proposes peace - a safe place for every being in middle earth.

His patience is also noteworthy - I mean, he's lived thousands of years with an uncivilised bunch of violent kids! But he's always so calm and patient. And he's smart - one minute he's negotiating with a troll, then he's quoting poetry and calling people beautiful, then he's leading his armies into battle - It's high-level competency porn!

-At what point did you realize that you had become a hopeless Baddydaddy Devotee and lost control of your entire life?

Ok, so I am a very late latecomer!!

In season 1, I was intrigued by Adar, but more in conjunction with the 'who is Sauron' mystery. I do remember thinking his haunted look was heartbreaking and wondering what his backstory was.

When season 2 started and I saw Sam as Adar, I instantly clicked with his voice - that was the first thing I noticed and I even remember saying to my husband that I liked the sound of him. BUT even then, I wasn't fully awakened. After the 'Elen Sila Lumenn' moment, I sat up a bit more and was like, ok... what's happening here? Then next episode, when Galadriel got him by the neck, I started thinking, hang on, why am I craving more scenes with him... Which I was rewarded with in Ep 7. And that one was the clincher. After his scenes in that, I was convert and I started rotting my brain on everything I could get hold of in relation to Adar (just in time for him to die next episode 😭😭😭NOOOOOOOOOO).

I've now rewatched every S2 scene so many times and am completely and hopelessly devoted to our BaddyDaddy.... I need to do a complete season 1 rewatch with all this in mind, because I feel I don't remember enough of the details.

It's on my to-do list!

🖤🖤🖤

Season 2 episodes 6&7 were also when i jumped off the Haladriel ship and boarded Adariel (where I've been firmly ever since!). But I also love how Adar gets shipped with EVERYONE. Because it affirms my own thoughts about how attractive a person is when they have a noble heart, even if it's corrupted. (...And of course he's a hot bastard which helps too!!)

No pressure tags @tumblin-theworldaway @iwanderbecauseimlost @laurarcrazystrange @wowstrawberrycow @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @adarswidow

anybody in the mood to wail about Adar??

BECAUSE I AM

#Long essay incoming 🤣#adar #the rings of power #adar the rings of power #rings of power #adar rings of power #adar trop #trop #sam hazeldine #joseph mawle

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yenyu1s · 5 hours ago

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black sheep.. rockstar!han se-mi x f!reader written by @yenyu1s ( ˶˘ ³˘(⋆❛ ہ ❛⋆)

pairing(s) : han se-mi x f!reader contents : fluff/comfort - based off the song, black sheep by metric. se-mi is a flirt, kissing, cute little fic for all my se-mi lovers. synopsis : han se-mi, a soulful vocalist and guitarist of the local band voulez-vous, shares a stage with her closest friends—choi su-bong (stage name thanos) on the drums, nam-gyu on bass, and park min-su on keyboard at their town's beloved tavern. you happened to be one of their biggest fans, your best interest set on the band's guitarist. among the sea of faces, you push through, eager to catch a glimpse of her, to make her notice you. little did you know, in a room overflowing with her devoted followers, her gaze had already found you. wc : 2.46k taglist : @knfthxv @ilovwfurina @saebyeokbliss @jumpedthenfell-13 @room-722 @amorisi @merwdusa @0idk0idc

(a/n) inspired by my fav doomed yuri nana & hachi! reader is basically hachi and misato combined? i hope you guys enjoy! ^-^ i'd recommend listening to black sheep by metric while reading <3 (for more, masterlist)

se-mi looked at her reflection in the dressing room mirror. the vanity light reflected her pasty black eyeshadow, her eyebrows knitted together.

the weight of pre-show nerves pressed on her chest. she needed to clear her head, to escape the swirling thoughts of her ex-girlfriend who had just walked out on her, right before she was supposed to take the stage.

"i've never even loved you anyways."

her voice lingered in se-mi's mind, mocking her, degrading her.

however, she didn't feel sad or angry.. not even disappointed. she just felt.. off.

if she were to be honest, the relationship was nothing but suffocating.

she had once thought being with someone would be fulfilling, but every moment with her ex had only made her feel more alone.

her breath came raggedly, erratic, as though it couldn’t find a rhythm of its own.

she reached for her cigarette case, putting a cig in between her lips, flicking open her cherry red zippo, cupping it slowly to shield it from the room's embarrassingly weak air conditioner.

click!

the tip of her cigarette glowed ember-red, crackling softly as she took a slow drag. the air went thick in the dressing room.

just as she was about to exhale the smoke out of her lungs, thanos rudely barged in to the room, making se-mi cough out the smoke that clawed her throat.

"WE'RE ON IN FIVE!" thanos yelled, smiling giddily, shoving his hand into the pockets of his leather jacket before skipping around the room in circles, as if nothing was amiss.

se-mi furrowed her eyebrows at the scene unfolding. "are you.."

"are you high!?" she interrogated, her voice going an octave higher.

"nope!" the purple hair assured, popping the 'p' with flair before twirling back out the door. "now lets goooou!"

se-mi rolled her eyes. useless. she thought.

this is going to be a long night.

the tavern pulsed with life, thick with the scent of beer, sweat, and something electric that buzzed beneath the surface—anticipation, excitement, the kind of feverish energy that only came alive when voulez-vous was on stage. a staple of the town’s nightlife, their music echoed in the hearts of those who packed into this dimly lit space night after night.

you had been here before, countless times, a face lost in a sea of voices screaming her name. all you wished for, was for her to notice you.

tired from fading into the background, you devised your plan—push your way to the front row.

before the show started, your eyes observed the tight room filled with fans from all over the region.

your grip on the souvenir you’d bought for se-mi kept you grounded as you made your way through.

the rusty metal stairs creaked under your ankle boots, just the staircase alone was holding about 20 people on it.

pushing through the bodies, the heat of the crowd pressing in from every side, you fought your way closer. nothing could stop you now.

the lights dim as you were nearing the front row.

your eyes were glued to the stage as the band entered. you mindlessly shoved gently on the people in your way, earning a few stares and 'hey watch it!"'s in the process.

you didn't care.. you were determined, adrenaline rushing throughout your body. you were so close.

you reached the front, finally, breathless, gripping the edge of the stage as she struck the first chord. the sound hung in the air, suspended in time.

you felt the breath in your lungs get knocked out when the stage lights flickered on, illuminating the band with a golden haze.

the crowd surged around you, restless, as they scream their names. fan girls squealing and reaching their hands out.

you'd usually do the same thing, but you took your time admiring the crew.

the bass rumbled through the wooden floors beneath your feet, nam-gyu’s steady rhythm syncing with the pounding in your chest. thanos was a storm behind his drum, every beat hitting just right. min-su's fingers delicately danced around the keys, his melodies weaving through the chaos like fireflies in the dark.

and se-mi

oh, se-mi.

she was a vision—the way her raven hair clung to her forehead, the way she parts her lips uttering every single ounce of herself into the music. her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

the way her fingers blurred over the strings, a raw, soulful melody spilling from the amp.

se-mi gripped the mic stand like it was a lifeline, her voice threading the set like a siren's call.

oh boy, were you hooked.

you stood there entranced, eyes wide, mouth agape before you realized you’d been staring for far too long and missed the chance to immerse yourself in the song, to join the crowd in their chorus of screams and chants.

your eyes were stuck on the short haired vocalist. her strong aura pulling you in. your heart thrumming to the rhythm of her performance.

as the song nears its end, se-mi's gaze lifted.

guitar still slung over her shoulder, her slender fingers curled around the neck of it as she strummed, she saw you.

in a sea full of people, her gaze found yours.

not to her band members, not to the crowd chanting her name,

yours.

you were dancing and swaying to the rhythm of the music, your hair spilling over your shoulders.

se-mi's breath caught in her throat. she was drooling over the fact how even when you were wedged between strangers.. you still looked effortlessly pretty.

something about you drew her in.

for a fleeting moment, everything else fell away—the weight of her ex, the chaos of the night—and she was left with nothing but the sight of you.

a shiver ran down your spine as you realized she was looking directly at you. time slowed, the world fading to nothing as her gaze locked onto yours.

the air shifted, charged with something unspoken.

se-mi faltered for just a second, missing an unnoticeable note before she regained her composure.

she tried to play it of by tilting her head at you, a knowing smirk played on her face as the first song ended.

coming here was worth it. you thought.

she sang directly to you, her sultry, low voice wrapped around you like a secret, a melody that was meant for no one else.

your pulse stuttered as she leaned in closer to the mic, her eyes still bore on you.

the crowd roared, oblivious to the little interaction you and se-mi had.

you've never felt more seen.

other women's hands reached for her, their high-pitched voice screamed her name. but it didn't matter..

not when she was looking at you with those eyes.

you didn't know what it meant, if it was real or not. or maybe it's just what rockstars are used to—captivating hearts with merely a glance. the final note hung in the air, vibrating through the floorboards before dissolving into the roar of applause.

the crowd erupted, voices screaming, hands clapping, bodies pressing toward the stage in a desperate attempt to hold onto the magic for just a little longer.

se-mi stood at the center of it all, radiant, flushed, her chest rising and falling as she smiled lazily.

she loved the adoration, the chaos, the thrill of hearing people scream her name. but there was something that made her unable to fully relish in satisfaction.

the band bowed, thanked the audience, and then the stage lights dimmed.

se-mi's band started leaving the stage, but she stayed behind to scan the crowd.

she was looking for you.

the venue buzzed with energy, conversations colliding in an explosion of post-show adrenaline.

nothing.

no signs of you.

no signs of your face anywhere.

you took a deep breath when you stepped out of the venue. the cold air hitting your face, piles of snow littered the ground below you. you stood beside the entrance as waves of people walked out, daydreaming.

you were definitely satisfied by the band's performance today and you were specifically thrilled by se-mi's silent flirting.

after she took notice of you, she'd leave quiet glances towards you in between notes, what seemed to be her winking and gazing at the crowd felt directed to you.

a content smile painted your face as you tightened your plaid scarf around you.

the same grin faltered seconds after you realized you didn't get a chance to give se-mi your gift. the gift bag still hung heavy in your hands.

you sigh and pouted in disappointment as you opened the gift bag. revealing a black and white knitted scarf with se-mi's name on it and a hand-crafted flower you made, its petals made out of maroon guitar picks.

"ah~ that's too bad.." you sighed, muttering to yourself.

"hm? what's wrong?"

you froze on the spot, breath hitching. you felt the weightless snowflakes starting to pull you down as they pile up on top of your head.

se-mi’s voice.

her tall, slender figure appeared, standing inches from you, her tousled hair framed by the glow of the streetlights. the rest of the band followed her, but she was focused on you.

"s-se-mi?" you stuttered. face turning red at the sight of the raven haired girl, her hair slightly tousled, her guitar case handing behind her. the other bandmates followed her behind inquisitively.

"are these for me?" she smiled mischieviously, her fingers brushed yours as she handled the cute pink vivienne westwood gift bag.

she unraveled the scarf with her name printed across it, her gasp was soft and genuine. "wow, you outdid yourself, pretty girl.." her laugh airy, reaching into the bag to twirl the guitar pick rose, her calloused hands caressing the maroon petals. "did you make this by yourself?"

you nodded slowly. your eyes still glued to her in disbelief. could this really be happening?

se-mi pretended to take a whiff of the flower, sighing. "mm.. aren't you talented?"

your legs weakened.

"se-mi.. i can't believe its you..!" you covered your mouth, trying to suppress your bewildered expression.

se-mi bit on her lip in amusement, her eyes never leaving yours as you rambled on.

"i'm your biggest fan, always have been since your debut! i.. i even got piercings to match you!" you stuttered in awe at the short haired girl in front of you. your confidence faltering as se-mi kept a prolonged eye contact.

se-mi did take notice of your angel fangs in the stage's lighting, the silver metal twinkled in the sea of dim lighting, and she sure loved how cute you were matching her snake bites.

this interaction caught the attention of passerbys and people who had attended the concert, more of them started crowding around you both and whispers turning into squeals as se-mi’s fans noticed her presence.

"thank you doll, i appreciate your support." se-mi whispered sweetly. taking your polished hands in hers and kissing it. sending a bolt of electricity through your veins.

you felt your heart stop as a chorus of excited squeals filled the air.

but se-mi… se-mi didn’t seem to care.

the rest of the band stood to the side, used to se-mi's affect she has on girls.

"how does she get more girls than me? i don't get it!" nam-gyu complained, scratching the back of his neck.

thanos agreed whole-heartedly, patting nam-gyu's back. "girls these days bro.."

"could you please.." you started, quickly getting distracted to scour your purse for the band's first album's cd, and a black marker "..sign these..?"

"anything for you, pretty." se-mi curled her lips into a grin.

you felt your knees buckle. your arms felt like jelly as you offered her your cd and pen. your fingers grazing together a second too long.

se-mi started scribbling on the cd, longer than you anticipated. you couldn't believe the person you admire the most was standing there in front of you, blatantly flirting with you.

"and what's your name doll?" se-mi stepped an inch closer, enough to close the distance, the faint scent of cologne and sweat clinging to her skin.

her voice was low, and it sent your pulse into an overdrive.

your heart was beating ten times faster now, you gave her your name and she gave you a toothy grin in satisfaction.

"ah, what did i do to deserve such a pretty girl at my show today?" se-mi laughed softly at your shy demeanor, tilting her head to the side, handing you your signed cd back.

you screamed internally. half of your red face was now hidden by the cd that you held close to your face.

"se-mi we've got to catch the bus now. hurry on," thanos reminded the raven haired girl. the rest of the band started retreating to the back of the venue where the oversized bus was parked in.

your bright, refreshed face quickly simmered down at the realization that you'd never get to interact with se-mi like this again. and she saw the change in your expression and she knows it shouldn't've, but it hurt her.

she turned back to you, eyes lingering.

"don't be hesitant to text me yeah, pretty? i'd like to get to know you more." se-mi winked.

your face scrunched in confusion as you divert your attention back to the signed cd, her number was written on it with a heart doodled on the side.

your face lit up once more, sparkling with energy. your heart raced at the fact that you've just got se-mi's number.

"thank you, se-mi.." you stammered, fidgeting with the cd case.

"the pleasure's all mine doll." se-mi smiled gently at you, taking in your warm presence. "will i meet you again at my next concert?"

you nodded enthusiastically now, gaining more confidence. "yeah, i'll be there!"

se-mi couldn't keep the smile off her face even after she had turn her back away from you, but she felt the need to make the moment last longer.

she impulsively turned back to you to lean down and sneak a light kiss on your sweet lips. her touch soft, sweet, and full of promise, before retreating next to her band members. looking back at you for the last time with a wink!

this most definitely created an uproar at the crowd that was circling you both. but you drowned out their screaming, instead focusing on the sound of your own heartbeat.

the ghost of her lips lingered on yours, you lifted your fingers to graze your bottom lip. the taste of her beer flavored lips still present on your cherry tasting one.

you went home that day screaming into your pillow, body weak, wondering if you should text her.

you missed her already!

#✦ . 🦑 dani's squid games ⊹　 ❜ !#se-mi #se-mi x reader #se mi #se mi x reader #han se-mi #han se-mi x reader #player 380 #player 380 x reader #squid game #squid game x reader #squid games #squid games x reader #se mi squid game #fanfiction #x reader

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joces-wrld · 1 day ago

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𖦹✶𓏲ּ꩜ .ᐟ midnight shopping

✩ blurb!

IN WHICH— fratboy! chris hits the jackpot and decides to take tomboy! reader shopping

| no warnings! enjoy <3

"i got bandssssss" chris announces, nonchalantly walking into your dorm, spreading a stack of hundred dollar bills on his arm

"hello to you too, christopher"

"lets go shopping, wanna spoil you" "its literally almost 11pm?" "and? i know these outlets that're opened till like 2am, its 30 minutes away, cmon ma?"

"chris im in pajamas and i already took my makeup off" you protest, watching him shake his head. "already told you you dont need that shit", you sigh, "give me 10 minutes to do my eyeliner and mascara?"

the boy rolls his eyes, grabbing your hand and dragging you out the door. "chris! what the hell?!" "you look good like this ma. barefaced, in spiderman pajamas and uggs, prime y/n right here" you roll your eyes, "well its like 40 degrees out here, imma freeze to death" "relax will you? i have an extra jacket in the car"

minutes later, the 2 of you were on the way to the outlets, chris allowing you to have aux. "where'd you even get all that money from? like i know you make money selling, but never that much, not in less than a week at least" "oh yeah, there's more by the way" "WHAT?!?" "yeah, got this new shit and it's selling quickly" "i can tell..." you mumble, putting the sun visor down and opening the mirror

"EW! chris what the hell?! i look so ugly. i no joke look deceased, i NEED my makeup", you can practically hear chris' eyeroll, watching him shake his head in annoyance. "you're so dramatic. i think you look pretty" he mumbles that last part, ears turning red. you smile slightly, deciding to spare him by changing the topic. "so where's your jacket?" "behind your seat"

you reach back and see a black zip up, you grab it and quickly shrug it on, taking your uggs off to cross your legs on top of the seat. "if you were anyone else, i would literally kick you out" "awww, im special" you snicker, watching as he shakes his head, smiling nonetheless. the 2 of you fall into a comfortable silence, watching as cars pass by, that is until Open Arms by SZA comes on. you gasp dramatically, repeatedly hitting chris' arm

"what the fuck?!" "i LOVE this song!!" you turn the volume up to max, grabbing the boys phone and opening snapchat, recording yourself and chris singing along

"i hate myself to make you stay. push me away, i'll be right here" you sing, admiring chris through the screen, watching as his head bops along to the beat. "with open, open, open arms. open arms, you keep me open, im so devoted, you keep me open, open arms, im so devoted to you, to you, to you" you motion towards chris with your head, a big smile plastered on your face

"no matter what come between us, yeah, i decided, i'm forever riding, we forever guided" chris raps, stopping due to a red light. "drew my favorite color, now you seeing every shade of me" he quickly turns his head, clearly dedicating those lyrics to you. his mouth opens wide in surprise when he notices you were recording, "locked in for life, on God, no replacing me" you rap back, watching him hide his smile by turning back to face the road, stepping on the gas as the light turns green

the song soon ends, you stopping the video and saving it to his camera roll, sending it to yourself before closing his phone. "you really love sza, dontcha?" "hell yeah i do. she's like, one of my top 3 artists" the boy nods to your words, turning onto some street. 10 minutes later he turns into a parking lot. "we're here, ma"

you and chris exit his car, walking towards the stores. they were surprisingly not too empty, of course they weren't packed, but you could tell there was a good chunk of people at every store. "where to?" you mumble, slipping the hood of chris' jacket on. "they have a starbucks, so lets go there first, get something warm"

"what happened to something warm" you sarcastically ask, watching as chris sips his caramel frappuccino. "change of plans" he mumbles, watching as you sip on your macchiato. "come on, they got a lids somewhere"

you happily follow him, not a thought in your mind as you admire your surroundings. walking into the store, you notice it was fairly empty, no more than 7 people in there. "hey guys, need any help?" an employee asks, chris shaking his head no. "no thank you" you verbally say, offering a small smile. "alright, well if you do just let me know"

you slightly zone out after that, just staring at chris as he pick hats up and down. he does that for a while, finally settling on a light grey one with a light khaki visor. he nods his head and looks for another one, quickly finding it and calling out to you

"try this on, ma" you nod your head and take your hood off, popping the hat on. chris does the same with his hat and pulls his phone out, going to the camera app. "oh they're the same!" you exclaim, a big smile immediately forming on your face. chris quickly snaps a picture before putting his phone away, "yeah dummy, thats the point"

your mouth falls into an 'o' shape, realizing thats why he took a while to settle on a hat, he was searching for one that had your hat size. "stay here, imma go pay" he instructs, walking off to the register. he returns moments later, no hats in hand??

"had to embroid sum on them" he mumbles, grabbing your hand and leading you out the hat store and towards a bath and body works. "nicks been wanting some new candle that came out so imma go look for it. get whatever you want, dont matter how much" he says, going off towards the candles

you smirk slightly, grabbing a bag and getting to work. walking towards your go to scent, you grab 2 bottles of the fragrance mist, a bottle of lotion, and another bottle of body cream. you then go towards a thousand wishes, grabbing a body wash and a mini fragrance as you needed a restock. with a nod, you go find chris

you're quick to spot him, 3 candles in his grasp. "for nick," he shows you the pistachio honey milk candle, "for matt," mahogany coconut, "and for you, saw you were running low" you smile, your favorite candle being placed inside the bag alongside the others

"is this it?" the boy asks, slightly disappointed in how little you got. "i think so?" "you get that strawberry shit you like?" your eyes widen, how could you forget about your soap and hand sanitizer?!? you quickly run to get them before standing in line with chris

it was now 1:50am, 10 minutes before the outlets closed. you and chris loaded with shopping bags, he truly had spoiled you. you got 3 new pairs of jeans from levi's, some 2 pairs of jorts from gap, along with overall shorts, 3 or 4 shirts from h&m, a restock on your skin care items, the one size setting spray, another liquid eyeliner, elf lip oils, pimple patches, face masks, a pair of ugg minis in the color chestnut, some timberland boots, white crocs (with random jibits chris liked) the stuff from bath and body works and the hat; which had a small C♡ embroidered into it (his had your initial with a heart as well)

"i think you bought me too much stuff" you say, stuffing bags into the trunk and backseats. "not all of it is for you, i bought matt and nick stuff too" "yeah, but the majority of the stuff is mine.....i feel bad" "nonsense" he waves his hand, dismissing your statement like nothing. "now lets go get some food"

a/n: STOP THIS SUCKS but this is like my LONGEST draft, its been sitting in my drafts for a fat minute. feedback is appreciated :) i hope you enjoyed!

once again, dividers from @dollywons

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo blurb #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo tumblr #sturniolo fic #sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #tomboy #send help #wtf am i doing

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elephantlovemedleys · 8 months ago

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#tw ED #the body dysmorphia is hitting the rocks today #i need to stop looking at the mirror every now and then #i know it’s probably my pre menstration syndrome and hormones acting up which is why i might feel bloated #but it’s messing with my head and i hate it #i’m going to the eras tour in two weeks and it’s making me anxious that i won’t fit in the dress i’ll be wearing #i know i’m getting help with my ED and i’m working on my habits and relationship with food but ugh it’s one of those days #also something just lowkey triggered me back again cause i remember the last time i saw my mom #she kept pestering me about my weight and even said i was looking like (the disney char) pocahontas if she was fat 💀#sorry just needed to get this out of my chest #i’ve just been trying my best to stay healthy and do something about it #anyways #personal #maria rambles

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purple-beans · 8 months ago

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I can't sleep again

#it's all just too much #i need to be sending out emails and arranging stuff for a whole load of different things #but doing that fills me with such anxiety because i dont know how the fuck it works #but every moment I'm not doing those things it fills me with anxiety because i realise I'm standing still #and the only way forward it seems is through this #only it's not because the previous thing i was going was actually working and helping me forward but then my local gov said no actually #you're not allowed to do the thing anymore because we think so even tho we dont know what were talking about #so now you got the offer to look into this other thing that really just feels like the thing you already had but worse #so you have to contact the new thing and see what exactly they're about but already deep inside you know it probably wont work out #so it feels like you'll be doing that only so you can see it doesnt work in the hope that maybe if it doesnt work you can go back #to the gov people and show them the old thing was actually right. but that might not work and then you'll have to sue them #and all the while you spend your days just sitting at home doing nothing and slowly wasting away #getting a little bit worse every day. as you feel all the progress you made in the last year slowly slip through your fingers #and you start to think that maybe this is it. maybe it just doesn't get better. maybe this really is the best you can do and any more just #isn't in the cards for you. maybe you're just not cut out for this whole adult life business. you'll forever be...a failure #and that's just one thing. one thing of many you constantly need to worry about. it's not even adressing that your adhd treatment is still #kind of unclear who exactly is responsible. you've been running out of meds for a week and still haven't called because it's too much stress #or the way its been almost five years since you got on the waiting list at the gender clinic #three years of which were spent on the waiting list #but even now you've been “in treatment” for the past year and a half you still feel like you're no further. still no official “diagnosis”.#still no approval to change your birth certificate. your passport will run out by the end of the year and you'll have to get yet another #new one with your dead name on it. still no idea when you might finally get their approval to start on HRT. no idea when you might finally #get to stop feeling like every single day your body becomes a little less yours. where you look in the mirror and see someone stare back who #just simply looks wrong. feels wrong. you look at the hair on your head that really needs a haircut but you dont dare touch it because its #the one little thing that keeps the dysphoria at bay. and then you think of your dad and his bald head. and you look at your hairline and #cant help but wonder “is it receding a bit more right there?” always wondering if you'll lose this little bit of safety too #its all just too much. i dont know how much longer I can keep pushing myself forward at this rate. when all the good things get taken away #and I'm left having to deal with all of it on my own. i dont want to be alone but i dont know how to reach out to those around me. not even #to my friends sometimes. i know they're out there and i know they care but at the same time i dont know how to #let them. so I'm left alone and it's all my fault? isn't it. i know not all of this is my fault but also all of it is and i just

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shoveitevil · 3 months ago

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i high key think my paretnrs might be getting divorced :((( they have been fighting basically every night since i can remember but they always fought so i just accepted it but they started to go sleep at other people’s houses more and mum went away for almost a week and dad keeps going on work trips and tonight is the first time this has happened for two times in a row dads car is just missing and they keep fighting always always always i sometimes can’t go to sleep bcs they are always talking and mum is always crying now even though the entire time before i was 10 she cried only once in front of me and that was when grandad died. my mum literally had to take my therapy appointment (which i really really needed bcs ive been feeling like absolute shit lately) for herself because she was feeling awful. its all dads fault i really dont like my dad anymore he was never emotionally present when i was younger and he’s still barely emotionally present now. i think there is a very good reason his first marriage went badly and i think there’s a very good reason that for almost 2 years all my stepsisters hated my dad and i think there’s a very good reason why the girls stopped coming over for weekends but its not like my mum is perfect she always defends my brother im always in the wrong when i get in trouble and shes very generous with school and stuff but she enables josh and his awful behaviour i feel like i cant have shit in this house i cant wait to move out

#i don’t think it helps that a lot of the periodic self hate has come back #i think about being a man every day consistently #whenever i look in a mirror whenever i put on clothes whenever i even feel clothes on my skin #i genuinely felt so awful wearing shorts today bcs i felt like everyone was judging me and thinking i looked awful #ive really fallen into this awful pit of self hate and i just dont know how to stop it #like ill look in a mirror and my forehead is too big my skull is too big my shoulders are to broad my hair is dogshit my adams apple is sji #my nose is shit my eyebrows are shit my lips are shit my chin is shit my ribcage is giant my hands are big my elbows are big #i feel so fat and awful and ugly and it’s just so ughhh #ive started seriously trying to lose weight again and ive dropped 2 kilos but i still feel the same if not worse #i feel like ill be happy at 50kg but deep down i know that ill never be happy with my weight #ive started to call myself a freak and a tranny in my head consistently which isnt good #i feel like everything i do socially is so awkward #i feel like everyone secretly hates me but they are just being polite because im that much of a freak that i need sympathy #the stupid self deprecating jokes and suicidal ideation that i thought i killed years ago are all coming back #at least now i have plans to diy #even if it’s 4 months after questioning and 2 months after coming our #i get some money in cash as well as some ritalin for exams and give it to aspen and they order it for me online #hopefully that goes well bcs there’s not a whole lot else going for me

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scientia-rex · 11 months ago

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When I was in ninth grade I wanted to challenge what I saw as a very stupid dress code policy (not being allowed to wear spikes regardless of the size or sharpness of the spikes). My dad said to me, “What is your objective?”

He said it over and over. I contemplated that. I wanted to change an unfair dress code. What did I stand to gain? What did I stand to lose? If what I really wanted was to change the dress code, what would be my most effective potential approach? (He also gave me Discourses on the Fall of Rome by Titus Livius, Machiavelli’s magnum opus. Of course he’d already given me The Prince, Five Rings, and The Art of War.)

I ultimately printed out that phrase, coated it in Mod Podge, and clipped it to my bathroom mirror so I would look at it and think about it every day.

What is your objective?

Forget about how you feel. Ask yourself, what do you want to see happen? And then ask, how can you make it happen? Who needs to agree with you? Who has the power to implement this change? What are the points where you have leverage over them? If you use that leverage now, will you impair your ability to use it in the future? Getting what you want is about effectiveness. It is not about being an alpha or a sigma or whatever other bullshit the men’s right whiners are on about now. You won’t find any MRA talking points in Musashi, because they are not relevant.

I had no clear leverage on the dress code issue. My parents were not on the PTA; neither were any of my friend’s parents who liked me. The teachers did not care about this. Ultimately I just wore what I wanted, my patent leather collar from Hot Topic with large but flattened spikes, and I had guessed correctly—the teachers also did not care enough to discipline me.

I often see people on tumblr, mostly the very young, flail around in discourse. They don’t have an objective. They don’t know what they want to achieve, and they have never thought about strategizing and interpersonal effectiveness. No one can get everything they want by being an asshole. You must be able to work with other people, and that includes smiling when you hate them.

Read Machiavelli. Start with The Prince, but then move on to Discourses. Read Musashi’s Five Rings. Read The Art of War. They’re classics for a reason. They can’t cover all situations, but they can do more for how you think about strategizing than anything you’re getting in middle school and high school curricula.

Don’t vote third party unless you can tell me not only what your objective is but also why this action stands a meaningful chance of accomplishing it. Otherwise, back up and approach your strategy from a new angle. I don’t care how angry you are with Biden right now. He knows about it, and he is both trying to do something and not doing enough. I care about what will happen to millions of people if we have another Trump presidency. Look up Ross Perot, and learn from our past. Find your objective. If it is to stop the genocide in Palestine now, call your elected representatives now. They don’t care about emails; they care about phone calls, because they live in the past. I know this because I shadowed a lobbyist, because knowing how power works is critical to using it.

How do you think I have gotten two clinics to start including gender care in their planning?

Start small. Chip away. Keep working. Find your leverage; figure out how and when to effectively use it. Choose your battles, so that you can concentrate on the battle at hand instead of wasting your resources in many directions. Learn from the accumulated wisdom of people who spent their lives learning by doing, by making mistakes, by watching the mistakes of their enemies.

Don’t be a dickhead. Be smarter than I was at 14. Ask yourself: what is your objective?

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euno11a · 8 months ago

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it is proven that majority of women can’t orgasm from intercourse alone. So imagine reader who can’t make herself cum, no matter how she touches her swollen little bud.

it’s becoming more annoying as you keep trying, different speeds, pressures, and angles, but nothing seems to work for you! It’s gotten to the point where you’ve quite frankly given up on even touching yourself. You’ve tried for so long, yet always get nothing.

so imagine telling Simon when he asks you, oh so kindly when on deployment, to touch yourself with him to make you both feel good. The silence over the phone when you say you can’t.

“What?”

“I just can’t. I’ve tried, but it just doesn’t work for me.”

“‘Ave ya-?”

“I’ve done everything, Simon! I can’t, okay?”

it was clear that this was something that you weren’t comfortable with talking about. It made you upset that you didn’t “function correctly” like other women. So the night Simon came home, he greeted you with a soft kiss. There wasn’t any harsh underlying emotion, just soft and sweet love. His large and calloused hands would cup your cheeks and look at your eyes, watching the slight confusion slip into your gaze.

now laying against his sturdier chest, looking at yourself in the mirror with him behind you, you knew what was happening. He gently pulled down your sleeping pants, taking his time to let his fingertips brush against every inch of your thighs, all the way down to your ankles. And soon enough, off came your panties too. He started by admiring the slight glistening of your slick right by your entrance, using his fingers to gently dip into the fluid that he loved. Dragging his fingers upwards, he brought his fingertips to the side of your clit, letting your slick be the lube for his fingers.

Simon looked at you through the mirror, keeping eye contact as his fingers pressed onto your clit. The gasp that left your lips was sudden, almost reaching down to grab his wrist, but stopping when he gave you a stern warning look. Everything felt different - his touch felt electrifying, while yours felt like watching paint dry. Why was it so different? Your eyes fluttered shut, head resting on his shoulder when he started speeding up his small circular motion. Your thighs spread a little more, shuddering when you felt a build up in your lower tummy. That burn you never felt unless you used a toy, the burn you got before you were clouded with euphoria; it was coming. You let out small squeaks and whimpers as your hips lifted and you came undone. Usually that’s when you’d stop, let your body just relax, but Simon kept a firm hand across your torso, using his leg to keep yours pinned down so he could still rub you till complete satisfaction.

once his movements slowed and he was panting along with you slightly, he pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder, looking at your eyes through the mirror again.

“I don’t care what time of day it is, if ye need t’cum, y’tell me and I’ll help, love. Alrigh’?”

you mustered a small nod, droopy eyes falling to the wet and sticky mess between your thighs, and the lovely hands that helped you along the way.

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rex3o · 2 months ago

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Doting wife p2

Royal au! Sukuna x Reader

Sukuna sat on his throne, his face intense as his son plays around him. His advisors standing quietly in front him their heads bowed. His mind lingered on the event that was a couple weeks ago. Since then, he has not stopped.

Every dinner, he makes sure that whatever is served is to your liking, just to see your happy silent reaction when eating. He has ordered the servants to tend to the royal gardens, to plant specific flowers according to your preferences. Just to watch you walk around the garden with your son and enjoy the flowers. He made you go horse riding with him, just to talk about things you liked.

During his meetings with his advisors he would call for you and ask your opinion on certain matters in his meetings with his advisors.

Yet he knows you still hold yourself back around him, he knows you silently enjoy the effort he is putting despite getting onto him during the event. Though your silent enjoyment and appreciation is enough for him. He longs for more.

He longs for you to willing spend time with him again. He longs for your attention and care he had stupidly taken granted for.

His mind settles back into reality as one of his advisors had briefly mentioned about getting his son's portrait painted for his fourth birthday. There it struck sukuna.

You huffed as you stood by your mirror, as your lady in waiting examined the maids handling your gown ensuring it was perfect for the portrait. As they tended your hair, and make up, you looked at yourself in the mirror. Several hours alone with Sukuna. You pondered 'why' ever since you got the news that Sukuna had requested a new royal portrait of you two. You had one which was done a couple days after your wedding and not one since. So why one now?

Lost in thought, the maids finished and you made your way mindlessly towards the main hall, with your lady in waiting behind you. As you looked up, the painter smiled at you motioning you to sit next to Sukuna, as he is ready to paint. Your lady in waiting helped you up to your seat, whilst doing some finishing touches and ensured your dress was quite fine as she walked back to the painter as he started sketching.

The first few minutes, was met with silence. You remained still, only toying with the ring on your finger, as the only thing heard in the room was the harsh streaks of the pencil against the canvas.

"You look beautiful" he utters out quietly for you both to hear. You simply nod in response.

Sukuna tries to carry the conversation by asking how your day had been, if you had eaten, or how your son was and what he did. Till he softly sighs and glances at you.

"I miss you." he says.

"I am right here husband.. no need to miss me" You say without much emotion not wanting to be vulnerable.

"you know what I mean..." as he looks back up.

"I see how your face lights up at dinner, I watch how you enjoy your time in the gardens with our son. How you only like reading a certain genre of books.. how you only like to drink tea in the evening after dinner...how you despise insects after our horse riding trip."

He hesistatess before continuing.

"I wish you would share such moments with me again.. instead of me observing it from a distance. I want to hear how much you like the food that has been served. I want to walk along with you in the gardens with our son, as you ramble on whatever it is you like.. I want to drink tea with you- I just want to be with you again..."

You sat next to him somewhat speechless. Your hand gripping on the ring on your finger tightens as you take a sharp inhale and exhale holding composure.

"Why.. why has it taken you this long." Quickly and quietly you ask not wanting your voice to break. As your eyes remain on the painter and your lady in waiting. Afraid if you lay your eyes upon your husband tears will rush out.

"I have no excuse my wife.. the best way I can put it into words for you, is watching a candle burn down to its final flicker. Once it's gone and the darkness closes in, you finally understand how much that small, steady glow meant. You were that light in my life.. and i took it for granted."

He sighs as he continues "I am sorry it has taken me to loose you to understand the importance you hold in my life"

As he rests his large hand over yours.

"I may not have given you the love you well deserved over the past four years, but let me make the most of the years we have left to make it up to you. I will take however long it takes."

His hand wraps round yours as he takes it up and gently places a kiss on your knuckles. A tear slips down your face, which you quickly wipe away.

"it won't be easy-" you try to say yet Sukuna interrupts you.

"I know my sweet wife.. I know." As you finally look at him, his deep crimson eyes resting on yours. A quiet pull to one another, urging to be met.

Yet the moment broken by the painter looking up and exclaiming.

"Yes, yes, yes, the look of love keep that look your majesties, I need exactly that! and just you wait your portrait will overshadow any other." He says happily as he starts to paint.

Sukuna face having a subtle annoyance stretched over it, you chuckle quietly.

After the tedious hours of sitting for this portrait ends. The only thing keeping you going was your small conversations with Sukuna, as he his hand remained on yours not wanting to let go. You both walk over to see the work of art. As it depicted you sat facing forward with a soft smile on your face, with Sukuna next to you his hand over yours with his eyes on you.

An arm wrap around your waist, as Sukuna praises the painter.

"You definitely did outdo yourself, look at my wife" he exclaims as he looks at you. Not used to his attention you awkwardly chuckle and avoid his look. His hand grabbing your chin pulling your face up as he places a kiss on your forehead.

"My beautiful wife... you know what let's hold a celebration." Your eyes widen at the sudden plan.

"Over a portrait- no- that's too much." you interject.

"Hush, once people set their eyes upon this portrait they will understand why I had to hold such a celebration" Sukuna smirks at you.

You try to continue, but Sukuna doesn't let you as he looks at your lady in waiting.

"Next Wednesday I want the celebration, ensure my wife glows I want it to be about her-" As you try to speak Sukuna keeps cutting in on what to do for the event.

"Next Wednesday is my birthday!'" A small angry voice is heard, you laugh as your son did what you couldn't. He runs over as Sukuna picks up him.

"Apologises brat, then let it be his birthday AND a celebration-" Sukuna orders as your son continues to whine that it is his birthday.

In that moment, everything goes silent on your mind, as your gaze fixed on your husband and son, as you anxiously anticipated the oncoming years on your relationship with your husband.

The new painting embarking a new chapter in your rekindled love.

part 1

Authors note: OMLLLL thank you all so much for enjoying the first part guys oml- and im so sorry this took long to come out I was kinda busy w work and shii loool also like I was kinda stumped on how to continue this from the first chapter as I really didn't think further to continue it till ppl started asking for it. So, i am sorry if it seems a bit rushed. But I do hope this chapter does some sort of justice but unfortutnately I will only be leaving it at 2 parts and nothing more.

- R

#ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen x reader #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu sukuna #jjk fanfic #jjk sukuna #sukuna #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x oc #sukuna ryomen #sukuna fluff #ryoumen sukuna #jjk x reader

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yorkscoffee · 11 months ago

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persona 3 reload is pretty good aside from an apparent lack of proofreading, but i cannot get over them just telling you the answer to the love hotel puzzle

WHY are you taking game out of my game? it's not even a difficult puzzle???

#i can't stop thinking about it. it's so stupid #failing barely even punishes you #if someone truly doesn't get it they will just simply take a few extra minutes to break the right mirror #i know because i failed on purpose and broke every mirror i could get to #im losing my mind!!!!!!!#they took a lot of puzzley stuff out honestly #like the dialogues to get chihiro's social link #they just all work now instead of needing to pick specific options #which i guess is reasonable since that was probably annoying for people who aren't epic gamers like me #still. kind of sucks to see that #they kind of hecked up the p3 style too #took out all the weird abstract stuff and a lot of the surreal vibes from the cutscenes #sacrificing some of p3's identity to make it look more like p5

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greengoblinswifey · 28 days ago

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Boss’ Obsession—Player 001/Hwang In Ho x Fem!Reader

summary— Young-il’s obsession with you reaches its peak and he takes you in the bathroom in the middle of the night. Based on this request.

warnings— praise kink, Somnophilia, Voyeurism, male masturbation?, oral(f!receiving), choking, mirror play, unprotected sex, creampie.

The poorly lit quarters was silent except for the soft snores and occasional murmurs of the others. The toll the games took was felt even in sleep, but Young-il’s mind was far from the anxiety of the competition. His dark eyes remained locked on you, his body leaning against the cold wall as you lay a few feet away, curled on your side, breathing softly.

He couldn’t stop himself, he never could. Since the moment he first saw you, you’d been a constant pull, something he couldn’t explain but didn’t bother questioning. You were his obsession. And now, in the quiet of the night, his infatuation consumed him.

A low moan rumbled in his chest as he shifted against the wall, his hand drifting lower. His palm pressed against his hard cock through his pants, seeking some relief as his eyes remained glued to you. He moved slowly, his teeth digging into his bottom lip to muffle any sound. The way your lips parted in sleep, the outline of your body under the thin blanket—it was too much.

But before he could finish, he clenched his jaw and stopped himself. Not like this. Not without you.

Getting up, he crossed the space quietly, crouching beside you. His fingers brushed your shoulder, a gentle nudge. “Wake up,” he whispered, his voice husky and low, “Come with me.”

“Young-il?” you murmured, voice heavy with sleep.

“Shh,” he said, helping you up. “We need to talk. Just come.”

Though confusion flickered across your face, you nodded, trusting him. He guided you toward the huge door, the guards barely sparing a glance as he led you out. You were so confused but your groggy state prevented you from even questioning it.

Once in the bathroom, he locked the door behind you both, the sound of the latch clicking echoing in the small space. You turned to him, still half-asleep but now more aware of something in his gaze.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice soft.

“You,” he said simply, stepping closer. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Fuck, not even for a second.”

Your breath hitched as he crowded into your space, his hands finding your waist.

“Young-il.”

“I mean it,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours, “You’re all I see. All I want.”

You tilted your head, your lips brushing his, and that was all it took. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you flat against him as his lips claimed yours. The kiss was fierce, needy, a testament to the obsession he had with you.

His hands roamed, finding the hem of your shirt and sliding beneath to grope your tits. You gasped against his lips, your fingers threading through his dark hair as he pressed you against the sink.

“You’re mine,” he rasped, his lips trailing down your neck. “Say it.”

“I— I’m yours,” you whispered, your nails digging into his shoulders as his kisses grew rougher, more desperate.

“Good girl,” he murmured, lifting you onto the edge of the sink as the room filled with nothing but the sound of your labored breaths.

Young-il’s hands trembled slightly as they gripped your waist. He had every intention of taking his time with you, savoring every moment, but the way you looked at him, slightly innocent, yet full of that same unrelenting desire he felt, had him weak.

His lips crashed against yours again, his control slipping. “I wanted to be patient,” he murmured between kisses, his voice rough and low. “I really did. But I can’t, not tonight.”

You barely had a moment to respond before his hands were on the waistband of your pants, tugging them down with one swift motion. The sound of fabric tearing filled the small space as he discarded your underwear with little care. Your breath hitched, both in surprise and need.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his dark eyes devouring every inch of you. He sank to his knees, his hands sliding up your thighs as he pushed them apart. His touch was firm, possessive, and it sent a shiver up your spine.

“Young-il,” you whispered, your fingers finding their way into his hair.

“I’m going to make you feel so good. You won’t think about anything else but me.” he said, looking up at you.

Before you could respond, his mouth was on you, his tongue moving with purpose and precision. The pleasure was overwhelming, his lips and tongue working as if he was starving and you were the only thing that could satisfy his primal hunger. You bit down on your lip, trying desperately to keep quiet, but it was impossible. A soft moan escaped, and his eyes flicked up to meet yours, full of satisfaction and determination.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your pussy. “Don’t hold those moans. I want to hear you.”

Your hands tightened in his hair as he ravished your wetness, his pace relentless. The heat building inside you was unbearable, your breaths coming faster and more uneven. His grip on your thighs tightened, his thumb caressing your clit as his tongue slipped inside your hole.

“You taste so good,” he said between licks, his voice laced with desire. “You’re so perfect, all mine.”

The praise sent you over the edge. With a sharp gasp, your body tensed, and then the wave of release hit you, leaving you trembling, breathless and creaming.

Young-il didn’t stop until you were shuddering against his tongue, completely worn out. When he finally stood, his lips were swollen, and his smirk was self-satisfied. “Told you,” he said, brushing a strand of your curls from your face. “You’d forget everything but me.”

“Cocky much?” you said as you let out a shaky laugh, still catching your breath.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Only when it comes to you angel.”

You were still swooning from the intensity of how he ate you out but his hands on your hips told you he wasn’t finished. “I can’t wait anymore,” he murmured. His lips crashed onto yours as his fingers worked quickly, freeing his thick cock from his pants. Your eyes widened as he positioned himself between your legs, his size making your breath hitch.

“Y-you’re—” you started, but he smirked, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips.

“You’ll take my cock, won’t you?” he whispered, his tone teasing. “I’ll take care of you, I promise angel.”

Your nod was all the answer he needed. His hands gripped your thighs, positioning you onto the counter as he guided himself into your dripping pussy. The stretch was burning, almost overwhelming, and your fingers clawed at his shoulders.

“God, you’re so tight,” he groaned, pausing to let you adjust. “You feel so so good, better than I ever imagined.”

The pace he set was anything but slow. He thrusted into you with a raw, desperate need, his lips tracing your jawline before finding your neck. His praises spilled out in rough whispers, his hands keeping you steady as his cock slammed into you.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re taking me so well. Just like that baby. Your pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?”

Your hands gripped the edge of the counter as waves of pleasure coursed through you. He tilted your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. “Cum for me,” he commanded, “I want to feel your pussy drench my cock.”

With a cry, you gave in, your pussy quivering against his cock. His name spilled from your lips as he buried his face in your neck, kissing you to ground you in the moment. Though, he wasn’t finished.

“Oh no angel,” he said with a smirk, pulling back slightly to look at you, “We’re not done yet.”

Before you could catch your breath, he turned you around, pressing your front against the mirror. Your reflection stared back at you, fucked out and dazed, as he positioned himself to take you from behind.

“You look so good like this,” he whispered, his hand sliding up to rest lightly around your throat. His lips found the sensitive spot below your ear, trailing kisses down your neck as he started slamming into you.

Your fingers clutched the sink for support as his pace quickened, the roughness of it all leaving you breathless. “You’re doing so well,” he murmured. “So perfect for me. Look at yourself, see how good you’re taking my cock.”

The combination of his words, his hand around your throat, his cock slamming into you making your ass recoil, and your reflection in the mirror was too much. Your body tensed as you neared your end again, and he sensed it.

“Cum on my cock,” he urged, his hand tightening around your neck. “Come on angel, I’ve got you. Cum, now.”

And you obeyed. Your orgasm hit you harder this time, leaving you gasping as he followed right behind, moaning your name like a prayer, his cum filling you to the brim.

Young-il pressed a kiss to your shoulder before gently pulling you back against his chest. “That’s my good girl,” he whispered.

As he cleaned you up with surprising tenderness, you blinked at him, still dazed. “How—how did the guards even let us in here?” you asked, voice tired.

“Don’t worry about that angel.” His grin was smug, but his touch was soft as he helped you straighten your clothes.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the confusion and questions swirling your mind as he led you out of the bathroom, his hand warm and protective around yours, your legs wobbly.

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