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joelsgreys · 3 months

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softness

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: Joel’s a little unsure of doing skin to skin with his newborn daughter.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. established relationship. (TW) PREGNANCY. mentions of premature birth, minor descriptions of childbirth, mentions of birth weight, it is implied that reader is breastfeeding her baby, semi accurate medical journal research, girldad! Joel, mentions of scars (Joel), mentions of insecurities and anxieties, if i missed anything, please let me know! NO MENTION OF READER’S AGE. NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER. no physical description of child except for her hair color/type. very minimal editing.

word count: 3.5k

a/n: i had this outline sitting in my drafts and i decided to finally just write it out and post it. it ain’t much, but it’s honest work. it is part of the safe and sound universe.

She’d made her entrance into the world early.

About four or five weeks, the commune’s doctor thinks.

Without ultrasounds, it’d been a guessing game.

And a fucking terrifying guessing game at that.

For several months, all you could do was hope.

Hope for a smooth pregnancy.

Hope for a safe labor and delivery.

Hope for a strong, healthy baby.

When you went into labor earlier than the doctor had predicted you would, all of your hopes shattered, the pieces falling around you like shards of broken glass you couldn’t put back together even if you tried.

“No! No, it’s too soon! It’s too fucking soon!” you’d cried out, the sheer panic setting in and seeping into your bones as a warm, clear liquid dripped down the insides of your legs and pooled around your bare feet. You had been in the kitchen making Ellie breakfast and packing her lunch for school—one second you’re standing there in front of the food pantry debating with yourself on what vegetable to throw into the kid’s lunch bag with her sandwich and the next you’re calling out for help as an intense pressure nestled itself between your hips. It wasn’t until you heard a faint popping sound and then felt the gush of fluid between your thighs that you’d realized what was happening. An unmistakable first sign of labor, you’d experienced your water breaking. “This can’t be happening, it’s not time yet!”

Joel, who by some stroke of sheer stupid luck had the morning off from patrol duty, instructed Ellie to run upstairs and gather some clean clothes along with a pair of boots and the warmest coat you owned that still fit. November had brought along the first snowfall of the season—the frigid temperatures outside were anything but kind and the clinic was on the opposite side of the commune, a fifteen minute walk he wished you didn’t have to make in your condition. “I know this is real fuckin’ scary darlin’ but y’need to stay calm. I need you to stay as calm as possible. Y’think that you can do that for me, sweetheart?”

He’d been just as terrified, but he masked it well.

On the outside, he kept a calm, collected composure for your sake and for Ellie’s too, shoved aside his own fears so he could be the support you both needed, act as the glue that held yours and his little family unit together should anything were to happen. But on the inside, he was scared shitless, to say the least. He couldn’t be certain he would have the strength to hold himself together if something went wrong, if he lost you—or his unborn child.

Admittedly, it had taken him a few months to come to terms with the fact that he was going to be a father again at this stage in his life. The thought of him changing diapers at his age was one he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around—but the moment he felt that first little flutter of movement one night as you lay curled up against his side fast asleep, something shifted. That night, he had stayed wide awake, his large hand splayed over your belly in hopes he would feel that little flutter again.

“Joel, I’m really fucking scared. What if it’s too early—”

“Baby, look at me.” He reached up and gently took your chin, holding it between his thumb and index finger as he coaxed your gaze to meet his own. “S’gonna be okay,” he’d assured you, softly. “If this is happenin’ now, it’s because she’s ready, alright?”

For a split second, that panic had ceased.

“She?”

Confused, Joel’s brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“You just referred to the baby as a she, Joel.”

“I did?”

“Yeah—just now.” You’d stared at him with curiosity and took a step back, cradling your belly in both of your hands. “Do you think we’re having a girl?”

Sheepishly, he had shaken his head at you.

“No, I just—m’sorry. I ain’t all too sure why I said that.”

He truly, honestly hadn’t.

It’d slipped before he could even think about it.

But his accidental slip had been right.

After thirteen hours of grueling labor in Jackson’s small clinic, you’d given birth to a little girl, the sound of her loud wailing filling the whole room like a sweet melody eliciting a sob of joy from you and a shaky sigh of relief from Joel.

“Holy shit, she’s here! She’s actually fucking here,” Ellie breathed, her eyes going wide. Her arms were still wrapped around one of your legs—despite you warning the teenager about what she would see, it hadn’t stopped her from volunteering her assistance in the childbirth process. She watched on in a mix of both fascination and disgust as Dr. Porter, a woman in her sixties who served as Jackson’s sole physician, lifted the infant and immediately placed her onto your bare chest to clean her off. “This has gotta be the grossest, most amazing fucking thing I have ever fucking seen in my life.” Gently, she set your leg down onto the bed before walking around it to stand beside Joel. His hand was stroking your hair, his dark eyes trained on his crying newborn daughter. It was the perfect moment for Ellie to run her mouth and tease, “You’re not gonna cry, are you, Joel? I’d think you’re a lot fucking tougher than that, old man.”

“Shut up,” he’d muttered under his breath, putting an arm around her and pulling her against his side. He almost couldn’t believe this was now his life—a life he would have never even known if he hadn’t flinched twenty years ago when he had pulled the trigger.

Though she’d been born a few weeks prematurely, Rosemary Miller was deemed to be healthy—a tad underweight, but nothing to be worried about just yet, according to Jackie, the commune’s nurse. At about four pounds, eleven ounces, Rosemary was the tiniest thing you’d ever seen and somehow even tinier when Joel would cradle her in the palms of his large hands. Despite the fact that you’d been reassured that the baby’s low birth weight was nothing to be alarmed about, you and Joel had been advised it was best if you didn’t take her home until she gained a few more ounces and tipped the a scale at what the books state is a normal birth weight of five pounds, eight ounces.

“We just would feel better if she were here at the clinic where we can closely monitor her weight,” Jackie had said upon seeing the crestfallen look on your face. “Besides, you tore a little and you need time to heal as well, you know.”

Left with very little choice, you’d agreed to it.

“I’m losing it,” you say with an exasperated sigh as you stare up at the drab, gray ceiling. It’s been three days since you had given birth and all you want to do is take your daughter home. In an effort to lift your spirits, Maria had tried to warm the place up and make it feel more comfortable for you. She had swapped out the rough, scratchy bedsheet the clinic provided for you with a soft, knitted blanket she had made herself. She also took it upon herself to pack you a bag with your own clothes, a couple of books to read, and your favorite polaroids of Joel and Ellie. While it had been incredibly sweet of her to do for you, you still wanted out of that clinic sooner rather than later. “I miss our house. I miss our bed. I miss our kid.”

Joel, who’s sitting in an old, worn leather armchair tucked over in a corner of your room next to the frosted window, raises an eyebrow at you and then juts his chin towards Rosemary, who is swaddled up and sleeping soundly in the plastic bassinet beside your bed.

“Our kid’s right there, darlin’.”

You lift your head off your pillow and glare at him.

“I’m talking about Ellie, Joel.”

He chuckles and leans forward in his chair. Next to him sits a brown stuffed bunny rabbit—Ellie had traded a precious comic book for it and gifted it to the baby the same afternoon she was born.

“She’s been comin’ to visit every day after school.”

“It’s not the same,” you pout, shaking your head.

Joel sighs and glances at the cot that he had been sleeping on for the last few days—truth be told, he misses the house too. His back certainly misses the bed. “It ain’t the same,” he agrees, tiredly. His face is worn with exhaustion. Despite you insisting that he go home and get some proper rest, he’s too stubborn to listen and only leaves the clinic to take a shower and change his clothes—and to check on Ellie, who’s got a bad habit of not doing her homework unless you or Joel nag her to get it done. “M’real sorry, darlin’. But you heard what they said. Baby’s gotta gain a little more weight before we can take her home.”

Even from where he’s sitting, he can see your eyes glaze over with tears of frustration. Since the baby was born, you’ve been very sensitive, more so than when you’d been pregnant—something he didn’t think was even possible.

“If she keeps on eatin’ the way she’s eatin’ we’ll be home by the end of the week,” Joel adds in an effort to cheer you up. “Besides, you need to heal before we make that long walk across town and back to the house, sweetheart. S’not like I can just pull up the fuckin’ minivan and drive you girls home like back in the day, y’know?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Ew, Joel. We would not have a fucking minivan.” Dabbing at your eyes with the back of your hand, you can’t help but laugh at the thought of Joel Miller behind the wheel of one of those things. Then, you realize how endearing it would be to watch as he’s loading up Rosemary’s car seat into the van, the muscles of his broad back flexing underneath his shirt as he pulled on the straps to make sure it was safe and secure. You’d climb into the backseat with her and on the way home, you would ask Joel to swing through the nearest burger joint drive through because you’re fucking starving and in need of a proper meal after being subjected to boring, bland hospital food. You shoot him a small smile. “On second thought, that doesn’t sound all that bad. Maybe we would.”

Suddenly, there’s a light knock at the door.

“Come in,” you call, careful not to be too loud.

Dr. Porter walks into the room.

She had been a primary care physician prior to the world ending, according to Maria, who a couple of months ago had given birth to her son while under Dr. Porter’s care. Maria had assured you that, even though the woman never trained in obstetrics, she always went above and beyond for all the mothers to be in the commune. She dedicated her spare time to studying, lost herself in medical books she found on the shelves of the town’s library—kind of like the one that’s currently tucked underneath her arm.

“Hi there mama,” she greets, her eyes shining brightly behind her coke-bottle glasses. Wearing jeans and a sweater, she doesn’t quite look the part—maybe she’d worn a white coat once in her life, but now it was only the old, silver metal stethoscope she had draped around her neck that gave her profession away. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“I’m okay,” you say with a shrug. “Can’t complain.”

Over in his corner, Joel can’t help but snort.

Ignoring him, you add, “Bleeding’s slowing down.”

“Good, that’s good,” Dr. Porter tells you. “And how about this sweet little girl?” She smiles and makes her way over to the bassinet, keeping her voice low. “She eating well?”

“She is. Her last feed was about two hours ago.”

“How’s she sleeping?”

“Like a rock.”

“And you’ve been doing skin to skin as well?”

You nod. “Yes, before and after her feedings.”

“That’s perfect.” Dr. Porter beams at you with pride. “Keep it up and do it as often as possible. There are a ton of benefits of doing skin to skin with her. It’s one of the most incredible things that a mother can do for her baby. Actually—” She pauses for a moment and pulls the book out from under her arm. “I have been doing a bit of research and as it turns out, there are also benefits if dad does skin to skin with baby as well.”

Joel stiffens slightly in his chair. “S’cuse me?”

“I found this book in the library. It talks about all of the benefits of fathers doing skin to skin with their newborn. It was written some time in the nineties and studies were still being conducted, but I really believe they were onto something.” She hands you the book. “For being preterm, Rosemary’s healthy, but it doesn’t do any harm to try whatever you can to make sure that she builds up that immune system and stays healthy, especially now that winter’s here.” Flashing you a smile, she informs you, “I went ahead and folded the pages for you and made some notes. There’s a few benefits in it for Joel as well. Could be worth a try.”

After telling you she’ll be back in a couple hours to check on you and to weigh the baby, Dr. Porter excuses herself from your room, quietly closing the door behind her.

Curiously, you open the book to the first page that she’d folded for you and start reading the first passage out loud.

“Ongoing studies have found skin to skin between father and child have similar benefits to those that come from skin to skin between mother and child. It regulates the baby's body temperature, blood sugar, and stress levels.” You pause and look over at Joel, who appears thoroughly unimpressed. “It also helps to regulate the baby’s heart rate and breathing rate. Joel, this is incredible! I think you should—”

“No.”

Joel winces. He doesn’t mean to sound so curt.

Your face falls. “Why not?”

“That’s for mothers,” he grumbles. “Y’know, for feedin’ the baby.”

“It’s for much more than just that.” You shake your head and flip over to the next page, scanning both the text as well as Dr. Porter’s notes. “It says here that it also helps the baby pick up their father’s natural scent and promotes bonding.”

“Sweetheart, I can bond with her just fine with my fuckin’ shirt on, there ain’t no need for me to—what in the world are you doin’?” Perturbed, Joel watches you as you take a handful of your blanket, throwing it off yourself. He jumps up to his feet the second he realizes that you’re about to get out of bed. “Don’t—”

“Oh relax, Joel. I should be moving more anyway,” you say, wincing as you sit up and swing both legs over the side of the bed. It isn’t so much pain as it is discomfort—everything had been shoved up and out of place for months, after all. As soon as you stand, Joel’s there at your side, one hand on your arm and the other on your back, trying to guide you back onto the bed. You lightly swat him away with your hand. “Joel, stop fussing over me! I’m fine!”

“Baby, y’need to lie down right now—”

“Take off your shirt.”

His hands fall away from you and his eyes widen.

“What?”

“Take off your shirt and go sit down in the chair.”

The blood drains from his face and he pales.

It’s not that Joel doesn’t want to do it. He does.

He’ll do anything if it’s for his daughter’s benefit.

Still.

The idea of laying his innocent little baby girl on him without his shirt on—it’s uncomfortable. His chest and stomach are littered with several scars. Rough, raised patches of skin that serve as reminders of a brutal past he doesn’t want her finding out about, not for as long as he can fucking help it.

Rosemary deserves to be wrapped up in softness.

The softness of your smooth, blemish free skin.

The softness of the blankets you’d knitted for her.

The softness of the stuffed bunny Ellie had given her.

Joel?

He isn’t soft.

Nothing about him is soft.

Even holding her in his hands for the first time had been something of a battle. Hands that once snapped necks and slit throats didn’t deserve to hold something so pure and innocent.

“This sounds really promising, Joel.” Slowly, you make your way over to the plastic bassinet, ignoring the dull ache between your thighs. With your back to him, you carefully begin to unswaddle the baby. You try not to wake her as you peel off her warm, knitted onesie and matching socks, leaving her in nothing but her teeny, tiny cloth diaper. Gingerly, you pick her up and turn around to face him. “If Dr. Porter thinks we should try it, then it’s for a good reason, don’t you think so?”

Joel swallows harshly.

“What is it?”

“S’just that I—I’ve got scars everywhere, y’know?”

Your expression instantly softens for him. “Joel, you’re her daddy,” you remind him, gently. “She’s not going to care about things like that.” Pausing, it suddenly occurs to you that it’s not just about his scars. It’s about something else, something that runs so much deeper for Joel. He’d done what he had done in order to survive, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t live with the shame—the guilt and the regret. Rosemary begins to fuss awake and you lightly bounce her in your arms as you assure him, “She isn’t going to care about your past or what you’ve done. Her love for you is going to be as unconditional as yours is for her. She’s going to love you no matter what, Joel. I can promise you that.”

His jaw clenches and his lips press into a tight line.

Rosemary starts to cry—she’s cold, no doubt.

The old heater in the clinic hardly runs.

And when it does, it breaks down.

“Joel, please,” you beg over her wails. “Just try it? For me? For her?”

Sighing in defeat, Joel shrugs out of his jacket and he tosses it aside. With trembling fingers, he begins to unbutton his green flannel shirt—his long sleeved thermal henley comes off next and then he takes off the cotton t-shirt he wears underneath for an added layer of warmth during the winter season. As he stands there shirtless, he shivers and his flesh erupts with goosebumps. “Wait,” he mutters as he watches you take a step forward. He drags the armchair away from the window. He then sits down, his heart racing and the anxiety flaring as he gives you a subtle nod of his head. “Okay.”

You walk over to him and place her on his bare chest.

The second he feels Rosie’s soft skin on his, there’s a shift.

It’s similar to the one he felt when he first felt her move in your belly.

He calms and his heart slows—his nerves dissipate.

And Rosemary stops crying.

She scrunches, curls up on his chest, and yawns.

Grimacing, you lean over and pick up his flannel shirt. “Here,” you say, draping it over them as a makeshift blanket. “How’s that feel?”

“Think she likes it, darlin’,” Joel murmurs, his fingers delicately brushing over her soft tufts of dark brown hair. His touch causes the newborn’s lip to curl and he catches a glimpse of the prominent dimple in her left cheek—the same dimple Sarah had inherited from him, Rosemary had inherited too. There’s a dull ache in his chest, but somehow, he still smiles as she peers up at him with sleepy eyes. “Hi, Rosie Posie. S’me, babygirl. Your daddy.”

Rolling your lip between your teeth, you stifle a giggle.

“What?” he asks, arching an eyebrow at you.

“She’s not the only one who seems to like it.”

Joel chuckles, admitting, “S’pretty relaxin’.” He presses his nose into his daughter’s curls and inhales deeply, relishing in the warm, sweet milky scent of her. After a minute, his smile falters slightly. “Baby?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you really believe it?”

Your brow furrows. “Believe what?”

“That she’s gonna love me no matter what.”

“Of course I do.”

“How can you be so sure ‘bout it?”

Carefully, you perch yourself on the arm of the chair and press a gentle kiss against his right temple, your lips brushing over his scar. “Because I just am, Joel.”

Somehow, he believes it—he believes you.

Joel tilts his head back, puckering his lips.

Grinning, you give him a chaste kiss before standing. “I’m going to see if I can get a nap in before her next feed,” you tell him, padding back over to the bed. “Do you think you’ll be okay with her for a while, just the two of you?”

“I think we’ll be just fine,” he murmurs, gingerly stroking Rosemary’s silky cheek with his finger. “Yeah. We’ll be just fine, won’t we, babygirl?”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller x pregnant reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller drabble #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #tw pregnancy #tw childbirth #tw premature birth

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exhaled-spirals · 3 months

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« To mention the global loss of biodiversity, that is to say, the disappearance of life on our planet, as one of our problems, along with air pollution or ocean acidification, is absurd—like a doctor listing the death of his patient as one symptom among others.

The ecological catastrophe cannot be reduced to the climate crisis. We must think about the disappearance of life in a global way. About two-thirds of insects, wild mammals and trees disappeared in a few years, a few decades and a few millennia, respectively. This mass extinction is not mainly caused by rising temperatures, but by the devastation of natural habitats.

Suppose we managed to invent clean and unlimited energy. This technological feat would be feted by the vast majority of scientists, synonymous in their eyes with a drastic reduction in CO2 emissions. In my opinion, it would lead to an even worse disaster. I am deeply convinced that, given the current state of our appetites and values, this energy would be used to intensify our gigantic project of systemic destruction of planetary life. Isn't that what we've set out to do—replace forests with supermarket parking lots, turn the planet into a landfill? What if, to cap it all, energy was free?

[...C]limate change has emerged as our most important ecological battle [...] because it is one that can perpetuate the delusional idea that we are faced with an engineering problem, in need of technological solutions. At the heart of current political and economic thought lies the idea that an ideal world would be a world in which we could continue to live in the same way, with fewer negative externalities. This is insane on several levels. Firstly because it is impossible. We can't have infinite growth in a finite world. We won't. But also, and more importantly, it is not desirable. Even if it were sustainable, the reality we construct is hell. [...]

It is often said that our Western world is desacralised. In reality, our civilisation treats the technosphere with almost devout reverence. And that's worse. We perceive the totality of reality through the prism of a hegemonic science, convinced that it “says” the only truth.

The problem is that technology is based on a very strange principle, so deeply ingrained in us that it remains unexpressed: no brakes are acceptable, what can be done must be done. We don't even bother to seriously and collectively debate the advisability of such "advances". We are under a spell. And we are avoiding the essential question: is this world in the making, standardised and computed, overbuilt and predictable, stripped of stars and birds, desirable?

To confine science to the search for "solutions" so we can continue down the same path is to lack both imagination and ambition. Because the “problem” we face doesn't seem to me, at this point, to be understood. No hope is possible if we don't start by questioning our assumptions, our values, our appetites, our symbols... [...] Let's stop pretending that the numerous and diverse human societies that have populated this planet did not exist. Certainly, some of them have taken the wrong route. But ours is the first to forge ahead towards guaranteed failure. »

— Aurélien Barrau, particle physicist and philosopher, in an interview in Télérama about his book L'Hypothèse K

#quote #article #aurélien barrau #ecology #science #english #translation mine

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peaktora · 3 months

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𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄: 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍˚◞♡ ⃗ dad!satoru gojo

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊ instead of sleeping, satoru and your daughter argue over what to name her stuffed dragon.

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊1.9k words. established relationship (#married). the toddler dialogue is purposefully not structured correctly since it’s words from a toddler. fem!reader. intended lowercase. warning: you will wish you had a kid with gojo after reading this.

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚.┊this was gonna be a basic thought post, but i got more and more interested in the concept and was like “y’know what? fuck it, ima just make this into a full fic.” so here we are with a more full look at dad!gojo <3.

satoru mumbles, "but i think he likes being called spike,” and it's obvious that he's sulking. you don't even have to look up from your book to confirm it.

“well, you don't know him like i do!” your daughter replies, tucking herself into your side.

you flip through the picture book's pages fast, just getting brief glances of its colorful illustrations. unicorns, dragons, knights, and princesses decorated the pages. after turning the last page, you sigh and put the book down on the nightstand. despite the fact that the book was designed for toddlers, it actually looked interesting. you just know you would love to read it to your toddler. you can imagine yourself reading it to her, seeing the excitement on her face as she explores the world of fantasy—her absolute favorite genre.

but unfortunately, that image in your head will have to wait for another day, because her attention? is completely taken by the debate between her and her father.

how the argument started is beyond you. just ten minutes ago, you and satoru were snuggled up on your daughter’s bed, trying to read her to sleep. and now? satoru and her are in a heated debate over what to name her stuffed dragon. it's tough not to be amazed at how something so easy can become so complicated with him.

"i bought him, drove him around in my car, and wrapped him up in a cute little box for you. i think we know each other pretty well.” satoru smiles and reaches across the bed for the dragon.

“nuh-uh! he not even like you!” your toddler, with her tiny hands and puffed cheeks, clutches her stuffed dragon tightly against her chest. the plushie, its vibrant green scales and friendly eyes, seemed to come alive in her hold.

he retreats back to his seat on the edge of your daughter's bed, his lips curled into a frown as he asks, "how come?"

her mouth opens, then closes again. you look away for a moment to give satoru a look of disapproval, and by the time you return your attention to her, her brows are already starting to furrow. she mumbles under her breath, "because," running her small fingers around the plush dragon’s ear. she looks to be at a loss for words, as if she hasn't come up with an answer to satoru's question.

but that's okay, since you—happily, do.

"because you’re taking his time away from storytime. and satoru, in case you didn't know? when it's time to go to bed, we have storytime.”

your daughter looks up, her face beaming as she screams, "yup! and mommy picks the super-duper bestest stories ever!"

satoru gasps, his eyes never leaving yours as he rises from his bed and holds his chest. "baby, who's side are you on?"

you roll your eyes, "i'm just sa—"

"oh, sweetheart," he mumbles as he rushes around the corner of the bed, his movements quick to reach your side. without wasting a second, he rests a palm on your forehead, checking your temperature with a clear look of false concern. concerned people don’t have to hold back the urge to smile. actually, they don't have a smile at all—but for some reason, satoru does, and he's terrible at hiding it. "are you sick? having some hallucinations? is that why you've decided to side with enemy?”

your daughter giggles, and it only feeds satoru's act.

he turns his head towards the source of the giggles. a playful pout forms on his lips as he teasingly asks, "or did this little munchkin of ours use her princess magic to change your mind? she has a way of doing that to me sometimes, y’know."

his free hand reaches towards your toddler, fingers wiggling in anticipation. as his fingers make contact with your little one's soft, ticklish skin, even more giggles slip past her lips.

she tries to squirm away from his touch, but that's when he adds another hand to the tickle fest, and all chance of escape is gone. at that point, she visibly gives up, curling into herself to try to halt her dad’s tickling.

“i-i don’t have powers, daddy!” you daughter manages to stifle out through her laughs. you smile at the sound—it’s one you'll never get tired of hearing.

"you can't be a princess without powers! every princess has powers!"

“i-i'm n-not a princess though!“

satoru's fingers pause in their spot, his eyes widening in disbelief. "not a princess? how on earth can that even be?"

you’re sure if she needed him to, he could easily write an entire book about how she’s a princess.

he scoops her up from her place next to you, careful not to let her dangling legs hit you in the process. she lands on his hip, her eyes fixated on him as he lovingly whispers, "you're daddy's little princess!" he pauses, then adds, "and mommy is the queen, so that makes me—"

“the king?”

“you’re just so smart, huh? see, a perfect quality of a princess.”

“but princesses have dragons! big ones with so many pretty colors and names! they go—“ she cuts herself off and raises her tiny arms high. with a wide smile on her face, she takes a deep breath and lets out a loud roar.

satoru nods and smiles warmly at her, "oh, i see...well, y’know what? not all princesses have dragons.”

she tilts her head, and you awe at the sight. “they don’t?”

"nope," he says, taking her tiny hand in his, wrapping it securely around his finger. he lightly massages the back of her hand, and it’s soothing—scratch that, reassuring. you can tell from the way your daughter leans her head on his shoulder, tucking herself in the crook of his neck. "you don't need a dragon to be a princess. you're my princess ‘cause you're kind, smart, and full of love. i'd say that's all you need to be one."

"really?" she asks, waiting for his nod before continuing. "okay…but i still want a dragon."

"i get it, munchkin," he hums as he takes the dragon plushie from the bed. "we still haven't figured out a name for this guy, hm?"

“nuh-uh!”

“he looks like his power is being super cuddly. he's so cuddly that he puts you right to sleep…how ‘bout…fluffy?"

“ew.”

“fluffy sounds cute, no?”

"but dragons aren't cute. daddy, they breathe fire."

"wel—" satoru begins, but your daughter interrupts.

“his name should be fireball!”

“satoru, she does have a point,” you assert.

she really did. it was a dragon, not something adorable, but something that’s usually thought of as a villain—or a protector. athough deep down, a part of you just wanted this little debate to finally wrap up so you could finally catch some much-needed sleep.

“i thought i took away all of her princess magic?” satoru frowns, "stop siding with the enemy!"

you can't help but snort at his comment. mostly because, for whatever reason, he’s taking this dispute very seriously. so seriously that he doesn't seem to notice you're trying to do anything to finally get to bedtime. "baby i was just sa—"

"who says this dragon had to breathe fire anyways?" he interrupts.

when your toddler goes to respond, it hits you. "what about fluffy fireball?" you mention. it's a perfect combination of the two. well, okay, maybe not a “perfect” combination, but it's good enough to finish this debate.

if you weren't so tired, you’d stop and ogle the way they ask "huh?" in sync.

you shrug, "well, why not? he is pretty fluffy and spits out fire. there can’t be a better name than that."

your daughter holds out the dragon, looks at it for a while, then brings it up to her ear.

she gives the impression that he’s nodding his head before hushedly saying, "got it." she then turns back to face you and yells confidently, "fluffy fireball agrees!”

"well, i don't agree," satoru huffs. "the name is way too long an—"

“satoru.”

“but—“

"satoru," you say more firmly, and his shoulders sink as he mumbles "okay" beneath his breath.

your daughter lets out a yawn, and your eyes are immediately drawn to her. you signal for satoru to come over to the bed, and he does, bending down to your level.

“is my girl sleepy?”

"um," she pauses and looks at her dragon. "just a little bit."

"i can tell," you say, gently rubbing her back. you sneak a quick glance at your husband, and he looks the other way because he knows it's way past her bedtime. you sit up next to her ear and murmur, "i think fluffy fireball is ready to go to sleepy-time."

she gives the dinosaur a look before asking him, "y’wanna sleep with me?” then, she shakes the dinosaur's head up and down before exclaiming, "okay!"

you watch as she leaps out of satoru’s arms, and plops down on the bed. the room fills with giggles and the creaking of the bed as she scampers towards the middle. once she's next to you, she settles in and gets comfortable.

you can't help but smile as you see her tiny hands reaching out, playfully fluffing the pillows around her. then finally, with a satisfied sigh, she snuggles under the covers, cocooning herself in warmth.

she sets her dragon on her left side, making sure her loyal companion is there to do his job and look after her (the princess). it’s cute really. however, if that dragon becomes even a little bit too comfortable with the job, you know satoru will undoubtedly compete for the position. he'd say, "it can't just show up one day and take my job," or something along those lines. knowing him, he might even contemplate throwing it away—who knows.

you’re jolted out of your trance when your daughter asserts to her dinosaur, "you can sleep on daddies side, he snores."

satoru gasps, “i do not—“

“yes you do!”

“when have i eve—“

"guys," you sigh, feeling the weight of exhaustion in your voice. you cast a glance at both of them, making sure you have their undivided attention before pressing on. "c'mon, let's all take a breather and save the debate about your dad's snoring for tomorrow, okay?"

"but mommy, tell him he snores!" she whines. "he goes—" she cuts herself off to mimic satoru's snoring, and his face is priceless.

"now that’s just rude. how can you speak to me so coldly?” satoru scurries underneath the covers on the side of the dragon. and just like that, your daughter and her dragon are nestled between the two of you.

“this’ll be settled in a family meeting tomorrow. you two have already had one debate today. so right now? lets all go to bed.” you declare, then nestle deeper beneath the covers, closing your eyes.

as the voices of saddened "okays" and "alrights" blend together, a collective sigh fills the room. the sound of a click follows, and even with your eyes closed, the absence of light is unmistakable. it makes you feel even more exhausted than before.

you feel satoru’s arm slide around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. meanwhile, your daughter stirs slightly, searching for a more comfortable position in the cozy space between the two of you. you can feel her movements, her small body nestled snugly against yours.

you snuggle impossibly closer to your pillow, and take a deep breath.

silence, that’s what follows—and it’s nothing but peaceful. that is, until satoru bursts out laughing. "i don't snore," he blurts out into the darkness, his voice filled with mischief. "i just provide a little background music for the night."

it's at this point that you decide to be extremely biased at the family meeting tomorrow. he’s not winning a damn thing.

#(っˆ ³(ˊ ᵕ ˋก ) ⇢ ˗ˏˋ 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐀 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 ࿐ྂ #i think this is the cutest scenario i’ve came up with #and the best part is that it’s 100% cannon (bc i said so)#gojo x reader #gojo x reader fluff #gojo angst #gojo x you #gojo headcanons #gojo scenarios #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jujustu kaisen #jujustu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen headcanons

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she-is-ovarit · 7 months

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Advantages to being female ("AFAB").

Biological differences in being female are often discussed negatively in order to indicate our disadvantages and where and how we are exploited within patriarchal societies.

On Ovarit, there was a thread in which users shared some biological differences to being female that illuminated our strengths. While of course biological differences in males vs. females is directly rooted in reproductive evolutionary strategy (whether someone develops down a reproductive pathway geared towards an overall reproductive system that supports gestating life and creating larger ova vs. not) I thought I would share some examples of advantages not directly connected to childbirth and childbearing. This is not an exhaustive list.

We are more flexible than male people.

We have better stamina and endurance in some extreme long-distance sports in comparison to male people (such as in ultra-marathons).

Some animals (especially other mammals such as wolves, horses, cats, etc.) are instinctively threatened by males, even if they have never been harmed by them. This is not the case with women.

We have better immune systems and survive viruses better than male people.

We survive famines and epidemics overall better than male people.

We survive variations in temperature overall better than male people.

We have better sense of smell than men.

Our chromosomes provide us with extra protection against certain genetic diseases like hemophilia, and we have more genetic diversity.

We have better balance due to our center of gravity being lower, in our pelvis's, while males have their center of gravity in their torsos. This makes us naturally better at sports like rock-climbing, gymnastics, certain martial arts, etc.

"The male fetus is at greater risk of death or damage from almost all the obstetric catastrophes that can happen before birth.2 Perinatal brain damage,3 cerebral palsy,4 congenital deformities of the genitalia and limbs, premature birth, and stillbirth are commoner in boys,5 and by the time a boy is born he is on average developmentally some weeks behind his sister: “A newborn girl is the physiological equivalent of a 4 to 6 week old boy.”

Women and girls have better color perception than males.

Multiple orgasms.

We're biologically better suited to being astronauts and living in space (note: and this was discovered 15 years ago yet this work was never published)

Some articles (debatable on credibility) suggest that we are better able to withstand complete sensory deprivation for several hours in comparison to men, who were able to withstand complete sensory deprivation for minutes.

For unknown reasons, we do not experience the same percentage of macular degeneration that men do in space.

We have a different adrenaline response. Our hormone systems work differently and so we do not lose as much decision making ability and fine motor control as men do in a crisis, making us better snipers and pilots thanks to our reaction time.

We have better life expectancy overall.

#biology #women #female anatomy #female development #being female #biological sex

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poisonedprose · 5 months

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₊˚✧ she said fuck me like im famous — in which ellie 'teaches' you how to play the guitar.

rockstar!ellie williams x fem!reader

warnings: 0.6.k words, smutty, is this highly inaccurate? probs. do i care? no. pet names (baby, babe, filthy girl), hand kink, teasing, reader wears a skirt, temperature play?, fingering, finger sucking

masterlists - new account @pearlcigs

The hum of Ellie's fingers plucking at the strings of her beloved guitar filled the room. She was sat on the bed, various bracelets cluttering her wrist. Your eyes were locked on her hands, watching intently, focused on her veins rather than her skills. Her shirt was unbuttoned, lazily array on her shoulders, the grey of her sports bra matching the boxers peaking through the top of her pants. She looked so good and had no idea what she was doing to you. "Come sit on my lap." Or maybe she did?

"Hm?" You responded, watching as she moved the electric guitar away from her lap to make room for you to sit. "Gonna teach you how to play." She smiles devilishly. You obey her wishes, skittishly walking towards her and sitting on her lap. Truly, you had no desire to learn how to play, more than okay with watching her experienced hands do all the work. She placed the guitar on your lap, chin resting on your shoulder.

Ellie grabbed your hands, putting them in the correct positions. She guided your fingers, her touch doing everything right to your body. Yeah, she definitely knew what she was doing to you. She strummed your fingers over the strings, the vibration on your thighs faint but you were already worked up. "Ellie." You uttered, a smirk on her face as she kissed your shoulder. "Yes, baby? Somethin' wrong?" She asked in a cocky tone.

Everything about her turned you on. "Do you need help?" Ellie's tone was confident, she was getting exactly what she wanted and you both knew it. "Saw you staring at my hands." She admits, kissing from your shoulder to your neck. "They excite you or something?" She continues with her painful teasing, stroking the strings once again to let the vibration flow your your thighs. "Ellie." You whimpered, composure quickly disintegrating.

"Bet you wish I was playing with you and not the guitar, hm?" One of Ellie's hands slide down to your thigh, squeezing tightly, veins becoming more prominent. "Yes." You admitted, breathlessly. "Yeah? Like seeing my fingers? Was doin' it on purpose." She admits, she was absolutely bold. Unafraid of the empty threats you might try to scare her with from her antics.

She moves the guitar off your lap, moving it to the side for later. Cold finger tips tickling up your thigh to you panty covered cunt. "Soaking through your pants, babe." She chuckles applying just the tiniest bit of pressure to watch you squirm. "El..." You whine, hips arching off her lap slightly. "Gonna fuck you like a rockstar and then write a song about it. Everyone's gonna know what a freak you are." Her free hand fingers her way to your lips, intruding through them. You don't even wait for her command to suck on her nimble fingers.

"The lyrics'll be about how much you love my fingers. How much you love them in your mouth... in your pussy.." She teases but she was far from finished, pushing your skirt up and pushing your panties to the side. The coldness from her hands make your warm cunt flutter from the temperature difference. "Maybe I'll put your desperate moans in the background vocals? Hm? How does that sound?" She slowly strokes your clit.

You moan, proving her point that the noises she drew from you were desperate. She slides a finger into your weeping cunt, pushing her fingers further into your mouth. The thrusts both hands at the same time, finger your cunt and mouth at the same time. "Yeah, baby. Take my fingers, filthy girl."

requested / inspired by @thatgiraffefromtlou rockstar ellie makes me lose it this took forever because i couldn't figure out how to execute it - i was also debating vibrator synced to the guitar with bluetooth so lmk if i should write that

#! ☢ ₊˚✧ tlou .#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #the last of us #the last of us x reader #the last of us smut #tlou #tlou x reader #tlou smut

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rileyslibrary · 1 year

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What a lovely way to burn

Summary: You’re cold. He is warm. As you argue over the room's temperature, Ghost discovers the root cause for your different perspectives.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader

Word Count: 697

Notes:

A little bird told me you like beefy masked men looking after you.

It’s fluff; what did you expect.

Want more?

———————————————————————

“It’s freezing in here,” you murmur under your breath as you clear the clutter from your desk. You look at the radiator, then drift your gaze towards Ghost. He’s sitting at his desk, filling out paperwork for the mission you’re currently assigned to.

“Would you mind turning that thing on, please?” you ask, nodding at something behind him.

He looks at you, then over his shoulder, towards ‘the thing’ you’re referring to. “Are you kidding me?” he asks baffled, “it’s boiling in here!”

You examine him from the head up to his waist. His eyes are his only visible part; everything else is hidden beneath layers of thick, nearly indestructible clothing.

“Have you looked at yourself, Lieutenant?” you ask, pointing at him, “you’re dressed for an arctic expedition!”

He slaps his thighs and stands up, agitated. The mission isn’t going as planned, and he has a lot on his plate right now. Despite his irritation, he knows better than to engage in a pointless debate with you. Sighing, he walks over to the radiator and adjusts the controls.

“I’ll raise it to two,” he murmurs.

You raise your brow. “Two?” you ask, “Two, as in 1+1=2?”

“What a brilliant mind you have,” he sneers. “Will you recite your ABCs for me next?”

You disregard his sarcasm. “Raise it to six,” you negotiate.

“Six?” he asks. “Six, as in the number of days you’ll be penalised for doing my head in?”

“Come on, Lieutenant,” you beg. “At least meet me in the middle.”

He lets out another sigh. “I’ll set it to three, and that’ll be the end of it.”

You thank him with a nod.

However, as time passes, the room does not become any warmer. Instead, it gets colder by the hour. Ghost notices your shivering. He gets to his feet and walks over to your desk, removing his left glove and reaching for your face. You shudder and shift in your seat, backing away.

“Will you hold still for a moment?” he asks, placing his bare hand on your forehead and lightly clasping the back of your neck with his right hand.

He remains silent and examines you, moving his hand from your forehead to the side of your cheek.

You close your eyes and lean into his touch, relishing the warmth. He hasn’t touched you like this in a long time, the mission denying you both any opportunity or space for intimacy.

“It’s no surprise you feel cold,” he says. “You’re burning.”

Your face is still pressed against his hand as you open your eyes.

Instead of backing away, he rubs your back with his right hand. You lean in and hug his thigh.

“I don’t feel like I’m burning; quite the opposite.” You protest, but your frail body gives you away.

“Well, that’s what fever does to ya,” he explains softly. “You should go to the doctor.”

Worry begins to creep in. “Does this mean I’m out of the mission?” you ask, concerned. It’s a critical job, and you can’t afford to be excused for a simple fever, especially at this crucial stage.

“It means you should get checked first,” he asserts firmly. “I’ll request the doctor’s report once he’s finished evaluating you, and we’ll see.”

He helps you rise to your feet; your eyes are half-lidded, struggling to stay awake, and your body is heavy with drowsiness.

He takes off his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders. “This will keep you warm,” he says. His voice sounds like a lullaby in your ears.

“What about my face, Lieutenant?” you joke. “Are you going to give me your balaclava as well?”

He looks at you, but his response is not playful; this is not the time for your usual banter.

“No,” he says softly, lifting his balaclava to reveal a warm smile. “But this,” he continues, reaching out to kiss your forehead, “will have to do for the time being.”

———————————————————————

#simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #Cod mw2 #cod ghost #simon riley

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bunny-yan · 3 months

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Didn't Tasman always married some other girl in all the previous timelines? I think lover is justified in not trusting him one bit. Imagine if she throws that fact in his face and how all she ever wanted is someone loyal and he's never loyal to her while she always was.

You are just begging to make him angry aren't you? Our hero doesn't like to be questioned. TW: mentions of abuse, depictions of violence, language, mentions death,

—

You stared. You didn’t know what else to do when he presented you with a simple ring etched with declarations of love and devotion.

His eyes were shining, hopeful as he knelt and presented it to you.

Onlookers whispered, most stopping to witness history being made. The world’s hero was proposing to an average commoner after all. You could see the looks of disgust on the faces of his party members as they watched the tragic display.

You felt your stomach clench painfully, the butterflies more like cicadas fighting desperately to be freed from such a narrow space. Your hands were clammy as you wrung them together, you felt lightheaded, and it took every fiber of your being to prevent yourself from passing out from pure shock.

Why would he do something like this after the screaming fit the two of you had the night before? It was hardly a good sign that it was time to spend the rest of your lives together. Especially considering how that fight ended.

You didn’t want to think about the bruises that were hidden underneath the long-sleeved tunic you were wearing despite the blazing temperatures. If you thought about the terrible words whispered harshly in your ear, the rough hands, you thought you’d puke and ruin this heartfelt display.

“I know it took longer than we thought, but I wanted to keep my promise.”

An understatement.

A fucking understatement is what it was. You’d made the promise to grow up and get married to your childhood friend in your first life. To propose talking about an age-old promise, that had been broken as far as you were concerned, felt cruel.

Shaking your head, you tried to keep your voice soft so you didn’t embarrass him and give all of these people another reason to hate you.

“Tasman, don’t do this.”

His eyes shined, if he heard what you said, he didn’t acknowledge it as his smile grew before sealing the nail in your coffin.

“Will you marry me?”

Gasps echoed throughout the crowd, the throng of people desperate to push closer to see who the potential partner their savior was taking, to hear what you would say after being given such an honor. It would be a lie to say that you weren’t hurt by how unimpressed some of them were. You could amount it to jealousy and you were sure that’s what it was, but you couldn’t find it in your heart to blame them when they didn’t know that their hero was a monster disguised as a saint. And how could they? He’d kept it so well hidden, even you didn’t find out until this lifetime.

It was cruel to abandon you after asking you to wait for him. Marrying another broke your heart, but any hope you had of rekindling anything other than a burning disdain for your childhood friend seemed impossible when your forgiveness was usurped by his selfishness to finally take what he never seemed to want before.

The longer you stood there, awkwardly staring at him, the louder the whispers grew.

His bright smile waned and stress began to appear on his features. Why weren’t you accepting? He’d finally done the one thing the two of you wanted. It should’ve made you happy. Why weren’t you happy?

“Lover?” he said, voice strained as he debated to stand or remain kneeling.

You shook your head again. Overwhelmed by feelings that hit you like a freight train you whipped around before almost running away. The crowd parted to let you through, finally silent as they looked at their savior, struck dumb, still on his knees as he watched you disappear.

It was the wrong move.

You should’ve gratefully accepted his offer, hiding the disgusting feelings from sight until you could tell him, behind closed doors, just how you felt about even the thought of marrying him.

Instead, you ran. It was dumb. It was stupid to believe that you would have time to process your feelings before confronting him and when a hand caught your elbow just as you reached the door to the inn you rarely got a chance to leave, the ominous feeling in your gut solidified as you looked back and stared into unquestionably angry purple eyes.

You were dragged to your prison faster than you could stumble behind him and you winced when your knee banged on the stairs. He didn’t slow down, refusing to let you go until you were shoved inside the bedroom.

“Do you insist on making a fool of me?”

“I don’t know what you expected me to say.”

“Was a simple ‘yes’ too much to ask for?”

It was, but you didn’t tell him that. Staring at the floor, you rubbed a hand over your face as you tried to make sense of the turmoil you’d been thrown into.

“Where is all of this coming from?”

He grit his teeth, closing the door to your bedroom when familiar voices could be heard entering the common area. Didn’t want them to know about the trouble in paradise, even though it was clear not only from the embarrassing display but from the way the two of you would fight incessantly. About anything and everything since you were brought here.

Taking a deep breath, he walked closer to you before holding your hands in his as he looked deeply into your eyes.

“I thought my feelings were clear.” When you didn’t speak, he continued. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. We made a promise to be together when we were younger and I want to make good on it.”

Looking into his eyes, you said, “You remembered.”

A lone tree in your hometown held your initials encased in a heart with his. The two of you promised that you would always be together and that when you got older, you’d spend the rest of your days in love and inseparable.

Narrowing your eyes, you ripped your hands out of his grip. “It’s a little late.” Pacing to the window with Tasman on your heels, you said, “We made that promise ages ago. Lifetimes ago. That tree is dead if it still even exists along with that useless promise.”

“Don’t say that. It’s not too late.”

“It is!” you exclaimed, turning to face him. “I don’t love you Tasman. The days I dreamt of marrying you and spending the rest of our lives together are long gone. They were crushed after you took that vow with someone else.”

“We talked about this,” he said, exasperated.

“And yet I’m still angry.”

“Don’t you realize how selfish you’re being?” And here it was. “Holding on to something that happened in the past when I’m trying to make up for it now. I’m trying to make this work. To make us work and you refuse to stop acting like a spoilt child.”

Typical Tasman. Resorting to calling you selfish whenever he couldn’t comfortably paint himself a victim of circumstance. It was old news. It shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did, but the words buried themselves in your skin, threatening to rip out every violent impulse and dig up each insecurity you tried so hard to manage.

“I’m a spoiled child and yet you can’t seem to stop clinging to me despite how much I make it clear that I want nothing to do with you. Your mistakes were in the past? Well, our love is too.”

He slapped you across the face. Hard enough to knock you from your feet. Your knees banged harshly on the carpeted floors and you held your cheek as you looked up at him.

He wasn’t above putting his hands on you, but he’d never done it without warning, without physical resistance on your part.

You stared at him, frozen as he glared down at you.

“You’re acting ridiculous.” Fingers clenching and unclenching, his intimidating figure towered over you as he went on his tirade. “Have you ever thought about how I must’ve felt? Having to leave you behind? Being used as a disposable tool to fight someone else’s battles? I would’ve given anything to stay by your side, to grow up together and live a normal life, but I had to become the hero. To save the world. To save you. I sacrificed my life, my humanity to give you the chance to live freely and you’re whining about not being with me for a couple of lifetimes? I spent decades trying to forget you. Centuries! Long after you disappeared from this world. Because, unlike your existence, the hero’s fate only ends when the world does. Would you have had me tease myself with a glimpse of what happiness could have been like by coming back? Spending a single century by your side before you grew old and left me with memories of what living was?”

For all the pain in his voice, you could only think about how much your jaw ached. How devastated you felt learning of his multitude of affairs. Sure he could claim that none of them mattered, that he was doing it to forget about you, but where did that leave you? Where did it leave the centuries worth of feelings that continued to go unanswered?

Quietly, so softly that it wouldn’t have been heard by anyone other than him, you said, “It took you eight centuries to change your mind?”

You looked at him and something was off about his gaze.

Something was wrong.

What had changed? He’d abandoned you time and time again and only now did he return. He’d spent the last eight lifetimes treating you as a placeholder that he never planned on coming back to. What was so important that forced him to come running back?

Your mouth opened, slack in realization. It made you sick to your stomach to even consider, but you had to know.

“Why don’t you let me go back to my life without you?”

“What life?” he said, spitting out the words as if they were poison in his mouth. “You were an orphan, wanted by no one. You had no friends,” Because of him. “You couldn’t hold down a job.” Because of him. “You couldn’t even manage to find an apprenticeship. You had no future before you met me.”

“At least let me spend eight of my lives fucking other people and we can call it even.” you snapped. You felt fear coil in your stomach at the rage that poured through his gaze as he descended upon you. Grabbing your shirt by the collar he yanked you to your feet before he got in your face.

“You’re mine.” he said with a snarl.

There it was.

The ugly jealousy that reared its head whenever you proposed a life without him. He couldn’t bear to live with the thought of living without you, yet he refused to allow you to live a life where you could potentially forget about him.

You weren’t allowed to move on and experience life. He’d rather go back on his mind-numbingly nonsensical ideals and trap you by his side, even offering something you would’ve cried tears of joy for had it been one lifetime earlier, rather than let you go.

You didn’t think your heart could break further, but you couldn’t help it as you thought of how easily all of this could’ve been avoided if you hadn’t waited. If you would have decided to live instead of wasting away again and again.

Tasman would’ve come running back, both of you surprised and young, eyes unwearied from the knowledge of previous lives, of heartbreak and loneliness.

Of betrayal.

Maybe the two of you would’ve argued, he would claim you broke your promise by not waiting for him and you would argue that you didn’t have to remain trapped in the same town to wait for him to finish fighting and come back to you. Maybe he would’ve gotten angry and insisted that you stay and when you refused, maybe he would’ve offered to bring you with him. Making new promises of protection, promising to help fight each others’ battles, and keeping old ones of loyalty and love.

Thinking about it now, the idea felt like a distant fairytale. An unthinkable possibility looking at the man you no longer loved.

“You’re mine,” he repeated, reaching into his pocket.

You panicked when he pulled out the ring.

“To let every know, we’ll marry and make it the wedding of the century once I defeat the Demon King.”

You tried to tug your wrist out of his grip, but it was like iron. When the ring got closer, you balled your hand into a fist. You knew there was no real point in fighting him, but you had to do whatever it took to prevent this from happening.

Irritant and unwilling to play the kind hero who would never hurt a soul, you screamed as your wrist was crushed in his hand. Your fingers splayed on reflex and he smiled when he was finally able to slide the ring on your finger.

“How lovely,” he hummed almost longingly.

A silent chant set your wrist and he released it to allow you to curl into yourself on the floor. You felt little other than a dull ache, but you couldn’t forget the feeling of your wrist shattering that quickly.

“Don’t bother trying to take it off. You won’t like what happens if you do.” he said before turning and leaving the room without another word. You could hear the insincere congratulations pour in, muffled from beyond the door.

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere x gn reader #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere male #ask #gn reader #yandere hero

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