#i should have done something easier than this

[damneddamsy]

falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part ii)

summary: Joel Miller never expected much out of Jackson—just a quiet place to live out the days he had left. But when a baby’s cries lead him to a mother unravelling under the pressure of nursing her child she never asked for, he finds himself tangled in something he can’t walk away from—no matter how much he tells himself he should.

a/n: on today's episode of 'angry idiots and sad assholes', introducing the one and only Joel Miller! I let out a few tears writing this one, too, it's really painful when you think about how Joel probably perceives himself, or how I think he does. onto other happier news, I simply cannot believe the kind of response the first part garnered, and I'm shook! rise up, depression girlies!!! To everyone who responded in the comments and reblogs, I've read them all twice over and giggled and twirled my hair and threw up butterflies. Thank you, and I hope you like this one! :)

Joel settled into his routine like a man settling into an old wound. Patrols, clearing trails, the stables, the repair shop, the bar, dinner in silence, rinse and repeat. It was easier that way—easier than thinking too much about a vain attempt. He ignored his neighbour’s existence completely. At least, that’s what he told himself.

But ignoring something didn’t make it disappear.

Every morning, he still ended up at the dining table—the one he never used—sipping his coffee too slow for his patience, gaze drawn to the big white house across the street like a goddamn magnet. Watching for movement. Watching for them.

And he fucking hated it.

Hated the part of him that waited, that noticed, that took account of the smallest details like they meant anything to him. Like he still had a reason to care.

Sometimes, Maya fussed too much, and Leela would come outside, her hair a little unkempt, gait all botched, but her hands steady as she cradled her baby against her chest. He saw her murmuring softly to the baby girl, pointing to the sky, the trees, the shifting clouds, the falling snow. A little trick from Maria, he figured. It worked well enough. Maya would quiet, those big brown eyes so curious, distracted by the vastness of the world she barely understood.

And Leela—she still looked tired. Still looked like she was moving through a fog, unseeing, carrying more than just the baby in her arms. But she took to Maya differently now, touched her calmly, like she was no longer afraid she might break her.

That was good. That meant she was doing fine. That meant she didn’t need him. And that meant Joel could stop worrying about the things that weren’t his to worry about.

Joel was outside, tightening the hinges on his porch gate, bracing against the cold, when he heard her steps crunching in the snow. Still quiet. Still waiting. He didn’t look up right away, just kept his focus on the task in front of him. If she needed something, she’d say it.

"Good morning, Joel," Leela greeted warmly.

Joel gave a short nod, adjusting the grip on his screwdriver. "Mornin’."

She lingered there. Honestly, he just wished she’d just go back inside. So, he kept working, unbothered, and didn't look up.

"Loose hinges?" she asked.

Courtesies. He wasn't falling for it. "Mhm."

He knew when he wasn't wanted. She was finding her feet now, somewhat starting to take care of herself, carefully taking care of Maya. She didn’t need him checking in, didn’t need him hovering. And maybe—maybe that should’ve felt like a relief. It didn’t.

"You need anything else?" he asked, voice gruffer than he meant it to be.

"No, I just..." Leela wavered, softly, like she already knew he was about to shut her down. "I wanted to say thank you. For helping me out these few weeks. I couldn't have done it without you."

Joel finally glanced up at that. Just a flicker.

Leela shifted in her puffy pants, adjusting Maya against her shoulder. The baby girl was bundled up tight, small fists curled into her mouth, watching him with that blank, childlike wonder in big eyes. It took every bit of strength he had to not fall for that, and just forget everything that happened.

Joel hung his head, nodding again, keeping his focus downward on the screw.

She was being friendly. Trying to meet him halfway. And he hated that this was what it had come to—that she felt like she had to say something, to extend some kind of olive branch, when all he’d done was build a wall between them. For no fucking reason.

He straightened up with a muffled grunt, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Nothin’ to thank me for. It was all you."

She half-laughed, something wry and knowing. "I know that's not true."

Joel glanced up, stiffening, but she wasn’t looking at him, just rubbing slow circles into Maya’s back, pressing a slow kiss to the top of her head, consoling herself.

He knew what she was doing. He wasn’t stupid.

She was trying to make things normal again. Like they hadn’t spent nights under the same roof. Like he hadn’t seen her fall apart. Like she wasn’t still here, right now, offering him something—a small, careful thing—and he was too much of a coward to take it.

So he didn’t.

Joel scratched the back of his neck with the screwdriver, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. "You oughta get inside," he said instead. "It’s too cold for the kid."

Leela’s expression flickered. Not hurt. Just resigned. He felt like he'd ripped the bandaid off a baby.

"Okay. Yes." She slowly nodded but hesitated a step back. Then—too quietly, almost like an afterthought—"It’s nice to see you around, Joel."

And with that, she started back down the road, holding Maya closer by her head, and Joel let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. That was better. Cleaner.

He grabbed his tools and turned back to his door, locking his jaw. He hadn’t meant to come off short, but it was better this way. Best to stay in his own lane. Best not to make something out of nothing. That’s what he told himself.

But later that night, when he was eating that damn delicious soup she’d left for him by his door—still warm, still considerate—he felt like a grade-A asshole.

From then on, it was Tommy who had taken over fixing the nursery, finishing what Joel had started. He figured that was for the best. It kept things clean. Tied up loose ends. He had no business stepping into that house anymore, no reason to.

And yet, his eyes always caught the details—the way the curtains in the nursery window shifted, the way light flickered between the slats, the way the wood he had sanded and painted was still unfinished, the way Tommy started bringing someone else along.

Mal.

Joel had seen him before, a younger guy with an afro that Tommy had taken under his wing. Handy with repairs, and good with his hands. Nothing special.

At first, Mal actually worked. Brought his toolbox, put up a few shelves, and nodded along to whatever Tommy said. Kept to himself. But then—things started changing. Mal started staying longer. Talking... to her. Right on the front stoop until the sun went down.

It was fine at first. Two steps between them. Then one. Then none at all. Soon, he was leaning close on the porch railing, shoulders nearly brushing hers, speaking in low, easy tones that Joel couldn’t quite make out from across the street. And then—laughter. Leela’s laughter. Soft, hesitant, but real.

More than Joel had ever gotten out of her. Not that he’d ever tried.

Tommy and Maria stopped coming around entirely. It was just Mal now. Every goddamn day. He’d stroll up, toolbox in hand, tap on the door, and then—nothing. No sounds of work being done. No hammering, no shifting furniture. Just conversation.

Joel told himself it didn’t matter. Repeated it like a prayer, like a lesson he should’ve learned by now. That whatever Leela did, whoever she let into her home, was none of his business. That was the whole point of leaving, wasn’t it? Cutting ties, walking away.

He didn’t care about the way Mal lingered on that porch, didn’t care about the way Leela had started looking at him—not quite wary, not quite inviting. Like she was still learning how to trust people but was willing to try. Didn’t care about the way Maya reached for Mal, the tiny fingers curling into his beard, the easy way Mal let her.

And yet, he always saw it.

The way Mal leaned just a little closer, the way Leela’s shoulders, once so tight and drawn, started to loosen. The way her fingers twisted in the fabric of her sleeves when she spoke to him, soft and hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to enjoy the conversation.

Joel hated how much he noticed. It was worse when he overheard them.

He'd been out all damn day. Sun up to sundown, rifle slung over his shoulder, dealing with raiders, clickers, and everything in between. The kind of day that made his bones ache, that made his back scream when he so much as breathed wrong. The kind of day where all he wanted was to go home, put his feet up, and maybe—just maybe—close his eyes for longer than ten damn minutes.

But no. Because just as he was rounding the corner to his place, the world ready to lay even more shit on him, he heard them.

"You mean to tell me no one's ever spun you around before?" Mal was saying.

Joel's step faltered. He should’ve kept walking. Should’ve ignored it. But of course, he didn’t. Joel adjusted his grip on the sack slung over his shoulder, slowing his pace, letting their voices drift through the cold evening air.

Leela snorted, light and dismissive. "Like dancing?"

"Exactly like," Mal confirmed, smooth as you please. "Having a little fun, letting go, feeling the music. Bet you don’t do much of that."

Joel’s fingers curled around the strap of his bag, grip tightening.

"There's more pressing matters than romance," Leela muttered, but she was laughing.

Joel didn’t like that one bit. He didn’t like the way she said it. Playful. Entertained. That was the first thing that rubbed Joel the wrong way. The second was the way the kid kept talking.

"Well, I bet Maya’s never even seen her mama all dolled up before, huh? Imagine that, baby girl," Mal cooed, and Maya's sweet crool followed like a melody.

Fuck this.

Joel didn’t hear Leela’s response, didn’t hear whatever she said next, because he was already moving—boots heavy, hands fisted, the strap of his bag biting into his palm.

The frozen dirt beneath his boots crunched as he made his way there, shoulders squared, hackles raised, barely restraining the urge to grab that kid by the collar and shake some goddamn sense into him.

Because who the hell did this punk think he was?

Talking like that, acting like Leela was some blushing girl to be sweet-talked. Like she hadn’t spent the last few weeks barely holding herself together. Like she hadn’t bled for that kid in her arms. Like Joel hadn’t been the one who—

He stopped himself there. Tamped it down. Shoved it deep into the pit of his stomach where all the other shit lived.

Instead, he turned away, kept his head down and walked straight home, fists tight around anything. By the time he kicked the door shut behind him, his jaw ached from how hard he’d been clenching it. Fucking Mal.

Joel dumped the sack of supplies on the table and went straight for the bottle. Pulled the cork out with his teeth, and poured himself a glass with a hand that was damn near steady.

He took a sip. Let it burn. Let it settle. Then he muttered, "Goddamn kid."

He wasn’t mad. Not really. Because why should he be?

She liked him. Sure, he wanted her to be happy. If that happened, he'd finally get a good night's sleep. And yet, it wouldn't mean a fucking thing to him if Mal was the reason. One day when he's going to see her and Mal inside her home, silver rings glinting off their hands, little Maya nestled between them, the picture of a perfect family...

Joel knocked back the rest of the whiskey and swallowed hard. Good. That was good. Good for her. She didn't need him. Maya wouldn't need him. He'd butt out and live alone, in peace.

He set the glass down a little harder than he meant to. Stared at it. Then, just to be sure, he muttered it out loud.

"Ain't my problem."

But the facts remained.

She still wasn’t eating much or sleeping well. The dark circles under her eyes hadn’t faded. She still rubbed at her temples when she thought no one was looking, still blinked a little too long, like she was fighting off exhaustion every second of the day. Food was out of compulsion, not hunger, for the sake of staying healthy for Maya.

And then, one night, he saw her asleep on the porch swing. Curled in on herself, arms tucked tight, shivering slightly against the cold, exhaustion dragging her under where she sat.

It took everything in him not to walk over and wake her. To shake her by the shoulder, drag her inside, make sure she was warm. It took everything in him not to care.

Because this wasn’t his anymore. He had no claim over them.

Didn’t change the fact that every time he saw Mal leaning against that railing, looking like he belonged there like he’d always belonged there—that knot in his chest twisted tighter.

And he hated that, too.

X

Joel had truly been looking forward to dinner. It was the same thing every week. He’d go over to Tommy's, have a decent meal, shoot the shit with his brother, and let Ellie fill in the gaps of conversation. It was comfortable. Familiar. Nice. A welcome change from the silence of his own home, from days spent running the same damn circuit—patrol, repairs, the bar, then back to a house that wasn’t a home, not really.

But tonight, something was off. Joel could feel it from the moment he sat down.

Maybe it was the way Maria and Ellie kept glancing at him like they were waiting for something. Or maybe it was just Tommy—sitting across from him, chewing through a mouthful of steak, his expression too nonchalant like he had something up his sleeve.

Joel didn’t think much of it at first. He focused on his food, carving through the meat, grounding himself in the scrape of his fork against the plate.

Then Tommy opened his big hole of a mouth.

"Mal’s been spending a lot of time over at Leela’s place."

Joel’s hand tensed around his knife. And just like that, his appetite was gone. He kept his face neutral and didn’t look up. Just kept chewing, lagging and deliberate motions, like he hadn’t heard a damn thing.

Tommy, either oblivious or just plain cruel, kept going. "Helpin’ out with the nursery. Putting some time in with the baby girl." He ripped a piece of bread in half, completely unaware of the way Joel’s grip had turned his fork into a weapon. "Good guy. He and Leela get along well. It's nice to see."

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose. Focused on his plate. Flattened a piece of potato with the back of his fork. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t his problem. That was the whole goddamn point, wasn’t it?

He’d helped Leela out. Gave her time. Took care of her baby. That was it. She was somebody else’s problem now. And yet, the idea of some guy stepping into his place, rocking Maya to sleep, working on the nursery, fixing things, being there—his mouth flattened into a hard line. It stung.

No. It wasn’t his place to care. He'd told himself so many times, it felt like one of those daily affirmations bullshit. Thou shall not think of thy neighbour's handyman and his fuckeries.

Though, still, before he could stop himself, the words were already out of his mouth. "Nursery ain’t even done yet."

The second it left him, he regretted it. A beat of silence.

Then, slowly, too slowly, Joel looked up—and immediately hated what he saw. Maria and Ellie were smirking. That stupid, all-too-knowing, ready-to-annoy-the-shit-out-of-him-smirk. He had the greatest urge to leave the room.

Maria lifted an eyebrow. "And how exactly would you know that, Joel?"

Joel pursed his lips casually, setting his fork down with a little too much care. "They live right across the damn street. Hard to miss."

Ellie leaned forward, propping her chin on her fist. "Right. And how much time do you spend looking across the damn street?"

He massaged the bridge of his nose. "Don’t start, Ellie."

Tommy tilted his head, giving him a look that made Joel want to knock his damn teeth out. "You’ve been actin’ real funny ever since you left that house, y’know."

"Ain’t nothin’ to act on," Joel muttered, shifting in his seat. "I helped her out. End of story. Moving on."

Tommy wasn't letting go, damn him. "Uh-huh. Then why you sittin’ here lookin’ like you just bit into a bad lemon the second her name came up?"

Joel’s jaw ticked.

"Yeah," Ellie added, grinning. "Why’s your face doing that thing?"

Joel frowned. "What thing?"

She pointed with her fork to the furrows above his eyebrows. "The thing where you pretend you don’t care, but your forehead says otherwise."

Maria hid a knowing smile behind her glass while Joel rubbed at his face consciously, glaring over at Ellie. "You could just go over there, you know."

Joel let out a short, humourless chuckle. "Oh, c'mon. For what?"

"Dinner," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Just a meal with friends. Tommy, me, you, Ellie—Leela and Maya. Nothing big."

Joel stared down at his plate. His food had gone cold.

"We don’t need to be doin’ all that," he muttered, shaking his head. Getting familiar and cosy. It'd only invite more trouble.

Maria ignored him. "She’s got that nice, big dining room. French windows. Good view of the lawn. It’d be like a little party."

Joel didn’t respond.

"Come on, man," Tommy pressed. "What’s stopping you?"

That was the question, wasn’t it? Joel wasn’t sure he had an answer. Or maybe he did—and just didn’t want to say it.

Because the truth was, he had no business going back. He’d done what he came to do. He’d helped. That was it.

But then there was Maya—her featherlight body in his arms, the way she’d reached for his shirt in her sleep. There was Leela—standing in the doorway that last morning, silent, watching him go. There was the stillness in his own house, the way he’d catch himself in the middle of the night, listening for a cry that never came. What the hell was wrong with him?

Instead, he just stabbed his fork into his potato and muttered, "Pass."

Maria and Ellie exchanged another conspiratorial glance. And Joel had the distinct feeling this wasn’t over.

Once dinner had progressed into a chore, Ellie and Joel, ever the gentleman, helped Tommy dry the dishes. Well—Joel did. Ellie, on the other hand, was just sitting on the counter, swinging her legs and cracking jokes about Tommy’s new manbun. The kitchen was warm, the soft clatter of dishes filling the space and laughter, the steak dinner still settling in Joel’s stomach.

“You’re really doing the whole ponytail thing now, huh?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, flicking on the tap. “Jesus, you sound like Joel.”

“Hey, you take that back! I am way cooler than Joel,” Ellie corrected. “And I'm a thousand times funnier. Pun-nier.”

“Debatable,” Joel muttered.

“Did Maria do this to you?” she asked, flicking a sudsy fork in Joel’s direction. “Blink twice if you need help. I've got emergency scissors.”

Tommy snorted, stacking the last plate in the cabinet. “It’s practical. And I'm starting to like it.”

Ellie tilted her head, unimpressed. “It's lazy. Tragic.”

Joel smirked but said nothing, wiping down a plate before handing it over. Tommy shot him a glare like he was expecting some backup, but Joel just shrugged. Not his fight.

Maria walked in from behind them, and Joel noticed that infuriating look on her face. Oh, nothing good would come out of this. She set a small box on the counter with a dull thud, right beside Joel. He barely glanced at it before she plopped another paper box on top—leftovers from tonight. Steak and potatoes just for a special someone.

“Could you pass this on to Leela on your way back?” she said casually, drying her hands. “It's one dose a day, each.”

Joel looked down, his hands bracing against the counter. Vitamins. Of course.

Maria tapped the food box. “And dinner.”

Joel eyed them both, then her. The way she said it, like it was no big deal. Like she hadn’t just put him in a position he couldn’t easily wiggle out of.

He sighed, already seeing where this was going. He set down the dish towel, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tommy can pass it to her tomorrow.”

Maria simply raised an eyebrow. “Meat’s gonna go bad.”

Joel narrowed his eyes. “Oh, so this is how you’re gonna play it?” He glanced at Tommy, then Ellie, both of whom were very pointedly looking elsewhere. “Really?”

Ellie grinned. “It’s a neighbourly thing to do, Joel. Don't you call yourself a gentleman?”

“I’m with her on that one,” Tommy added, crossing his arms.

Joel let out a slow, irritated breath. Family? No, just a bunch of annoying, traitorous little shits.

Maria only smiled, sliding the box closer to him. “Wouldn’t want her going without. She's already skin and bones. And you know... you live right across the damn street.”

Ellie burst out laughing, raising her fist to Maria, who bumped with her own knowing smile. “Respect.”

Joel clenched his jaw. She'd got him right where she wanted. Because now, if he didn’t take the stupid thing, he’d look like an asshole. And Maria knew that. She was being fucking shameless about it.

His gaze flickered down to the box. Then, before he could stop himself and leave them standing, an image surfaced—Leela, sitting on that damn porch swing, curled up against the cold. Maya’s tiny fingers tugging at her collar, red-cheeked, catching swirling snow in her dark curls.

Joel closed his eyes briefly. He couldn't shake it off. And he admitted it to himself, despite all his grievances against this, he missed them. He missed Leela's soft footsteps in the nursery past midnight, he missed Maya entirely. He missed the sense of normalcy once the blood and gore of patrol ended, to head to a warm home and lay down, exhausted, knowing he hadn't had a drink to fall asleep.

Then, wordlessly, he grabbed the boxes off the counter.

Ellie elbowed Tommy in the ribs, giggling. “See? Look at him. Good ol’ Joel, real man of the people.”

Joel shot her a warning look while heading over to grab his jacket, the delivery under his arm. “Don’t push it, kid.” Then pointed a threatening finger at Tommy as he yanked the front door open. “Can't believe we're related.”

Tommy only puckered his lips at him, miming a kiss. “Mensch Miller.”

X

The house across the street was unlocked again.

Joel stood at the threshold, jaw clenched, boots planted firm against the porch floorboards. The door was cracked open, swaying slightly from the evening breeze, the light from inside spilling out onto the steps. Did she even care about safety? It should’ve been locked. It should’ve been bolted shut, curtains drawn, an armoury stacked by the doorway. But Leela still acted like the world wasn’t what it was. Like Jackson was different.

It had been a whole two months since Leela brought Maya into this world, a month of struggling, of barely eating, barely sleeping, barely breathing. And now she had the nerve to leave her door wide open like she was inviting trouble? Like Jackson was some safe little haven where nothing bad could ever happen? A dangerous thing, that kind of trust. He’d seen what happened to people who had it.

His jaw ticked. He took the porch steps two at a time and pushed the door open without knocking.

Inside, the air was warm, thick with the scent of woodsmoke and something faintly sweet—baby powder, maybe, or that lavender soap Maria kept handing out. The fire crackled low in the hearth, throwing restless shadows across the room, licking at the edges of the high-backed armchair and the mathematics-riddled books and papers neatly stacked up in scatters.

And there she was, standing in front of it. Leela was running a brush through her hair, violently. Dragging it down, tangling it further, hissing under her breath when it snagged. Frustrated, impatient. Needed a haircut.

The same damn nightgown again. White, sleeveless, falling in soft folds just past her knees. But this time, his eyes caught the details—the way a single pearl button at her collar had been left open carelessly, the way the thin cotton made the dark silhouette of her body visible beneath, and the odd little cherries sewn sparsely into the fabric. Small, stitched by hand.

He had no idea why all that stood out to him. It just did. And boy, did it leave nothing to the imagination.

Leela stilled, catching sight of him in the doorway. The brush hung mid-stroke in her hand.

“Oh,” she said, like he hadn’t just barged into her house uninvited. “Hello.”

Her eyes and voice were warm. Soft, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary, as if she wasn’t standing there in nothing but a slip of a dress while the light of the fire turned her edge golden.

Joel forced his gaze away. His eyes flicked over the living room instead, to the couch against the far wall—his couch, as much as he hated to admit it. The blankets were still there, folded neatly, stacked with the pillows like she’d been expecting him to come back. His grip tightened around the boxes in his hands.

“I—” He cleared his throat, stepping forward, extending the boxes toward her. “Maria sent you some stuff.”

Leela blinked again before setting the hairbrush down, padding toward him on bare feet. She took the boxes gently, fingers barely brushing his. “Thank you, Joel,” she murmured, flashing a little smile.

“Just vitamins,” he played off.

She pried the lid off the larger box and inhaled deeply. He caught the way her nose twitched, her fingers tightening just a fraction around the edges.

“Her famous steak dinner,” he offered her.

And then, like clockwork, her stomach betrayed her, the low grumble cutting through the quiet between them. She stiffened, laughing, breathless and sheepish.

“Sorry.”

“You should eat—”

A sharp cry cut through the air, calling for her. Both their heads swung toward the staircase.

Leela sighed first, setting the boxes away. “Napkin,” she murmured, as if reciting from a schedule. “Please help yourself to anything. I’ll be right back.”

But Joel stepped forward, one arm extended, the box acting as a barrier between her and the stairs. He despised the unfamiliarity.

"Eat," he said, firm.

She hesitated. Her gaze flickered between him and the staircase, like she was weighing her options, debating whether to argue or just go along with it.

Another cry echoed from upstairs—short, needy. Joel could tell. It wasn’t hunger, wasn’t pain. Little Maya was lonely already.

“I got this,” he assured.

Leela chewed her lip. “But—”

“I know the drill.” He jerked his chin toward the kitchen. “Just eat.”

A long moment passed, heavy with hesitation. Then, finally, she relented, her shoulders sagging as she breathed in surrender. She took the box from him.

“I’ll grab a fork, I guess,” she muttered, turning toward the kitchen.

Joel smothered a grin while watching her go, and took the stairs two at a time, powerless to his anticipation. Two weeks since he held the baby girl. He'd missed the shit out of her, not that he would admit that to anybody. Of course, he wasn't about to pass up this chance for anything.

From the landing, the nursery's door cracked open, light from the hallway bleeding into the dim room. Joel frowned as he leaned in to inspect.

The first thing he noticed was that the crib had moved. His boots made no sound over the wooden floor as he stepped inside, scanning the space. The wooden shelves were up, already home to Maya's folded clothes, towels and napkins. The light installation dangled halfway, unfixed. No one had even begun work on painting the walls. No armchair. No rug.

This Mal guy was a complete jackass. Maya's nursery was a mess.

"Good with his hands, my ass," Joel muttered. "What a fuckin' tool."

Joel angrily followed the hallway light, stepping through the open doorway into the furthest bedroom, a room bigger than any he’d ever seen in Jackson.

Massive was an understatement. This was the kind of bedroom you’d see in a damn commercial—the kind of thing he would’ve scoffed at, once upon a time. The bed alone was ridiculous. Olympic-sized, sunken into a floor for itself, with plush, overstuffed pillows and thick sheets, barely disturbed. A sliding-door closet stood at the far end, pristine, untouched. A plasma-screen TV mounted to the opposite wall, thick with dust.

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line. There was something unnatural about it. The way it felt more like a untouched display than her bedroom.

Maya’s cries pulled him from his thoughts. Joel crossed the room, approaching the crib—the one he’d worked on. All pink and polished for the spoiled little girl.

The moment she saw him, her cries hitched. Big, teary brown eyes blinked up at him, wide and glistening, like she was struggling to focus. She sniffled, tiny fists flexing against the mattress, mouth wobbling around her jutting tongue, as if trying to place him.

Joel couldn't resist a grin, brushing a coarse knuckle at her soft cheek.

“Hi, baby girl.” Then leaned closer to whisper, “Traitor.”

Maya sniffled, blinking again, then reached for him—small fingers curling, grasping blindly before finding his much larger one, tugging it toward her mouth. She gummed at his gnarled knuckles with a fussy little noise, her brows furrowing in concentration.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “That ain't fair. That's your apology?”

Maya made another small whimper of a sound. And a real smile. A big, toothless, gummy grin, full of warmth and recognition. Something nearly uncoiled at his ribs.

He pulled a so-so face. “Hm, I'll bite.”

It was muscle memory, really. The way his hands moved—effortless, practised. He'd done it more than fifty times in two weeks. He made quick work of the napkin, wiping her clean, then slid his hands beneath her arms, lifting her up in one smooth motion.

He grunted as he did, “C'mere, sweetheart. You beautiful, beautiful girl. Did you miss me, huh?”

She squealed, legs kicking excitedly as he cradled her against his chest, supporting her head the way he always did. And just like that, he eased into the old rhythm without thinking. That familiar weight against him, that warmth—gentle, swaying, murmuring under his breath. It was easy. Too easy. Like breathing. Like falling asleep.

She nestled into his shoulder, tiny fist pressing against his neck, seeking his warmth. She’d gotten bigger. Not by much, but enough. Still delicate, still small—but stronger now. More aware. Smart, like her mother.

"Yeah, you missed me," he murmured when she nuzzled against his neck.

And then—pure, infallible instinct—he dipped his nose into her hair and breathed her in deep. Soft linen and old cotton, warm and faint.

Sarah used to smell like this once. For just a little while. That same invisible claw tore at his memories. Joel closed his eyes, just for a second. He remembered how, when she outgrew it, he'd missed it terribly. How he’d sometimes let her sleep curled up in his arms all night long, his back against the headboard, just to hold onto that smell. Just to keep that small, fleeting moment of innocence before the world could take it away.

That nostalgia settled deep in his ribs, quiet and whole. This seemed like the only place in the world where suffering didn’t exist. Like his hands weren’t stained with all the things he’d done, all the lives he’d taken.

Because here, right now, with Maya, he wasn’t the man who had lost and lost and lost again. He wasn’t the man who’d left behind nothing but bodies and broken promises. No, she didn’t know any of that. She didn’t care.

She only knew his warmth. She knew the steady beat of his heart, the scratch of his beard against her soft skin, and the way he said her name. She only knew him as someone safe. And fuck, he wasn’t, he wasn’t, but—

God help him, he wanted to be.

Maya sighed, a tiny, content sound, pressing closer. And Joel—he let himself believe, just for a moment, that he was clean.

A soft gasp behind him made him turn to reality and toward the door. “Oh, Maya.”

Joel turned to find Leela standing in the doorway, hand to her mouth, eyes wide in amusement. She had changed—finally—into one of those oversized sweaters he’d seen her wear on colder nights, sleeves swallowing her hands. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at his chest.

Joel frowned. “What?”

Leela bit her lip, trying—failing—to smother a smile. She motioned vaguely toward him. Joel tracked her finger and glanced to the side. And felt it. Hot, damp.

Damned baby spit-up.

Maya’s little betrayal soaked through the fabric of his shirt, spreading down from his collar and shoulder to his chest in an uneven, milky stain. She smacked her lips contentedly against his collarbone, completely unaware of the mess she’d just made.

He sighed, shifting her to the other arm. He levelled her with a playful glare. “You gonna warn me next time you ruin my shirt, darlin'?”

Maya only gurgled in response, a soft, pleased little sound.

And then, following her daughter—Leela laughed.

Not the quiet, polite kind that he'd managed out of her once. Not the forced kind, either. A real laugh. Breathless, unexpected, warm. Like it had slipped out before she could stop it.

Joel felt it like a slow-moving punch to the gut. He didn’t hear that sound often. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard it before on his account. He'd finally done it.

It changed something about her, softening her face in a way that caught him off guard. Her eyes creased at the corners, the tightness in her shoulders eased, the exhaustion in her expression smoothed over—just for a moment.

It did something strange to him. Something he didn’t have the time to name. So he just exhaled sharply, muttering a curse under his breath as he adjusted Maya over to the other arm, rubbing a hand over his damp shirt.

“Yeah, real funny. Your girl just aired her paunch all over me,” he grumbled.

Leela tried to sober up, apologizing, but another chuckle slipped out in between, and Joel caught the way she bit her lip, fighting to suppress it.

She was enjoying this. And he was in big fucking trouble.

"Don't move. I'll get you a spare shirt," she said, laughing, before walking to the adjacent closet doors.

Joel didn’t even get the chance to protest before Leela slid one side of the closet doors open, revealing—sweet Jesus.

His eyes landed on the neat rows of men’s clothing hanging inside. Not just a few misplaced items, not something left behind by chance. An entire collection.

Button-downs, slacks, henleys—clothes meant for daily wear. Added into the mix, were pressed suits, the kind that cost more than a month’s worth of supplies, the kind men used to wear to skyscrapers and boardrooms, back when the world was still upright. And golf shirts. For fuck’s sake, golf shirts.

Joel’s jaw hinged back up. Golf was a rich man’s game. He’d worked jobs near country clubs in his past life, and seen the kind of people who played. Men with money. Her father, perhaps.

Leela had definitely grown up rich. And looking at this—this untouched wealth, just sitting here, long past its time—it became clear. She probably still was.

Joel’s grip on Maya shifted slightly, the warmth of the baby pressing into his chest the only real thing anchoring him as his eyes dragged over the closet once more.

For all that Leela lived like a ghost, for all that she barely let anyone near her, this place still held echoes of what she came from. A past life that didn’t match the woman he’d seen standing at her front door, exhausted and hollow-eyed, desperate for her baby to stop crying.

Leela flipped through the hangers without hesitation, fingers brushing past labels he recognized—Armani, Burberry, Hollister. Eventually, she pulled out a green pullover. Soft, fine material. A little small for him, but it’d do.

She turned, offering it wordlessly.

Joel didn’t move to take it right away.

He was still staring at the closet. Not because he gave a damn about how much a fucking sweater cost, or whether she had a trust fund hidden away somewhere, but because it told him something. Something he hadn’t really thought about before.

Leela had come from comfort. Stability. A world where things were taken care of. And yet she’d buried herself in this big, empty house, alone, fighting tooth and nail to survive—like everyone else. And she never asked for help.

Leela cleared her throat. "It should fit. My father was a tall man."

Joel managed a sigh, shifting Maya in his arms. He took the pullover with one hand, already halfway through plucking open the buttons of his flannel.

While he worked, Leela stepped closer, ready to take Maya. She was quick about it, but Joel caught the way her fingers lingered, just for a second, as she scooped the baby up from his arms. Not on Maya.

On him.

Joel really tried to push it out of his head, write it off as an illusion, already plucking open the buttons of his shirt. His fingers brushed the fabric, and he paused when he caught the tag inside. Ralph Lauren, for fuck's sake.

Leela noticed with a small smile. "I didn’t take you for a man with fancy taste," she mused.

Joel let out a dry snort. "Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it."

He pulled off his flannel, the sleeves catching briefly on his wrists before he tossed it aside. The room wasn’t cold, but the air bit at his skin anyway. The scars felt it first—every healed cut, every old wound stretched over knotted muscle, each one a reminder of what his body had been through.

"Oh, man," he couldn't help but grunt, stretching his arms.

He worked the pullover over his head in one smooth motion, the fabric soft, snug across his shoulders. Felt like something he would’ve bought for Sarah back in the day, something she’d pull from a Macy’s rack, nodding in approval before insisting, "Dad, just try it on."

It fit better than he expected, but Joel barely registered that. His body had begun to ache. Not in one place—everywhere. It was late at night, it was cold, he missed his daily dose of whiskey, and he needed sleep for tomorrow.

The exhaustion sat in his bones now, permanent and familiar. His bad knee throbbed, aggravated from the cold, from the weight he put on it patrolling for hours at a time. His back had never been the same after that one fall, a long time ago. Some mornings, he woke up and could barely stand straight, feeling every single one of his years sink into him.

And yet, his body still held. Still worked. It wasn’t much to look at anymore. Not that it ever had been.

He had no delusions about himself—he wasn’t built for admiration. Never had been. Picking up girls and fooling around; was Tommy's thing. He wasn’t the kind of man people looked at twice, not in the way that mattered. His body told a story, but not the sort anyone wanted to read or had a happy ending,

His hands were ruined things, thick with callouses from years of exertion, from gripping rifle stocks, from skinning game, from chopping wood in the dead of winter. His knuckles were perpetually split, healing just enough before the next fight, the next job, the next reason to curl his fists. Scars mapped his skin, uneven and jagged, old bullet wounds and knife cuts, hard edges, marks of a life spent fighting for something—for anything.

He wasn’t young anymore. He wasn’t some smooth-talking son of a bitch with a face that turned heads. He was always angry at something, thinking about something, readying his next step, even if it was a complete waste of his time.

But he was still formidable. He could protect. He could endure the rough-hewn demands of survival, even now. He could fight like hell. That had to count for something.

But Leela—she wasn’t staring, exactly. Wasn’t not staring, either. It was subtle. Barely there. A flicker of something implicit, something fleeting, the way her gaze traced along his arms, his shoulders, abdomen, the sharp cut of his collarbone before snapping away. As if she hadn’t meant to look, and she’d caught herself a second too late.

Joel had been around long enough to recognize when a woman was checking him out. And hell—he wasn’t gonna lie to himself. It made him feel good. Fucking fantastic, really. Like he could wake up tomorrow feeling twenty years younger. Like he could leap right out of bed and his back wouldn’t stiffen before noon. Like he still had something left in him worth looking at.

He wasn’t an idiot, though. He wasn't going to let it go to his head.

Leela adjusted Maya in her arms, moving her weight as if giving herself something to do, something to focus on that wasn’t him.

And Joel—he pretended not to notice. Didn’t say a damn word about it. Didn’t shift under her gaze, didn’t smirk at her, didn’t let her see that she’d gotten under his skin in a way he hadn’t expected.

Just muttered a quiet, "Thanks," and left it at that.

Leela hummed in response, turning away to lay Maya down, who was already dozing her little head off, into the crib with practised care. Then, just as easily, she pivoted back to her bedside dresser, fingers moving over a stack of neatly folded quadrille paper.

"Can you pass something to Tommy for me?" she asked, voice soft, controlled. "It’s really important he gets this as soon as possible."

Joel might not have paid it much mind, might’ve brushed it off as just another errand he wasn’t keen on running—but then he saw it. The way her posture stiffened, the way her hands smoothed over the edges of the papers like they were something fragile, something vital. But whatever this was—it mattered.

She flipped through the pages, and for the first time since he’d met her, he saw something rare. Excitement. A flicker of life.

"It’s a wonderful breakthrough, Joel," she said, and there was a rare enough lightness in her voice, bordering on unguarded enthusiasm.

Joel just blinked. Leela wasn’t the type to get excited. Or maybe he's just never seen it in her before.

"So, I’ve been working on…" then she went into something technical for his dense mind, talking fast in words that blurred together. It all went miles over his head. Circuits, electrical theory, conduction points—half of it might as well have been a foreign language.

Joel just stared when she finished with a deep breath.

Leela instantly caught the look and pursed her lips. "Okay, um. Let me put it this way."

She shifted toward him, gesturing as she spoke, putting it into Layman's terms. "You know how the dam stops producing enough energy in winter? When the river freezes over?"

Joel gave a slow nod.

"So we rely on fuel, but fuel’s very limited. We've got the town expanding, and people coming in. So our batteries drain. If we had an alternative energy source, something reliable—" She held up the paper, tapping a rough sketch. "And that’s where this comes in."

Her hands moved as she spoke, cutting through the air with sharp, purposeful gestures. Not just passion, not just expertise. Conviction.

"Lightning is erratic, but it’s raw power. Joules of energy. Think about it. If we can direct a strike into a controlled medium—like a graphene capacitor—we can store it."

Joel narrowed his eyes, the concept clicking into his lagging brain. "So what, you think you can catch a goddamn thunderstorm and turn it into a battery?"

Leela wheezed a quiet laugh. "More or less."

He thought about it. "Seems like a hell of a thing to gamble on."

"It’s not a gamble. It’s math. Physics. It will work, Joel, I know it."

Joel didn’t argue. He didn’t understand it, not really, but he’d seen Leela work before. He trusted her genius. The nights she couldn't sleep—he’d sometimes blink awake to the sound of chalk scraping against a blackboard, catching sight of her standing there in the dim glow of the bulb, mapping something out with surgical precision. Or hunched over a notebook, scribbling feverishly, lost in calculations that only made sense to her.

It wasn’t just her passion—it was her outlet. A relief. A tether to something greater than herself, something she could control before she lost herself completely in the demands of motherhood. And if this was what she was holding onto, then perhaps it was more than just an idea.

She tucked the paper back into the stack, leveling him with a quiet look. "I also have a prototype," she said simply.

Joel raised a brow.

Leela nodded toward the hallway. "It’s in the basement if you want to see."

Joel wasn’t big on machines. Or gear. The finer technical details weren’t for him. But—he glanced at her, at the way she stood, weight shifting from foot to foot, something unreadable behind her eyes.

She wasn’t pushing him. She was waiting.

After a beat, he sighed, tilting his head toward the door. "Lead the way, ma'am."

X

The stairs were steep, the kind that creaked under their weight, but Joel kept a firm hold on Leela’s elbow, steadying her as they made their way down. She was still weak. Too breakable. As far as his knowledge went, she should've gotten better by now. And how the hell was she supposed to do that when she barely ate without cringing?

Joel had half a mind to tell her that, to point out how unsteady she was, how she winced when she put too much pressure on her feet—but she’d just brush him off with a shaky smile. So instead, he let out a quiet breath through his nose and adjusted his grip, keeping her close until they reached the bottom.

"There you go. Watch that last step," he guided as gently as he could.

She glanced up at him from the fringes of a smile, letting his hands go. "Thank you."

He expected damp walls, waterlogged corners, mould creeping up the corners, and a basement that smelled like rot and rust. As what he had been always used to when he went scouring towns nearby for supplies. What he got instead stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Well, I’ll be damned," he blew out.

It was a workshop. A big-ass one. Tools lined up on the magnetic walls, neatly arranged, half-finished projects sitting on a worktable, schematics pinned up in careful rows. More of Leela's notes and markers, taped-up designs. Funny how there was life only around all this machinery. Off to the side, an old wine cellar, the glass cases still intact, though the bottles inside were coated in dust.

And then—the cars.

Joel let out a low whistle. Two of them. Just sitting there like some abandoned luxury showroom. One was a Dodge Aspen, a classic in its own right. All violet and under repair. But the other...—his eyes caught the silver emblem glinting under the dim basement light. A prancing horse on the red steel.

"Come on," he muttered in disbelief, stepping forward, barely resisting the urge to run his hand over the hood. "Is that a… Maranello?"

Leela took a deep breath, still recovering from the stairs. "Yes. Custom made. Not sure if there's any left out there anymore."

"Holy shit." His fingers flexed at his sides. He didn’t want to seem desperate, but fuck, when was the last time he’d seen something like this? Much less, been this close?

"Can I, uh…" He gestured indistinctly at the car.

Leela flashed him a small grin. "Knock yourself out. The door's unlocked."

He didn’t need to be told twice. Joel reached out, fingers brushing over cool, crimson steel before yanking the door open. The new car smell hit him right in the face—leather, polish, something untouched by time. His chest tensed at the familiarity of it.

He slid into the driver’s seat, running his hands over the wheel, the knitting around the stick shift, and the soft beige leather of the custom interior. And just for a second—he let himself imagine it. Top down. Gliding down the I-10, no speed limits, no patrols, just him and the open road, wind in his hair, sun on his face, Raybans on. That dream all felt like a lifetime ago.

A soft knock on the passenger side window startled him back to reality.

Leela’s face appeared through the glass, her lips quirked in amusement. "Should I leave you two alone?"

Joel huffed, turning slightly to mask the grin tugging at his mouth. She opened the door and drudged her way inside, moving slowly. The descent had taken more out of her than she was willing to admit.

When she shut the door, he immediately rolled down his window, straining his ears toward the stairs. The one time he wished his hearing wouldn't betray him. Had he locked the door upstairs? Could he hear Maya if she cried? What if he couldn’t? How come Leela didn't seem to think about this? God, this girl really had no clue.

Her voice broke into his thoughts. "I wish I knew how to drive it." She ran her hand absentmindedly over the dashboard, voice softer now, almost wistful. "I believe the last great invention of man was the automobile."

"You said it," he mumbled.

Joel glanced at her and did a little mental math. She must’ve been nine, maybe ten when the outbreak hit. No middle school. No high school. No road trips, no late-night drives with her friends, music blasting. No first kiss. Just one world ending, and another one starting—a crueler one.

Leela exhaled, long and slow, sinking deeper into the leather seat like she could melt into it. Her fingers drummed idly on the handlebars, tracing invisible patterns, slipping into an old rhythm—one she didn’t even seem aware of.

Then, soft as a whisper, she started humming.

It was unhurried, quiet, like something she’d sung to herself a thousand times before. But it was enough to make Joel pause, something about the tune pulling at him. A half-buried memory, something from before. He knew that song. Hadn’t heard it in years, but it was still there, lodged somewhere deep in the creases of his mind.

"That’s—" He frowned, tilting his head, listening closer. "That Patsy Cline?"

Leela glanced up, surprise flickering across her face before something warmer took its place. "Walkin’ After Midnight. Yeah."

Joel hid a grin. "That is way before your time."

"So?" She smirked, tipping her head back against the seat, fingers still tapping, moving. "I had old parents. Rubbed off on me."

A layer beneath her words made Joel tread carefully. He, of all people, knew how age could sit heavy on a person, how some things weren’t worth prying open.

"Can’t have been that old," he muttered, though he wasn’t sure why he said it.

"My mom was seventy-eight when she passed."

Joel blinked. "W-o-w." The syllables came out slow, one after the other before he could stop himself.

Leela let out a quiet laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes this time. She glanced down, her fingers still moving, trailing over the leather, the stitching, following some old path only she could see.

"I miss them every day," she said, voice softer now, more distant. "I’m grateful they singled me out of those photographs. Brought me here." She gestured vaguely to the house above her, her home, before exhaling, like she was letting something go. "I just hope I’m doing them proud."

Joel felt something shift, and he realized: too much sharing. It had to go both ways. And he was never going to be ready for that. So he did what he did best, avoided and threw her off the scent.

"Man," he said abruptly, with a cluck of his tongue, "if I had the keys and some fuel, I’d ride the hell outta this beauty." The words came out before he could stop them. "And die a happy old man."

Leela laughed. A loud laugh, sounding much like her daughter just then, deep in her chest, like she hadn't done it in a long time.

"It’s got fuel," she said, still grinning. "You can still ride it."

"Just sitting here like it's nothing." He shook his head, a small laugh rolling out. "Christ. This is amazing."

He glanced down at the stick shift, thumb absently tracing the edge of the gear knob, but something else caught his eye.

Her nightgown. Hitched up, ruffled around the tops of her thighs, loose fabric pooling where she sat. Bare skin. Soft, smooth, taut over lean bone—too much of it. The way she shifted, unthinking, rubbing one knee over the other, restless. He felt a rock dislodge in his throat.

Fuck. For all that he could be—a guardian, a protector—he had to be a man.

His fingers curled against his palm, an old instinct, something long-trained. Look away, don’t think about it. He turned back to the wheel, forcing his eyes forward. Dashboard. Windshield. Glove compartment. The thin layer of dust coating the steering column. Anything but the way one more inch of movement would have left too much for his mind to comprehend.

But the problem was—she hadn’t bothered to fix it. She didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t care. So why should he?

He swallowed, jaw flexing tight. Because that was the kind of man he was. Greying, frustrated, scarce on love.

His fingers twitched, itching for something to do, something to grab. Instead, he moved without thinking, across the partition—one finger. Just a light tug, barely a breath of a touch, dragging the hem of her gown down, covering her knees. A simple thing. A quiet thing. A mistake.

Her whole body jerked, a sharp intake of breath—like she’d been touched by fire. Really, Joel felt it more than he saw it. The way her muscles tensed, a shudder raced, the quick clutch of her fingers as she held the fabric in place now, suddenly conscious of it.

Shit.

He withdrew instantly, fingers curling into a fist on the steering wheel. Should’ve just minded his goddamn business. Stupid, stupid man.

For a second, the air between them felt too tight. Even with the windows rolled down and winter winds howling outside, he broke into a sweat.

"Didn't see it," she mumbled.

He just shook his head, a small, dismissive grunt, keeping his eyes straight ahead. And that was that.

But the silence that settled over them after wasn’t comfortable. Not one either of them knew how to break.

Joel exhaled through his nose, fixing his stare on the windshield., fingers tapping slowly against the wheel, like he could smooth out the moment just by waiting it out. Jesus, he should’ve never touched her. Should’ve let it be.

“So, that prototype of yours,” he attempted to distract, voice rough. “You got it nearby?”

No response.

He frowned, risked a glance at her—and stopped cold.

Leela sat stiff in the passenger seat, her posture folded in on itself. One slender hand curled at her side, gripping the hem of her nightgown tight until her knuckles went white, the other was pressed to her face, knuckles braced against her nose. Her eyes filled with tears in seconds.

A long, slow breath in, too shaky.

Joel’s stomach sank. He knew that sound. He had seen a lot of it in his time. Had seen grief in all its forms—loud, violent, shattering. But this—this was different. This was quiet, heavy, desperate.

Her shoulders hitched, her breath sucking in too sharp like she was holding something back—something about to give.

And then, just like that, as if a thread had been cut, she sucked in another sharp breath, her whole body curling forward, hands coming up to cover her face—and it hit.

That same soft, keening sound he’d heard from her room almost every night. The one that came through thin walls, muffled by pillows, engulfed by fatigue.

But this time, she wasn’t hiding.

And Joel—he didn’t know what to do. His hands flexed against the wheel, confused and useless.

She wasn’t supposed to be crying. Not because of his pathetic self. Whichever way he saw it, this was his fault. He’d crossed a line, broken through a wall he’d meant to keep standing, and now she was here—crying. Because he couldn't keep his hands to himself.

His mouth opened, and his throat worked, but nothing happened. Fuck. What the hell was he even supposed to say? Everything seemed inappropriate. There was no justification for what he'd done.

His fingers curled tighter, nails digging into his palm. He had to fix it. Before it got worse.

His voice came out too rough, uncertain. “I'm sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Just go.”

It hit like a crack of thunder. A faint, clear command, strangled between a cry. His stomach twisted.

He hesitated for half a second, long enough to hear the way her breath hitched, how her fingers curled deeper into her hair, how she looked like she wanted to fold in on herself, disappear into the goddamn leather seat.

He swallowed, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

He'd had seen women cry before. Ellie, Tess, hell even Maria. He’d occasionally held them while they did. But not this. Not her. And he hated—hated—that it was because of him.

His fingers flexed against his sides, fighting the instinct to reach out, to fix something he wasn’t sure could be fixed. But she’d made herself perfectly clear. To leave her alone.

So he did.

He wrenched the door open, barely registering the way it swung shut behind him. Didn’t look back, didn’t breathe until he was back up the stairs and out the door.

As he jogged down the porch stairs, the cold biting sharper now, cutting straight through the thick weave of his sweater, Joel tried to breathe. Snowflakes clung to the expensive fabric, melting fast, sinking in. He barely noticed. His inhales came long, exhales too short, not quite ragged, but uneven—like he couldn’t get enough air, like something in his chest was pressing down too hard, and no matter how deep he pulled, it wasn’t letting up.

It wasn’t panic. He knew what that felt like all too well.

This was different. A slow, creeping wrongness. A feeling that something had already slipped through his fingers, something he hadn’t even realized he was holding onto. And now it was gone, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to fix it.

He pressed a hand to his mouth, and wiped it down the scruff on his jaw, trying to steady himself, trying to shove it all back where it belonged. It wasn’t working.

His fingers curled into an aching fist. His breath fogged in the air in clouds.

He needed that fucking drink now.

X

The cold still lingered in the morning air, settling deep in Joel’s bones, but that wasn’t the only thing weighing him down. He hadn’t slept worth a damn. Tossed and turned all night, drifting in and out of restless half-dreams—images he didn’t want, memories he didn’t need. He woke up cold, despite the blankets, with a dull ache in his joints, and a scratch in his throat. Maybe from the weather. Maybe from something else.

Didn’t matter.

What mattered was getting out of that house. Getting up, getting moving. Keeping his hands busy, keeping his mind from straying where it wanted to go—back to last night, back to the way she had curled in on herself, hands to her face, shaking with something he couldn’t fix. He despised being around something unfixable. Made him feel incompetent.

He gripped the stack of papers tighter, the edges digging into his fingers as he stepped into the stables. Tommy was there, adjusting the saddle on one of the mares, humming some old tune under his breath. The familiar smell of hay, leather, and horse filled the space, grounding Joel in the moment. He clung to that.

“Tommy,” Joel called, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

Tommy glanced up, brow lifting in mild curiosity. “Mornin’, brother. No hard feelings from last night,” he said, giving the straps one last tug before stepping back. His gaze flickered to the papers in Joel’s hand. “What’s all this?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just extended them out. Tommy brushed his palms off before taking them, flipping through the pages absentmindedly—until he wasn’t. His fingers slowed, putting together the pieces, his brows knitting together, his mouth parting just slightly.

"What in the... I mean—I talked to her about this,” Tommy muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "Told her we'd be having trouble. That was last week.” He let out a low breath, rubbing at his mouth as he stared at the pages like they had just appeared out of thin air. "She really did all this?"

Joel exhaled with a slight grin, feeling like someone had just handed him a gold star. An odd feeling settled in his chest—one he didn’t quite know what to do with. It wasn’t his place to feel this way, no right to. But still, pride curled warm and solid in his ribs.

“She stayed up workin’ on ‘em,” Joel muttered, not quite looking at him.

Tommy let out a short whistle, shaking his head. “Christ. This little genius just saved our asses out of the red.” He waved the papers at him. “Takin' this straight to Maria.”

Joel rolled his shoulders, clearing his throat. “Not just yet. There's a page is missing.”

Tommy paused and frowned, flipping through again. “The hell you talkin’ about?”

Joel crossed his arms, tilting his head. “I’ll give it to you if you let me fix that nursery instead of that goddamn kid.”

Tommy looked up at that, blinking. Then, realization dawned, slow and amused. His mouth curved into a smirk.

“For real, Joel?”

Joel scoffed, shaking his head. “Can’t even fix shelves right.”

Tommy cocked a brow. “He's just doing his job.”

“Little shit damn near had it fallin’ apart the last time I was there,” he argued. “Look, do you want the page or not? I'll just feed it to the horse.”

Tommy let out a sharp laugh, tipping his head back slightly. “You really got a bone to pick with this poor guy, huh?”

Joel’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t answer. Just kept his arms crossed, eyes unwavering. He wasn't backing down just yet.

Tommy shook his head, flipping the last page with a chuckle. “Fine, fine. You can fix whatever you want.” Then, without missing a beat, he held out his hand. “Now gimme the damn page.”

Joel handed it over without another word. But the way Tommy was still looking at him—grinning like he had something to say but was letting Joel walk away with his dignity intact—had him turning on his heel before his brother could get the last word in.

X

[ wow you read this far! now, if you're still reading, I'd just like to know - what song crept into your mind, about Joel or Leela, as you read this chapter? For Joel, definitely: Pain and Misery by The Teskey Brothers and as for Leela, ooooh: Wasteland by Royal & the Serpent! what about you? ]

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[protaetia]

Though i agree, it would be nice to see fantasy that explores its constructed cultures beyond "the gygaxian colonial-anthroplogical register" (I like this phrasing) I also don't think we should limit ourselves to anthropological racism done consciously either. I think the original post by tsarina-anadyomene is deserving of critique. Saying this as someone who reblogged and generally agreed/jived with that post, why jump to storytelling in an anthropological sense? I would say that type of thinking is perhaps what got us to the DnD world of hats.

To follow an anthropological, theological, even intellectual history way of thinking about story is still working within a western academic framework, it's to write in a way that is still easier to digest for those in the imperial core. And, like, as an english speaking member of the imperial core that is how I write anyways, even as someone from a racially marginalized group (with half my family being from the global south), but I would like to critique that. I think it's a good idea to critique that, to look outside of those frameworks, even if I'll still be writing for an english speaking imperial core audience.

Because even if this anthropology/theology/intellectual history way of thinking about a story produces something more interesting than Orcs evil and Elves Good, it still follows this way of thinking of an "outsider" culture as a puzzle to pick apart and analyze for the observer's pleasure. I think that's something worth wondering about.

I think this is a discussion worth having. I like this.

"fantasy writers should be more anthropology brained" love to see you guys wanting to emphasise the racism central to much of the genre

[shalfeis]

hsr characters as your pets, namely cats. I hope you enjoy it. I apologize for the possible ooc.

reader x dan heng, caelus, phainon (separately)

Dan Heng

A very calm and non-confrontational cat. Gets along well with other pets, if they are in your house.

Not picky about food, but still prefers your cooking. If you feed him something delicious, you can hear him purring softly.

Unlike many other cats, he is not afraid of water. On the contrary, he willingly goes into the water if it is cool or warm. He calmly waits until all the spa treatments are completed, which makes your job much easier.

He's not the most talkative, affectionate and active cat in the world, but he always responds when you call him. He always listens attentively to you when you're talking enthusiastically. And at night he likes to lie down on your feet, warm them and purr softly.

If you're sad, in pain, or crying, he'll try to comfort you by rubbing against you, purring, and snuggling up to you. Needless to say, it more than helps?

You often lose some small things, such as keys, and somehow he always finds them and brings them to you. You don't understand how he does it, but it's still very nice.

As for outsiders, he doesn't particularly like them coming. He reacts calmly to them, but always stays away. For example, he's sitting on the couch and watching a new person in your house.

It is not strongly attached to its habitat, it is more attached to its owner, that is, to you. He'll miss the old house, of course, but he's also not against moving. He even shows interest in his new place of residence.

He loves you very much, just like you love him. You thank everyone you can for getting such a good friend and pet.

Caelus

And this is not a cat, but a disaster. Unlike Dan Heng, he is very active and constantly gets into some strange situations. He definitely has a talent for it.

He's certainly not picky about food, he'll eat anything you give him. Sometimes it seems to you that he has a black hole instead of a stomach, because how the hell does he fit so much and he's still hungry??

He's not afraid of water either, but you should be patient, because you won't be able to do spa treatments in peace. As already mentioned, he's very active, so you need to keep him occupied so that he doesn't think to leave the bath in the middle of the procedure. That already was, and you were ready to kill him.

Very talkative. It doesn't matter if you're busy with something or not, he'll say whatever he thinks. But if he's quiet and you can't hear him, then this can only mean two options. First, he's done something wrong and is trying to cover up the crime. The second one, he's not feeling well.

He is also very playful. You have a lot of different toys at home. But for some reason, the box and the packages are his favorites.

This kid is like ginger cats, you'll never guess what came into his head. At first he may purr and caress, and the next moment he wakes up in him the desire to bite you. Or he suddenly attacks you from around the corner when you least expect it.

Nevertheless, at night he likes to lie down next to you and purr like a tractor. And loudly. But somehow it's like white noise to you, and it's hard to fall asleep without it.

He immediately notices when you feel bad. He may not be very good at comforting, but the fact that he's trying to cheer you up, albeit clumsily, makes you feel better.

If Dan Heng is the one who finds your lost things, then Caelus is the one who gets your things lost. You find them in the most unexpected places. How did he even manage to hide the TV remote in the cupboard??

He is interested in every new visitor to your house. He won't be as affectionate and talkative with them as he is with you, but he won't stay away either. He will look at a person with interest and, for example, touch him with his paw or, if he likes a person, play with him.

Wherever you go, he will always be curious. He will actively explore new territory and get to know the world around him. He looks so cute in those moments, he's like a child.

Even though he's a walking disaster and often gets on your nerves, he's still very attached to you and loves you very much. He's not perfect, but that's why you love him.

Phainon

And here we are, have the perfect balance. Quite calm, but quite playful at the same time. Gets along well with other pets. And he doesn't give you any problems.

He's not picky about food, but like Dan Heng, he prefers your cooking more. He purrs softly if the food is really delicious.

He is very willing to go into the water. You can tell by his whole appearance that he enjoys spa treatments. That's why he always smells delicious and his coat is shiny.

As already mentioned, although he's calm, he doesn't mind playing either. You have several toys that he likes to play with.

He's a walking anti-stress guy, not a cat. It's enough for him to meow a couple of times, purr and settle on your feet, and your stress and fatigue go away instantly. At night, you sleep soundly with him in your arms. He purrs softly so as not to wake you up, and warms you up. Dream.

He's your little helper. He finds lost items even before you realize that you've lost something somewhere in the house, and brings them to you. You're very interested in how he does it. Or he calls you when you ask for it. For example, if you ask him to call you when the water starts to boil, he will actually call you. Sometimes it seems to you that there is a person in the body of a cat next to you, and not an ordinary cat.

When you're working, he either sits next to you or on your lap, waiting for you to finish your work. Needless to say, how does it add motivation to finish everything as quickly as possible?

Not to say that he's against strangers in your home. He won't shy away from them, but he won't fawn over them either. His affection belongs only to you. He will sit next to you and calmly look at the guest.

The change of location scares him a little, but he tries not to show it. While you're around, he's exploring a new area with interest and caution. He looks so cute that you can't resist taking a few photos.

Anyway, you have a whole photo album with him. He's too photogenic and handsome, there's nothing you can do about it. And it doesn't look like he's against it.

He's very attached to you and loves you very much. You feel the same way, so there's an idyll in your house. You don't even need a boyfriend with a cat like that.

[the-traveling-poet]

So Clumsy In Love

~ Valentine’s Day Special ~

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎~ As resourceful and observant as Levi is, one thing about his new life above ground still throws him for a loop; how could such a simple concept as romance be so difficult for him to understand? You made him nervous—confused and unfocused. Eventually he grows tired of fearing his own emotions, and finds the perfect excuse to spend time with you; the Valentine’s Day festival downtown.

𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉~ Levi Ackerman x GN!Reader, SFW, v-day themes, inexperienced love, language, cannon-verse, Levi being awkward and crass.

𝒜/𝒩~ Just a lil V-Day fic, since I missed out on doing something for Thanksgiving and Christmas :) Happy Valentines lovelies!

I might make this a mini-series eventually?? Lemme know what you think!! See below for more Levi content.

{ 1.9k words }

It had been an honest mistake, hadn't it?

How should he have known your interpretation of his words wouldn't be what he'd intended you to pick up on?

Though, in hindsight, perhaps he'd subconsciously worried you'd mistake his intent all along—he wasn't known for his poetry. He more than anyone knew this as fact.

The intended compliment he quietly uttered your way could have been more carefully thought out, to avoid confusion. The hand-up after a round on the training grounds could have been a bit more delicate, less forceful and rigid. Hell, even the smile he'd flashed your way last week probably looked more like a grimace or a scowl, now that he thought about it.

Levi honestly had tried to find a way to convey what he felt for you, in any way shape or form—but in all honesty, he wasn't good at this.

Humanity's Strongest Soldier...Seemed more fit to label him Humanity's Most Awkward Bachelor.

Life above ground has been more than he anticipated it to be; so many new sights to behold, so many new things to learn... Back in the Underground, things were much more to the point than they were up here. Much more crass, much more invasive, so much more painful...Up here, on the surface, all of that could easily apply: to certain circumstances—yet never quite so harshly as it was below the surface.

At least, that’s how Levi views it, as a fresh Scout within the Survey Corps. Perhaps one day his interpretation would change.

With having to learn how to read the people of the surface, and adapt to their so-called proper way of life, Levi was left feeling adrift. The stark contrast between their social cues and those of the underground was nothing short of overwhelming.

So, to say that romance was uncharted territory for him would be a vast understatement. It was one thing he’d never expected, never even thought on. He'd never had time for it in the past. He'd been busy surviving, and providing. But now? Now...He wasn't so sure that he couldn't carve out some time between his new duties in the Scouts to understand his emotions a bit more.

Especially the ones he'd recently taken notice of regarding you—the ones that made him stutter whenever you were around, and avoid prolonged eye contact when you spoke. The ones that sparked a warm flutter in the pit of his stomach whenever you laughed, or chanced a smile his way.

It was near maddening, in the beginning. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t understand why he felt what he did. Briefly he recalled having been urged to just really think about it, to make up his mind and listen to his own heart. He’d scoffed at them, the damned bespectacled squad leader—always sticking their nose into his business. But maybe they had a point…

So eventually, he’d done just that; he’d sorted his thoughts and his feelings, dwelling heavily over them for quite some time. Eventually, gradually, he’d discovered that the attraction he held towards you was more than just a fleeting admiration for a fellow Scout.

It was so much more than that.

Such a simple notion should have come much easier to him, as self-observant as he was. His own stubborn pride had kept it hidden away from him, though.

Until now, that is.

Now, it was all he could focus on.

Every moment he wasn’t fully focused on a task, his mind would slip back into a pattern of obsession—fond observations he’d made about you over the many long months he’d been enlisted.

He’d watched you, unbeknownst to you.

Not so much in a way that would border on stalking, but merely keeping himself at a distance, silently absorbing every little fact he’d pick up on and store it away for a later time to muse over.

He found himself admiring you, out of sight. Certainly out of mind to you. Even after the revelation he’d made of his feelings, he couldn’t help but continue to keep his distance and simply watch you go about your days.

Stubborn as he had been, he truly was trying to understand himself whenever you were around. It wasn’t like him to be so unsure—so nervous, even. He’d watch you train, clean, socialize; all at a distance. He wouldn’t dare approach you and intervene with your time, worried he might somehow soil the moment for you, more so than for himself. He’d always frowned on obsessive stalkers in the past; he wasn’t about to become one himself. And yet…Here he was. Pining. Wishing, hoping…Pathetically entranced by all that you were.

In the present, he cursed himself. He’d mustered up the courage to face you in a way much softer than he usually preferred, hoping to not startle or offend you in any way this time. And yet, despite his careful planning, he’d managed to make the moment more awkward than endearing. Once again, the silly cycle repeated itself.

“The hell even was that?” he grumbled to himself, quietly so as not to be heard by passerbyers.

“Why the hell didn’t I just say what I initially thought, instead of butchering any chance I could have had?”

Levi sat alone in his newly appointed office now, silently contemplating his actions the day before.

He really had meant it as a compliment—it had not come across this way. Instead of seeing the smile on your face that he was after, he was met with a furrowed brow and a set of pursed lips.

“I don’t suppose you find yourself funny?”

Your quietly spoken words still echoed in his mind.

What had started as a feeble attempt at pursuing a conversation with you after a meeting—in hopes to steer it in a more progressive direction—ended abruptly in narrowed gazes and an awkward silence.

“Idiot, fucking idiot…” he muttered as an afterthought to himself, standing up to pace the small space.

He’d heard tell of an event celebrated amongst the people born and raised above ground—some sort of ‘lovers day’, meant to bring attention to a love one held for another. Initially, he thought it was corny. A little ridiculous, even. Soldiers and civilians alike would participate in this festival of sorts, celebrating ‘romance and unity’.

‘Pointless. Waste of a good coin. Waste of time.’ He’d once proclaimed.

It took him falling in love to understand why any such thing would be celebrated as a ‘holiday’ worth entertaining.

Now that he had fallen for another, however, he suddenly could understand. Even just a little.

He’d pondered over such an idea for months, long before the event would take place. At first he brushed it off as some teenage fantasy, asking the one person he admired from a distance to join him on a night of fresh starts and new experiences—some ridiculous little event to finally express his heart to you.

But after some time, in which he truly began to understand what he felt for you…The idea seemed plausible, at the very least.

Cringy, maybe. Satisfactory, definitely.

Eventually he’d made up his mind, only a couple of days before the dreaded date. He would ask you to celebrate: with him.

He’d hoped to ask you if you would join him for dinner—maybe walk amongst the festivities together, as a way to indulge in the festival being held in the town square. Maybe there he could admit to you, in some way or another, how he favored you above all others. How he wanted to pursue something, anything with you—if you’d let him. Only if you shared his ambition.

But of course, approaching this subject with you only made his clumsiness worse. The attempt he’d made at broaching the subject couldn’t have been more uncomfortable for either of you.

“You people up here tend to celebrate weird shit…You’re alone for this weird ass holiday, right? I don’t imagine you’d have the time for such things, anyways—always caught up in perfecting your shitty strategies and formations.”

That had been the first and last statement he’d made before your remark, regarding him in an almost offended way. Even now, your response still haunts him.

In his mind, he figured this was a compliment; a rough one at best. You were always focused, always concentrated and putting your best foot forward for any task that demanded your full attention. Of course he’d noticed. He always had. Yet…now hadn’t been the time to point that out—much less, in such a demeaning manner.

He hadn’t meant to underline your lack of a romantic life. But he had, and the moment the words left his lips he knew it.

Less than a full day had passed since then, and still he mulled over it, sulking over his inability to take that step forward and just say what he meant. To say what he needed you to hear.

It was evening when he left his office, the sun filtering through his window setting over the walls beyond in crisp oranges and bright pinks. He might have stopped to watch it for a moment, if he weren’t at wit’s end.

He’d kept himself cooped up stewing over his mistakes long enough—It was now or never, wasn’t it?

Finding you hadn't been too difficult. In fact, it had been a little too easy; of course he’d find you chatting happily amongst comrades before turning in for the night.

The difficult part, the one he knew he would inevitably face, was getting you alone for a single moment. Just long enough to grab your attention and say what needed to be said…

To his silent astonishment, he’d managed the task easily enough; a simple demand for a moment of time seemed to do the trick. He’d pretend he didn’t see the hesitance in your eyes, the silent judgment that you never verbally conveyed.

“Listen; I’m shit at words. Especially the weird shit you all say up here on the surface. It’s strange, and it’s stupid. But…The other day, what I’d meant wasn’t what I said. If-If you are alone tomorrow…Well, I suppose I am as well. I’d wondered: what if we grabbed a bite to eat? Avoid the drama these love sick idiots parade around and just…I dunno…Get to know one another a little?”

You’d huffed in amusement, a crooked smirk on your enchanting lips. The earlier hesitance disappeared from your gaze, replaced now by a nearly mischievous look of understanding.

The silence left behind from his proposal was enough to spike his nervousness once again—he was so far out of his element that even he would laugh at himself if he were observing from afar.

Maybe he’s misjudged, made a mistake…

But eventually you shook your head, uncrossing your arms and looking him over head to toe, curiosity beaming in your pretty eyes.

“As it should happen, I’m not busy for Valentine’s tomorrow, and I suppose I could stand to better familiarize myself with my fellow Captains…”

A pause in your voice brought about the stilling of his heart, his chest aching briefly with anticipation. But then you gave your final answer; a few simple words that lifted the anxious weight in his heart and eased the tension in his shoulders. He nearly sighed with visible relief.

“Why not? I’ll go to dinner with you. There’s a new café in Trost; I hope you’ve heard of it?”

~𝑀𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝐿𝑒𝓋𝒾 𝒜𝒸𝓀𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝐻𝑒𝓇𝑒!~

~𝒟𝒾𝓋𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓇~

[sammsays]

Which would you say hinders the establishment of operant conditioning more, presenting the stimulus without prompting the desired response or prompting the response and not presenting the stimulus? I’m struggling with getting it to work. For normal reasons.

I would say, "presenting the stimulus without prompting the desired response".

Lengthy explanation of Operant Conditioning and how to use it below!

A common mistake in hypnosis and conditioning would be to give the reward or stimulus in general too frequently. In operant conditioning, we have what are called "schedules of reinforcement", which speak to frequency and technique in the timing of providing stimuli.

Providing the reward every time would be called "Continuous Reinforcement". This is a fine method of conditioning, but it is far from the most effective.

Partial Reinforcement Schedules are any means of conditioning that don't provide the stimuli every single time.

Fixed Ratio & Fixed Interval

Charts used from helpfulprofessor.com.

Fixed schedules suffer from a relatively predictable problem.

Fixed Ratio schedules are when a stimulus is provided after a certain number of behaviors are completed.

Fixed Interval schedules are when a reinforcement stimuli is provided at regular intervals (say, every hour).

The issues with Fixed schedules comes in the fact that we are aware of things (sadly). If a pattern is predictable, then we are both able to anticipate when it's about to happen, lessening the impact of the reward, and we know that right after the stimuli is finished, we won't be getting another one for a predictable amount of time.

Not only are there often lulls immediately after the stimuli, but the conditioning holds far, far weaker than both continuous and the other type of partial schedule.

When the stumuli stops being provided at the regular time (that singular moment being the only time where it feels possible), then its far easier for that anticipation to be flipped on its head and have a very negative impact, very quickly undoing any progress.

As a solution, we have...

Variable Ratio & Variable Interval

Charts used from helpfulprofessor.com.

Variable schedules are deeply, deeply effective. This is how gambling becomes addictive to people, but also how many other things are conditioned into creatures.

The one you should choose depends on what it is that you want to do.

Variable Ratio

This is the schedule you should follow if you want to enforce a behavior that you want to happen often. An example in the hypnosis sphere (most especially my hypnosis sphere) would be getting someone to start barking as part of their regular means of talking and typing.

All that is necessary to do is encourage the behavior initially, start the engines with rewards (either hypnotic triggers or just praise), and to only do it sometimes and at random.

Variable Interval

This is the schedule you should follow if you want to enforce a more continuous behavior that you want to happen steadily. This would be something more like obedience, giving a reward for good behavior at random, but importantly within a reasonably similar range each time.

You can't do it one hour then 48 hours later then 12, you should have something like a range of variance and stick to that, so long as the exact timing is not anticipatable.

This can also be done for singular behaviors like barking, if you wish for the conditioning to be much slower, and also to simply not be related to an amount of times being done.

Both methods build conditioning that takes a very, very long time to undo or fall away. In the case of many behaviors, unlike what is shown in the charts, they can become a near-permanent part of someone's existence, never quite going away without active efforts to do so.

If you get someone to bark consistently, and they do not have a reason for it to stop, it will become a part of themselves in a way deeper than you may ever expect.

As a fair warning, these methods of conditioning, as stated prior, are essentially forming an addictive loop for someone. It is not nearly so strong as gambling in most cases, but with the wrong person, the wrong environment, and the wrong precautions, you can steer into very unhealthy territory very, very quickly.

...it can be quite fun to condition people, though.

So, to again answer the original question: not only is "prompting the response and not presenting the stimulus" perfectly okay to do, it's actually better than doing it every single time.

Follow me for more interesting posts, and do ask me more questions. I'm telling you to do it. Be good and come up with something, okay?

I'll see you later! ^w^

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Only Yesterday 4 ~ End

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, voyeurism, intimidation, isolation, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Isolated and lonely in your life as your grandmother’s caretaker, you find yourself living vicariously through your neighbour.

Character: Nick Fowler

Note: I sat on half a chapter forever and I'm sorry.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like a love song, baby. Take care. 💖

You turn and march away from Nick. He chuckles and follows casually. There is no urgency in his step, as if he is certain of his goal.  

You twist the knob on the stove and put the kettle over the burner. He looms in the doorway, watching as you distract yourself with the tin of tea bags. Your hands are clumsy and shaking. You don’t know what to do to make him leave. You don’t think you can. 

“You don't gotta be so shy. Hell, I should be considering all you saw–" 

"Stop," you plead as you keep you back to him, "I told you it was a mistake." 

"Uh huh. Because it was wrong or because you got caught?" 

“Both,” you turn to face him, “please, I get it. Alright, I’m fucked up. I’m sorry I watch you but you don’t have to do this.” 

“Do what?” He asks with a soft smirk. 

You inhale and shrug, “terrorise me? Ruin my life? I don’t know what you’re doing but I want you to stop. Please, leave me alone.” 

His lips curve fully and he blows out between his lips, shaking his head as he comes closer. You hold yourself still, barely able to keep a tremble from breaking the surface. He steps around you at the last moment and goes to the cupboard. He takes out a cup and plucks free a teabag to drop inside. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, “do what I say and no one gets hurt.” 

The subtle shift in his tone unsettles you. Still mocking but sinister. You watch him as you cross your arms protectively. 

“What do you mean?” 

“She’s an old lady. One accident and… that’s that,” he leans on the stove as he faces you again, “so, you are going to sit down so I can make Ruth Ann her tea. I’ll get to you, don’t worry.” 

You hesitate, swaying in spot. You touch the side of your neck and frown. Your heart plummets to your feet. You’ve brought him to your grandmother’s front door, you’ll never forgive yourself if he goes any further than that. 

“Promise you won’t hurt her,” you eke out. 

“That’s all up to you,” he winks, “oh, and when I’m done serving the queen her nightly chamomile, I expect to find you ready.” 

“Ready?” You swallow. 

He tilts his head as his eyes wander down your body, “put on something less…. Just less.” He smirks, “nothing, preferably.” 

You hug yourself and frown. You can’t hold back the shudder. He didn’t say he won’t hurt you. 

“In the front room,” he stares at you, his brows tweak, and he taps the tip of your nose. “Go on, won’t be long before the water’s ready.” 

You lower your eyes and sidle away. Your eyes gloss hotly as you march into the front room. You glance at the windows. The evening paints the balcony in shadows. 

You stand in front of the couch. All those nights you wish you were Cleo, you were so stupid. You don’t want this. Everything was just fine before you messed it all up. You’re just as ungrateful as Nan said in her fits. 

The kettle whistles and you flinch. You can hear everything, the twist of the knob on the stove, the pour of boiling water, your pulse. His footsteps strut through the archway and he passes into the light of the hall. 

“Ruth Ann,” he calls to your grandmother as he smirks for you, “tea’s ready.” 

He heads down to her bedroom and you sniffle. You face the couch and sway. The tears pebble along the brims of your eyes. They roll out as your lashes flick. 

You undress shakily. First your shirt, then your pants. You sit to take of your sock, your legs to flimsy to balance. You ball them up as you sit in your high-rise briefs and thin white bra. The bedroom door clicks and his soles pad closer. 

You sense him as he stands in the crux of the hall and entryway, watching you from the arch. You can’t bring yourself to look. You hunch and grip your knees. 

He crosses the room. The silence roils around his prowling figure. Your eyes flit over as the lamplight limns his figure. He unbuttons the borrowed shirt as he circles like a hawk. You tense and plead with the floor to swallow you up. 

He tosses the shirt onto the chair. You wince as it lands with a soft whoosh. His belt clinks and you whimper. You wipe your cheeks with your knuckles. He startles you as he hooks his arm around to grab your chin. He pulls you to lean against the couch as he stands behind it. 

He looks down at you as his muscled torso flexes. He smirks and bends as his thumb stretches up your cheek. He tuts as he nuzzles your nose. 

“Why’re you crying, sweetheart?” He growls. 

You can’t answer as a sob lumps in your throat. He keeps hold of you as he rounds the couch. He comes in front of you and hovers his mouth over yours. He brings his other hand to your face and wipes your tears with his roughened palms. 

He frames your jaw and guides you to sit up. He presses his lip to yours. You squeak and reach to push on his chest, scalded by his nudity. He clings to you as his tongue glides along your lips and pokes through. You nearly gag on his tongue. 

His large hands cradle your head as he traps you in his vice. You slouch as he lowers himself to his knees, pulling you with him. You grasp his shoulders as you wriggle and try to detach. 

When he lets you go, you swing back against the couch and gasp. The feet scrape on the floor as it lurches. He chuckles and brings his finger up to his lips, hushing you. 

“Don’t wanna wake nan,” he traces the straps of you bra then covers the cups with his hands. He bounces you in his hands. “Mm, you gonna be quiet for me, baby?” 

Your lips trembles as your lashes stick with dried tears. You shiver and stare at him. He slides his hands around you and tugs on the band of your bra. He unhooks it and gently draws the straps down your arms. As he uncovers your chest, you try to hide. 

He clucks and yanks away the bra meanly. 

You drop your arms and bat away another swathe of tears. He hums and tickles up your sides. His fingers leave a tingle of warmth as he pulls away. He shifts on his knees and searches in his pocket. He brings out a chain that catches the lamp's glow. You stare at the single pearl hanging from it, just like the one you saw at the market. 

"I thought it'd be even prettier on," he reaches to you and clasps it behind your neck. He trails his hand along the length and sets the pearl to rest just above your chest. You inhale as he once more feels along the swell of your tits. 

He bends forward and buries his face against your chest. He turns his head and nips at the sensitive flesh. You squeak and he spreads his hand over your mouth. You bite down on your tongue. If your nan walks in on this, you're not sure she'd be okay. She might not be able to handle the shock and you're not sure what Nick would do to her. 

His thumbs circle your nipple and he places his lips around the other. He toys with you as you writhe helplessly. You grab onto his wrist and try to push him away. He twists and latches you instead. He puts your hand on his head and teethes your sensitive bud. 

You quiver as your strength dissolves. Despite your fear, it feels good. All of it. 

His fingers flutter down your stomach and along the elastic of your panties. You wince. He delves beneath the fabric as he keeps his lips sealed around you nipple. He purrs and curls his fingers up and down your pelvis. He pushes against your slit and dips between your lips. 

He rubs along your cunt and swirls around your clit. You nearly cry out at the shockwaves of his touch. It’s the first time anyone but yourself got that far. You squeeze your eyes shut and hang your head back. 

He flicks his finger over your clit. Your thighs quake and your hand combs through his hair. You moan and he hushes you, leaving a wet trail down your skin. 

He moves back on his knees and tugs on your panties. He guides them down and taps gently along your thigh. You lift yourself and he rolls them lower. He pulls away to strip them down your legs then quickly inserts himself between them once more. 

He bows and breathes over your pelvis. You squirm and push on the cushions. You whisper his name. 

“Please...” the last effort to stop him and yourself. 

He leans in and presses his nose to your pelvis. He slides his tongue down and glides between your lips. You cover your mouth to keep from squealing. 

He traces his fingers along the inside of your thigh and makes a trail up to the crease. As he laps at you, he runs his finger around your entrance. He hums and flows through you. He probes inside of you slowly, pushing his thick digit in to the knuckle. 

He turns his hand and bends his finger. He pushes until you feel pressure. You writhe and curl your toes against the floor. You make a fist and bite it. You don’t know if you can handle this. 

He draws his finger in and out, his tongue flicks up and down. He groans and you gulp down one of your own. You push your chin down as you fight your racing heart. Your breath shallows and your skin prickles. 

He scoops his hand under your ass and dips another finger into you. He shoves them in to his limit and retreats again. His mouth and hand work together, building a maddening tempo. You hiss as your stomach clenches and your muscles wind tight. 

You spasm and brace your head as you cum. It’s more intense than anything you’ve felt before. Alone in the dark, ashamed. This is different. 

You shove his head, overstimulated as he keeps going. He jams his fingers in as deep as he can as you tremble and twitches around him. He drags his tongue up and smears the wetness on his mouth up your pelvis. 

He wipes his fingers on your thigh and sits back on his heels. His eyes gleam at you as you peek out between slitted lids. You heave and stare at him. 

“Not done yet,” he takes your hand and stands. He pulls you up on your wobbly legs. You nearly fall against him. 

He pets your head then spins you away from him. He points. You follow the gesture to the balcony door. You waver and he nudges you. 

“You know what I want.” He growls. 

You look down at your naked body. You fold your hands and slouch, shying away from him. He tickles down your neck. 

“Go, baby.” 

You blink away more tears as your nose tingles. You bite down and obey. You go to the door and pause before it. You hesitate and look back as he drops his pants. You panic and twist the handle. 

You go out into the night air if only to escape him. The sight of him is etched into your mind. His body is forged in muscle and that part of him... it looked big. You don’t have much to compare it to. 

You look across the street. Cleo’s apartment is dark. She must be out living her life. The door behind you creaks. You feel him before his shadow darkens around you. 

He steps up behind you and runs his hand down your arms. He leads your hands to the rail and squeezes them around it. You shiver and whine. He kisses your shoulders. 

“Baby, you just need to hold on,” he grits. 

He brushes down your sides and the curve of your ass. His touch crawls back to your hips and he moves your feet back. He kicks them wider and pushes until you arch your back. 

He steps closer and reaches around you. He pets your pelvis and rubs along your cunt. He spreads your lips and plays with your sensitive clit until you moan. He pushes against your ass and lines himself up with your entrance. You suck in air and stare into the night.. 

It was easier when it was Cleo. That shame was different. That pain was tolerable. 

He inches into you. Your legs shake and you lean against the railing. You groan between your teeth. He urges you down with a hand on your hip and hooks his chin over your shoulder. He turns his head to nuzzle your jaw. 

He thrusts and your legs buckle. He tuts and does it again. “Stay on your feet, baby.” 

The tears fall again and glaze over the street. The lights turn to blurry orbs and the shadows are nothing but layers of black and grey. His pelvis claps against your ass as he ruts harder with each tilt. 

He reaches to the pearl around your neck, his other hand still nestled between your legs as he stirs your nerves to fury. He breathes against your neck and sighs. 

“You think someone’s watching us, baby?” He taunts. You whimper and he chuckles smokily. “I hope they are... you’re the star now, huh?” 

END 

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

@fantasybookgeek09 this was such a fun prompt, thank you!! I've never written a modern au before so I hope it came out okay!

“Since we only have five days left until the holidays, I’m going to go easy on you guys this week. You’ll be doing some fun group work— but it still counts towards your final grade, so don’t slack off.”

Rayla slumped in her chair, not quite sure if it was out of relief or disappointment. She was thrilled not to be getting a third essay to work on over the Christmas “break”, but group projects could be… unpredictable. 

“I’ll be assigning you into pairs—" the typical wave of groans erupted from the student body— “to write and illustrate a short original story based on the themes we’ve been discussing in class. You can divide up the work however you see fit, but you have to contribute at least something to the writing and the art.”

Okay. Rayla could work with that. The short story she’d done in her freshman year had won an award, and she was certain her recent work was even better. And as for the art? Well, she could do some stylized swirls or something. Crossing her fingers under her desk, she prayed to be paired with someone better at drawing than she was. 

“…Ram, you’ll be working with Andromeda, and Rayla, you’ll be working with Callum.”

Rayla bit her tongue to keep from groaning out loud. She just had to make that wish, hadn’t she? 

Callum was a good artist, but that was about all he was good at. She’d been sitting two desks down from him all semester, and not a single class had gone by where he hadn’t been doodling instead of listening. She might as well kiss her grade goodbye. 

The bell rang, the more fortunate students around Rayla gathering into pairs to discuss their plans and get their project rubrics on the way out. But Callum just stowed his sketchbook in his bag, picked up his pens, dropped his pens, and scrambled to stow them, avoiding Rayla’s eyes all the while. She didn’t move, crossing her arms and staring him down. He wasn’t getting off that easily. 

Finally, he looked up at her. Or, slightly to the left of her. Rayla would take it.

“I want to figure out the plot of my— our story before we start working on it tomorrow. Are you free this afternoon?”

Callum nodded, a single, sharp jerk of his chin. “You could come over to my house?”

Well, that was easier than anticipated. Rayla had expected to cut through three excuses at least before he realized he couldn’t worm his way out of it. “Sounds like a plan.”

…

Another infuriating thing about Callum was that Rayla hadn’t needed to ask for his address, or even for directions to his house. Everyone knew where he lived, because it was an enormous mansion roughly the size of seven of Rayla’s houses put together, pretentiously seated on the hill over Katolis, visible from anywhere in town. And it only got more ostentatious up close. 

Pulling into the driveway— and circling around the fountain in the middle of it— Runaan let out a low whistle. “If they ask you to stay for dinner, make sure you smuggle out some of the cutlery. It could probably keep us in food for a year.”

Rayla laughed. “There isn’t enough money in the world to get me to stay for dinner. Nice try, though.”

Runaan smirked in return, clapping Rayla’s shoulder as she slid out of the car.

Rayla was fully expecting a butler to answer the door, so it came as a shock when it swung open to reveal Callum’s ten-year-old brother bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“Hi, Rayla!”

“Hey, Ezran. How’ve you been?”

“Good!”

She smiled, relaxing slightly as Ezran waved her into the house with a flourish. They’d been on speaking terms ever since Rayla had pelted some kids with snowballs for teasing Ezran about talking to birds, and he was a sweet kid. A bit strange, but then, so was Rayla, in her own way. 

“Rayla! You made it!”

Rayla followed Callum’s voice to find him standing at the top of a real, actual marble staircase, framed by railings of golden filigree. Maybe she should try to make off with some cutlery.

“It was pretty hard to miss,” she said drily.

Callum flushed, but Ezran just laughed. 

Recovering, Callum managed to lead Rayla into a “living room” roughly the size of Katolis High’s gymnasium. At least it gave them plenty of room to spread out.

“All right,” Rayla said, pulling out the planning sheet they’d been given. “I already plotted out the storyline, so I just need you to tell me which sentence you want to write and what you want me to do for the illustrations.”

“Which sentence I want to write?”

Rayla glanced up at him, surprised by the offense in his tone. “Well, yeah. I want this to be good. I have a grade-point average to keep up, and—"

“And you think I’m a bad writer?”

“Writing well requires practice, Callum, and I’ve never seen you so much as take notes. You’ve always got your nose in that sketchbook. You’ve got it with you now!”

To prove her point, she snatched it up from the cushions between them. Callum yelped, reaching out for it.

“This thing must have hundreds of pages, and I’d bet you’ve done half of them in class.”

“Don’t!” 

Callum lunged for it, Rayla pulled back, and the sketchbook clattered to the floor to reveal…

Drawing after drawing of her.

Rayla froze. Callum buried his face in his hands.

“So you must think I’m pretty creepy.”

Rayla wasn’t sure what to think. She reached out and picked up the sketchbook again, and this time, Callum didn’t stop her. 

The sketches were… incredible. They looked like her— all the things she liked about herself, and all her imperfections. He’d captured the way she tugged at her braid when she was nervous, the way she tilted back in her chair when she was bored. She could tell when many of the sketches were done by her expression alone: focused eyes the day before their first exam, a wrinkled nose the day Soren had come into their classroom to dribble a basketball around the desks for no apparent reason, a drawn mouth the day her parents had been deployed. 

“Why?” Rayla asked quietly, tearing her gaze from the drawings to meet Callum’s eyes.

His face was red as fire, but his voice was steady. “I’ve always liked people-watching. You can learn so much about them by how they dress, how they sit, what their expressions are. There are whole stories there, if you look for them. Ever since you stood up for Ezran, I… I’ve wanted to know what your story is. You’re so smart, and confident in a way I don’t understand at all, and you’re… good. I wanted to know what makes you that way. But… I didn’t think you’d tell me.”

Blood was rushing to Rayla’s cheeks now, her throat clogging with an unexpected shame. All this time, Callum had been looking at her. Had really seen her, in a way no one else at school seemed to. And she’d taken a few glances at him, built him a false image, and never thought to question it. 

Rayla forced herself to look back up at him. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For… seeing the best in me, I guess? For wanting to get to know me, even though I’ve been such a jerk. I’m sorry I said you weren’t a storyteller.”

Callum laughed. “You were right, actually. I really am a bad writer. I mean— except for poetry, I think? But no one’s ever read those, so who knows?”

“I didn’t say writer, I said storyteller.”

Callum’s eyes widened, and then he smiled. It was the first true grin Rayla had ever seen him make, and it transformed his whole face, making dimples appear in his cheeks and his green eyes gleam. Rayla’s breath hitched in her chest. 

“So… does this mean I can write more than a sentence?” he asked.

“You know what? I’d bet we can fit some poetry in here for you to write. But first, I want your opinion on the plot. You might have some ideas I didn’t think of.”

“Oh— wow. Thank you.”

Callum reached for their planning sheet, but Rayla placed her hand over his. The contact sent a jolt through her fingers, and she quickly withdrew them.

“Before that, though, I think it’s past time I asked about you.”

“About me?”

Another spike of shame shot through Rayla at the confusion in his voice, but she smiled through it, settling close enough to him on the couch for their shoulders to touch.

“Why don’t you tell me a story?”

[kamimarroco]

happiest valentine's day to you guys! <3

cw: slightly suggestive, Fox plays with the reader's nipple in a painful way (but still tame compared to what he can do)

He runs his clawed hands over your chest possessively, rivulets of blood forming across your fragile, soft skin. You feel the adrenaline consuming your mind, your heart pumping to the rest of your body, your fight or flight instinct activated in a moment that should be intimate, delicate, rewarding.

But instead, you feel in danger. A prey being made a toy by the cat — fox — who holds you hostage. You can't move, you shouldn't. The chains do the job of keeping your hands and feet firmly in place.

“Already so anxious... and I haven't even done anything to you yet”, his breath sends chills down your spine, both of your legs spread uncomfortably on the mattress. You can feel something pressing insistently against your entrance, and you can't help but feel at least slightly aroused.

This has always been characteristic of him. Every sexual act, every act of violence, was mixed up in the emotions of the moment. There was no way one could exist without the other.

Just like there was no way you could exist without him.

Two fingers reach for one of your nipples to pinch with sharp claws, the act making your face contort in agony and take on highlights of genuine discomfort. Your legs respond in kind and you rub against him unconsciously, the pain making you feel things other than fear.

This is strange. He's being nice to you. Nicer than usual. You don't like to think about what this means to you.

Fox flashes a toothy grin from ear to ear as his tail acts like a whip, easily breaking the air due to the speed at which it moves. “Fuck, you really don't make things easier when you react like that”, he increases the pressure on his claws and violently twists your nipple to the point where you start to whimper, tears threatening to form in the corners of your eyes.

You are generally much more resilient than this given the fact that you have been through much worse. You can't imagine how pathetic you must look right now for getting so worked up over something so small — fuck, he almost made you rip your guts out live!

You can only blame the fact that Fox gave you time to recover after everything. Gave you time for your wounds to heal and your body to function reasonably again. Which didn't automatically free you from his sick amusements, but it made you forget for a brief period what it was like to be played with.

“You are sensitive", he comments as he continues to twist, twist, and twist. It's agonizing. You assume that your nipple may just be bleeding at this point because of the burning and sensation of fluid appearing in the area.

Fortunately — or perhaps unfortunately — for you, he stops when he's satisfied enough with this, letting your nipple go as your breathing makes your chest rise and fall. He takes a moment to revel in your pained expression — which, by the way, must only be making him harder.

Fox suddenly feels comfortable enough to sit on your lap, his body not being much of a problem for you since you are bigger than him. The beastkin holds your cheeks tightly with both hands and brings your face closer to his, his eyes maintaining unbreakable eye contact as your noses touch. He smiles big at you, and you now feel more desperate than ever to be this close to him.

“I really missed you, darling. Let's make up for all those days you were recovering…”

[hyruleanhistorian]

The Dungeon Crawler

Legend was not unfamiliar with the sensation that washed over him as the distance between the floor and his face became much shorter.

What he was unfamiliar with was suddenly being in the air, Warriors having scooped him up.

The rest of the group shielded the pair as they backtracked out of the dungeon they had been traversing.

“Does anyone know what hit him?” Time queried as he examined Legend from where he was standing a short distance away.

Hyrule, who had been Legend’s buddy for this venture, sheepishly ran his hand through his hair. “No, I was trying to help Wars and Wild figure out their puzzle.”

Time sighed. “Did anybody else notice anything?”

He was answered by a chorus of negatives.

Wind peeked over Wars’ arm. “How long do you think this will last?”

“If it isn’t permanent.” Came Sky’s mutter, quiet but still loud enough for Legend to pick up.

Four’s face held a considering expression. “Maybe there’s an item one of us has that can undo it?”

Wars looked down at Legend. “Do you know, buddy?”

Normally, 8 minutes, but Legend had never left the area before he’d changed back.

Legend did his best to hold up eight fingers, but that was easier said than done.

“Vet - Link, can you understand me?”

Legend nodded curtly, which he was sure looked out of place in this form.

“Well that’s something.” Wild commented. “What do you think we should do then, Vet?”

Legend gestured back towards the entrance.

“You want us to go back in?”

Twilight hummed. “Maybe we gotta defeat whatever did this to ‘im.”

Legend did his best to shrug, but he wasn’t sure if the motion came across correctly.

After an unnecessarily long debate in Legend’s opinion, they agreed to try, and to bring Legend in there with them.

Wars would continue to carry him, Twilight, Sky, and Hyrule would guard them, and Four, Wind, Wild, and Time would take out the monsters.

It took a while, with the heroes being more cautious than usual, but eventually they managed to take out the last monster, a blue stalfos.

Legend quickly tried to wiggle out of Wars’ hold once he had regained his normal stature.

“Let go of me!”

Warriors complied, a smirk on his face.

“You know, you were a lot cuter as a baby.”

[bloom-into-blue]

ℂ𝕦𝕡𝕚𝕕 𝕀𝕤𝕟'𝕥 𝔹𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕕

Summary: a chance meeting, a lucky run in, whatever you wanna call it. There's a gorgeous lady before you and... Thinking is hard. Just feel? Easier said than done.

Contents: just Garofano meeting the reader in her tailor shop! Reader is referred to with feminine gendered terms.

Word count: 1.6k

Author's note: I wanted to put something out as i mentioned before, and honestly, Garofano is one of my favorite ladies... First sfw fic of the blog. Can you believe it? Wild. Anyway, it is currently minutes before Valentine's so this makes sense to my timezone.

To say life has been kind would be a generous statement.

When you wake up, the sky is barely turning into a pale shade of orange and blue hues, though you can barely even notice it when one of your pillows is inexplicably covering half your face. Your neck aches, sore from whatever shitty position you assumed during your sleep. The worst part is that you know you can't linger on this too much, not when there's your university assignments looming in the back of your mind, ever present and ever the pain in the ass.

…Then, as you take your phone to check exactly how long you have until your suffering begins, you realize it.

It's a day before Valentine's.

Your body is so used to the stress of university that it forgot you're currently still on vacation.

It's hard to avoid a small chuckle to yourself, when your worries shift from impossible professor standards to instead focusing on what you'll wear for the party your friends are planning for two weeks from now. Maybe life isn't so unkind, actually, even if the specific look you want is something you can only achieve by commissioning a tailor. The details aren't too worrisome, not when you've saved up enough for it.

Then, your memory jogs again, making your nerves freeze before you’re bolting out of your messy bed, hair equally tousled up.

You've already scheduled a meeting with a seamtress.

It's taking place in two hours.

—-

The first thing that hits you is the smell of carnations, potent as it envelops you the moment you step into the tailor shop.

Then there's the bell that rings above you, which prompts a woman older than you to glance up from her spot at the front desk, eyes kind and a sweet smile ready at a moment's notice. The first thing you can think of is how utterly gorgeous she is. “Welcome, dear,” she greets with ease brought by experience, most likely; even her voice is gorgeous, damn it. “What brings you to my shop?”

You honestly got lost in the sound of her voice, deep and rich, enough so that you forget English is a language you can – and should – speak right about now. “Uh… I came by the other day. ‘Nother lady, like… helped me book an appointment,” you manage to mumble as you take in the woman doing her best to attend to you. You remember the last time you dropped by, when a woman with straight, black hair told you the seamstress in charge wasn't available at the moment, but would be sometime soon, so booking an appointment would be a most excellent choice.

Now, standing in front of a goddess with curly, violet hair, it seems as though you can finally meet the seamstress you've heard so many positive comments about.

The lady before you chuckles as she covers her mouth with her hand, refined as a noble. Christ, how are you going to survive this. “You must be the girl Sumire talked about, then. Come on then; we wouldn't want to take your measurements when the glass outside doesn't shield you,” she prompts kindly, stepping closer and going as far as to set a gentle hand on your back as she guides you to a section of the shop that isn't visible from the outside.

“Y-yeah, thank you, miss…” you trail off, unsure of what to call her.

“Garofano, dear,” she fills the blank with a smooth wave of her hand and a charming smile. You have no idea if she's aware of the effect she's having on your heart or not, she doesn't let on even a little bit! The warmth on your cheeks is probably a dead giveaway to your current state though…

When you arrive at a more secluded area of Garofano’s shop, she doesn't waste a second before grabbing whatever she needs, though… you're not proud to admit the way your eyes take in her figure. For a brief moment, you think you catch her looking at you from the corner of her eye, but as quick as it happens the moment passes, leaving you flustered and trying to tear your gaze away.

Once Garofano finds the measuring tape she was looking for, she turns to you with a smile wide enough that the crow's feet around her eyes are noticeable. God, she's so beautiful– focus. She just spoke.

After waiting for a moment, she seems amused by your puzzled reaction if her velvety chuckle is anything to go by. “I said, take off your coat, dear. I can't measure you well enough if you're all covered up,” she teases softly. Oh god, Garofano's aware and she's fucking with you.

You comply with her instructions in a hurry, left now with just the tight-fitting clothes you were recommended for this appointment. It feels… like you're more vulnerable than before, even though you're still clothed. Perhaps it has something to do with the violet eyes taking in your figure.

Garofano reaches for your hand and guides you gently towards a small podium in the middle of the room, measuring tape in hand and glasses you hadn't seen before atop her head. “Please, tell me if anything I do makes you uncomfortable. I would loathe to make a lady as beautiful as you uneasy,” she murmurs against your ear before carefully unrolling the tape and beginning her work properly. Thank god she moved away, otherwise she would've felt how your ears are almost burning up with how flustered you are.

If nothing else, at least you're going to remember this throughout all of Valentine's day. Her hands feel so gentle… You chastise yourself internally; she's a professional and you're making this weird! You have to stop thinking about how hot the older lady is! When she kneels behind you with a quiet grunt, her hands are ever careful as the tape brushes against your covered leg… No, stop, you're thinking too much!

She probably noticed how tense you are. Garofano's voice is far gentler when she tries to break the ice. “So… I was told you wanted a suit that fit you as comfortably as could be, while also making sure it looked good on you. May I know the occasion, dear?”

At least you can answer that. “Uh… My friends and I are throwing a party? It's supposed to be casual, but some of us insisted on formal wear, and… Well, here you have me,” you explain before ending it with a sheepish chuckle. “Can't really find suits that fit me well enough, y'know?”

Garofano hums quietly, her hands around your waist making you let out the tiniest little breath. “I do know that particular struggle. At least I can help you in this case,” she replies, her hands gently moving to wrap the tape around your waistline. She's behind you, but you can feel the little pauses she takes to jot numbers down, and by god, you wish you could see the way her glasses look atop her nose. When she starts measuring you up again, you could swear she's taking longer than before for whatever reason…

You hope to god you're not making all the tension up.

—-

The measuring is over in about half an hour, and you're sure those thirty minutes of your lifespan evaporated alongside a few years thanks to the intensity of this gay panic.

“It should be ready in about a week, miss. Please, don't hesitate to come to me in case of any concerns you have,” Garofano said with a soft smile, taking off her glasses as she walks you to the front of the shop once more. You were right, the sight was as beautiful as you thought it would be while it lasted.

You realize… maybe you do have one concern.

“Look, you can tell me off if I'm weird about this, please make sure to turn me down if I'm, like, completely off-base here or if I'm being creepy or whatever, I would absolutely understand if you thought I was being too forward, like way too forward actually–”

“Sweetheart,” she cuts you off with a worried frown instead of that lovely smile. “Breathe, please. In… out.”You're out of breath when she calls you out, so with a quiet whine you nod and do as requested, feeling some semblance of composure arrive, so it brings a smile to your face when her lips quirk up in response. “Now, you're welcome to ask whatever it is that's on your mind.”

The reassurance isn't enough by a small margin, but whatever courage you manage to have is slightly emboldened by taking another deep breath. “Ma'am, you're stunning. I… Forgive me if I'm overstepping any lines, I just think– Um… If it's no bother, how would you feel about going out with me?”

You barely have time to process you wouldn't even be able to take her to the fancy sort of restaurant she deserves for a date, not with the shitty pay you get at your job.

It's… it's better to be upfront about that, so you steel your nerves before Garofano can answer, though you do find her surprised expression more than a little adorable, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. She's as gorgeous as she's cute– focus!

“I can't really take you to some five star restaurant… I know it's honestly a pretty bad offer, you should just forget I brought this up.”

Before your spirits can somehow deflate any more, Garofano takes a step forward and the sound of her heels shuts your train of thought down immediately. “Darling,” she begins with a gentle tone and a smile that is equally as sweet, “I don't think of myself as a woman who needs the highest luxuries. You're a beautiful prospect, I will gladly give you that.” The chuckle she gives in response to your flabbergasted expression is worth any sort of embarrassment you could've felt this entire morning. “Perhaps tomorrow could be a good time for our… date?”

The widest smile rises to your lips at the generous offer.

Maybe Valentine's day won't be so boring for a change.

[elllisaaa]

SHAMELESS - Y. JEONGIN

KINKTOBER DAY 24 - MUTUAL MASTURBATION

SUMMARY : you always had a soft spot for your best friend's little brother, maybe a little crush if you were honest. however, learning that he was still a virgin despite being this hot, you take it into your own hands to show him how it should be done.

-> pairing : best friend's brother!jeongin x fem!reader

-> words count : 4.2k

-> genre : smut

-> warnings : sub!jeongin x dom!reader, virign!jeongin & experienced!reader, slight age gap (reader is a bit older than jeongin), alcohol consumption, fingering, handjob, breast play, mutual masturbation, making out, lingerie, teasing, begging, dry humping, marked, dirty talk, use of 'good boy', oral (f. receiving)

+ the way i'm depicting jeongin does not represent him, it's only a work of fiction

-> 18+ content bellow, minors DNI

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated ! sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> masterlist | skz masterlist | kinktober 2024

All your friends knew you had a soft spot for Jeongin, even his own sister knew. You didn’t exactly know what it was in him that made it impossible for you to let him go, but your attraction was undeniable. At first, it was truly innocent - you just invited him sometimes to hang out for a while with you and your friends because the poor boy would often spend his weekends alone, and it wasn’t that bad to take him away from his games so he could share a drink or two with you before you left for the club. 

“- Your turn Jeongin, truth or dare ?

- Uh, I don’t know, truth ?”

The poor boy was always a little awkward when he didn’t have his first drink, but once he had loosened up, it was easier to have him admit some things and he actually enjoyed these little hangouts. You were getting ready with his sister and one of your other friends, sitting in the living room with bottles of alcohol and juice opened and ready to make a new drink at any moment. As you focused on doing both wings of your eyeliner the same way, your friend asked her a question. 

“- When was the last time you had sex ?

- Ew, I don’t want to know that ! He’s my brother.

- Come on, you’re not fun ! Go away then, I wanna know. And I’m sure Y/N wants to know too.”

You rolled your eyes at her, and you avoided everyone else's gaze as focused on your own face reflecting through the mirror of your eyeshadow palette as you put the finishing touches to your makeup. The slight buzz of alcohol was already getting to you, and you didn’t feel as embarrassed as you would have normally been. But you could still sense Jeongin’s eyes on you, as if he was trying to understand what your friend meant. His sister covered her ears with her hands while he answered. 

“- Well, I- I’ve never had sex, actually so…

- What ? You’re still a virgin ? No way.

- This is too much !”

Your best friend left the room to go get dressed, but you couldn’t believe what you had just heard either. You had always assumed that he must’ve had at least one or two girlfriends, but you weren't expecting this. Jeongin’s cheeks had taken a deep shade of red - which was cute, you had to admit - as he shrugged, trying to keep some kind of composure and acting nonchalant while he took another sip of his drink.

“- I don’t understand why it is so shocking. 

- Well, look at yourself in a mirror. You might be my friend’s brother but I know a fine man when I see one. Right, Y/N ?

- Uh, yeah, she’s right.”

Your gaze lingered on Jeongin longer than it should have, but it seemed like he couldn’t detach his gaze from you either. You stayed looking at each other for a few seconds, before you broke eye contact with him. The way your heart was beating in your chest, and the way some kind of well-known heat was rising through your body definitely wasn’t something you should be feeling for your best friend’s brother. Soon enough, the subject switched to something else, and you were left alone with your thoughts and the feeling that Jeongin eyes couldn’t leave your figure as you picked up your things to put them in your purse before heading out. Everytime you would look back his way, he would simply avoid your gaze and focus on his phone screen or his drink instead, pretending that he wasn’t devouring you with his eyes a few seconds ago. 

At least, your clubbing session did make you feel good, the alcohol helping you relax and the loud music pushing every parasite's thoughts out of your mind for a moment. By the time you went back to your best friend’s apartment, it was already way past 5 in the morning. Your two friends went to crash in bed immediately, giggling and loudly talking nonsense. The sound of the door of her bedroom closing shut behind them drowned out their laughs as you smiled to yourself while getting out of your high-heeled boots. You could still feel the agreable rush of all the drinks you had but you were conscious enough to think about drinking a glass of water before going to bed too. As you were about to head to the bathroom to take off your makeup, you almost ran into Jeongin who was walking out of his own room, looking like he hadn’t slept at all. You giggled as you steadied yourself by grabbing his shoulders. 

“- Oops ! Sorry, didn’t see you !”

Jeongin's right arm slid down to your waist to keep you straight up. Truthfully, you didn’t really need it to stand on your feet, you were not that drunk. But you let his hand rest against the naked skin of the small of your back that your crop top revealed, his own warm skin heating up your hot one even more and making another sort of warmth run through your veins. 

“- It’s okay. Are you alright ? Did you have fun ?”

You nodded with a big smile stretching out your face to both questions, missing the way Jeongin’s eyes went down to your cleavage and then back up to your face every two seconds. He was trying so hard to not seem like a pervert, but the way you were allowing him to be so close to you, to touch you in a way that was way too intimate, that was driving him crazy. 

“- So much fun ! But I don’t understand how you can still be a virgin…”

The sudden change of subject caught him out of guard, and his cheeks took that same shade of red once more, and again, you couldn’t help but think that he was really cute when he was embarrassed like that. Would he have that same look on his face if you dropped down to your knees and sucked him off, right now ? Would he look at you the same way if you told him everything he had you fantasizing about ?

“- I- I don’t know, it’s just how things are ? Girls aren’t really interested in losers like me you know…”

You frowned as you considered his words. A loser ? Jeongin ? Sure, he spent a lot of time playing video games. But he also spent a good amount of time at the gym, and if only he showed off his biceps a little more, there would be tons of girls at his feet, begging for a chance to go on a date with him. Because he already had a cute face, and a cute smile, and pretty hands, and…

“- Well, they should really start to get interested in losers like you. Because I am. 

- W-What do you mean ? 

- I mean that you’re handsome Innie. Can’t you see that ? If it wasn’t for your sister, I would’ve made a move on you a long time ago.”

With each step you took closer to him, Jeongin took a step back, until his back hit the wall of the hallway behind him. His blush was even more visible now, and despite the pure shock in his eyes, there was also an underlying lust, a contained desire that you couldn’t wait to unleash. 

“- Y/N, I… 

- What ? Don’t you think I’m pretty too ? Don’t you want me Innie ?”

The poor boy gulped down loudly as he tried to not let the bulge slowly forming underneath his clothes become too noticeable. He didn’t really understand what was happening, if this was all a dream or not, but he wasn’t going to miss his chance in either case. 

“- Fuck… I’ve wanted you since she introduced you to me.”

A smirk spread on your lips as you took one step forward again, your chest now pressed against his, making it impossible for him to escape - even though he didn’t want to - and also making it impossible to not look down at your boobs squished together in your ridiculously tiny top.

“- Then stop thinking. Let me show you how good it feels. 

- Please…”

This was the last word Jeongin managed to get out before you took a hold of his jaw and pulled him down to your lips to kiss him. His reaction was immediate, almost like it was a reflex : he took a hold of your waist, pressing your bodies together and his lips moved against yours hungrily, expressing all his frustration, all the longing through this kiss. You hummed against his mouth when one of his hands slid back up to angle your face differently, taking advantage of your appreciative noise to slip his tongue through your lips. You welcomed it gratefully, now fully making out with him in the middle of the hallway, his sister sleeping only a room away. When Jeongin finally let you go, you were both breathless, and the heat you felt had increased by ten.

“- Are you sure you’re still a virgin ? Because you’re a great kisser…”

He rolled his eyes at your question, annoyance written all over his face. You let out a yelp of surprise as he suddenly pushed you to his room. He didn’t have to do much effort to make you stumble back until you were sitting on his bed, proving once more that he was hiding a lot of muscles under his oversized pants and hoodies. 

“- Just because I never had sex doesn’t mean I never kissed anyone.”

You leaned on your elbows, exposing your curves to him as you tilted your head to the side, a smirk taking over your face. You loved how easy it was for him to switch up from his awkward and shy demeanor to someone a lot more confident - and you liked it either way. 

“- How far did you go then ?”

As you toyed with the hem of your black miniskirt, you saw his cheeks taking that shade of red again. Though, he couldn’t detach his eyes from the way you were slowly pushing the material higher and higher up your thighs, revealing more and more skin to his hungry gaze. 

“- I just… Kissed. And did a little foreplay.

- No need to be embarrassed, baby. We have all been there once.”

Jeongin gulped down again as he nodded, still watching intently as you left your skirt alone to go up to your chest, your hands cupping them over the material of your top. You let out a sigh of relief at the action, looking up at him as he was still standing up in front of you, the boner in his sweatpants now more than obvious. 

“- Did you do this ?”

Again, Jeongin nodded, eyes glued to the way you were squishing your tits together and hitching to do it himself, to feel the plushness of your skin under his hands by himself. You seductively smiled at him as you let one of your hands slide down in between your thighs, pressing your fingers against your clothed clit and letting out a satisfied hum.

“- And this ?”

This time, Jeongin shook his head. He was too entranced by the show you were putting on for him to be able to form sentences or even think about words anymore. If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up.

“- Want me to touch you ?

- Fuck… Yes, please…”

You smiled at him in a much softer way as you patted the spot beside you on his bed, inviting him to come sit with you. Even if you just wanted to jump him, you wanted every step of the way to be enjoyable for him, show him how good sex felt. Jeongin obeyed right away, and you immediately straddled him. His hands instinctively went to hold your waist and looked up at you, waiting for your next command. 

“- Tell me if you want me to stop, tell me if it’s too much, yeah ?

- Yes.”

The way the words left his mouth so quickly made you smile again and you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him into another heated kiss. The buzz of alcohol heightened every one of your senses, and the way you had craved this for a while paired with the way Jeongin was so eager to please you quickly made you sigh in pleasure against his lips. Jeongin drank every little sound you made, relishing in the way he seemed to be able to have such an effect on you. The kiss was slow, but intense and passionate, and he didn’t hesitate to deepen it when he felt like he needed more. And you let him find his own rhythm, let him set the pace. 

“- You really are good at kissing Innie…

- Really ? 

- Hm… With a little practice, you could become the best.”

What you implied didn’t go on a deaf ears and Jeongin shivered at the thought of this becoming a regular occurrence. He wanted that. He wanted it so bad. And his unfocused eyes were telling you everything you needed to know as he pulled you in for another long kiss. You experimentally moved against him, your still clothed cunt rubbing against his boner - to test his reaction - and a pleased whimper slipped past his lips, getting swallowed by your hungry mouth. 

As you started to slowly rock your hips against him, he strengthened his grip on your waist. His breath was getting shorter and you could feel his sanity slipping away. It was almost cute how sensitive he was, but mostly, it only increased your own desire to show him how good it felt to be touched by someone else, to touch someone else. 

“- Does that feel good ?

- Yes… Really good.

- You can touch me, Innie.”

Jeongin nodded, but you could see that he was still hesitant to move his hands away from the secured spot of your waist. You smiled at him as you took one of his hands in yours, slowly moving it up to your chest and letting it rest here without breaking eye contact even once. You could see the way his breathing hitched in his throat and you could see the way he was now unable to detach his gaze from your cleavage. He tentatively squeezed your tit, and you encouraged him with your hums of pleasure, a different kind of thrill rushing through your veins as Jeongin got more and more confident. 

Within two minutes of touching your boobs, he was shamelessly groping them over your top, his head buried in your neck, sucking hickeys on your skin without a care in the world for the marks it was going to leave. Your dry humping had intensified, way too turned on by the way he now seemed unable to stop having his hands on you. But you were feeling that urge to discover his body too, to know what he was truly hiding under all of his oversized clothes. So you gently pushed him away, biting your lips at the way he seemed so clueless, so gone, only wanting to bury his face in between your tits again. 

“- Was it not good ?”

A soft smile took over your face as you leaned down to kiss his pouty lips. It was really cute how he almost forgot about his own raging erection because he wanted to please you, to make you feel good too.

“- It was really good, Innie. I just want to touch you too, if that’s okay ?”

Jeongin nodded again, his brain still having trouble processing the whole situation as you pushed his shirt over his head, leaving his upper body exposed. His cheeks went red again as he saw you detail his chest, arms and abs. You said nothing for a few seconds, letting your eyes devour him first, and then running your hand along the toned muscles of his chest, down to his defined abs that tensed under the feather like touch. 

“- You’re so sexy… So handsome, I knew you were but damn…”

The compliment made him awkwardly chuckle, not really used to show off his body. He was working hard on it, that was true, but since he didn’t have someone to expose it to, he wasn’t hearing these types of praises everyday. And especially not from you, the girl he had a crush on and an insatiable lust for. 

“- Don’t be so shy, baby… You should get used to that.”

And again, your words had an underlying tone that let him think that it could happen again. But he didn’t want to get his hopes up, so he just let you do your thing as you explored the skin of his torso with your hands and the skin of his neck with your lips. And your overwhelming presence soon made him forget about everything that wasn’t what was happening in that moment anyway. Jeongin closed his eyes, not trying to hold back the small moans escaping him and letting you mark his body in hickeys too. By the time your hands reached the waistband of his sweats, he was already breathless and so hard it was starting to be painful. 

“- Is it still okay ?”

Your sugary sweet voice paired with the way you were playing with the hem of his clothes made him nod faster than he ever had. You chuckled under your breath as you let your fingers slip under his pants until you could reach his very hard cock. The first contact with your fingers had Jeongin moaning a little louder and his whole body tensing. And when you wrapped your whole hand around his length, slowly starting to jerk him off, he was definitely gone, definitely ready to drop everything to have you do this again and again. 

“- You’re doing so good for me Innie…”

A small, muffled moan answered your praises and you just smiled back at him as you sped up your rhythm a little bit. Any trace of alcohol in your system had definitely disappeared by now, your focus only on Jeongin and the way he reacted to your touch, the delicious sounds he was making and how good he looked when he was feeling good like that. 

“- Y/N… Let me touch you too, let me make you feel good too… Please…”

He was almost begging to have a glimpse of your pussy, and who were you to deny him. You pecked his lips in approval as you got off the bed to get rid of your underwear, keeping your skirt that was too complicated to get out of right now. You settled back over his thighs, grabbing his hand in yours and pushing his fingers in your mouth to coat them in your saliva. This was partly for lubrication, and partly because you had been dreaming about these hands for far too long to not do it now that you had the chance too. And Jeongin was just looking up at you as if you hung up the stars in the sky, as if you were a goddess, and you liked the confidence boost maybe a little too much. 

“- Let me guide you baby, yeah ?”

He nodded along again, letting you push his hands down from your lips to between your legs. He gulped as you pressed the pads of his fingers against your wetness, feeling what he assumed was the clit by the way you sighed in relief as you rubbed his hand against it. 

“- Just this much pressure is good for me, but some girls like it faster or slower, you have to ask.”

Jeongin listened to you,  but he didn’t dare tell you that he didn’t plan to use this knowledge with anyone other than you. The only things he wanted to learn about were how to perfectly please you, how to make you cum and want more, how to make you come back to him. So he made sure to perfectly follow your rhythm, not flattering when you let him move on his own and started to jerk him off again, this time pulling his cock out of his sweats. Suddenly, you wanted to go down on your knees and take him into your mouth because he did have a very pretty dick - and it wasn’t a compliment you threw around this easily. 

“- Are you feeling good ? Am I doing good ?

- Yes, you’re doing really good Innie… Wanna make me feel even better ?

- Yeah…”

His immediate and eager response despite the fact that he was obviously starting to leak precum all over himself made you smile again. You loved how curious he was, how willing to discover and to let you teach him everything he needed to know he was. You grabbed his hand again, halting the cautious circles he was drawing on your clit to push his fingers lower, having them barely grazing against your more than wet entrance. You both gasped at the sensation, and your back arched slightly when Jeongin took it up himself to push one of his fingers inside, just enough for you to feel it. 

“- Is it okay ? Can I… Can I do this ?

- Hm, yes… Feels good, don’t stop.”

His brows were furrowed in concentration as he made sure to be careful when he fully pushed his middle finger inside of you. The way you were clenching down around him made him wonder about how good it would feel to have you wrapped around his cock instead and he throbbed in your hand that was still moving slowly around his dick, reminding him of his own arousal. You encouraged him to continue what he was doing with your endless praises, and soon enough, he was confident enough to push another one of his fingers inside of you, mesmerized by the way you were reacting - mouth opening and letting out a moan, squeezing him in your hand and your hips grinding against his palm as if it was a second nature. 

“- Does it feel good ?

- It does, Innie. Stop worrying about me, yeah ? You’re being such a good boy…”

Jeongin was always the first to laugh in his friend’s face for being wrapped around their girlfriend’s fingers but he realized in that moment that he was about to become way worse than them. He whined and chased your lips, all of the pleasure rushing into his veins starting to get way too much for him to stay quiet. The way you chuckled before grabbing his jaw and bringing your lips down on his for a hungry, messy kiss had him whimpering even louder. You made him weak, and he loved it so much. 

Noticing how sensitive and squirmy he had become, you sped up your movements around his cock. The thrusts of his fingers inside of you were regular, almost too slow, but it was so different from what you were used to, almost like a calculated rhythm that was starting to get to you and get you wanting more of it. And it didn’t help that his fingers were so long, and that they were making you feel so full, you just had to grind against his palm to get a bit of friction on your clit. 

You were so entranced by the kiss that you barely noticed it when Jeongin’s body started to shake. It was only when you felt a hot spurt of cum landing on your hand that you noticed he was indeed cumming, a strangled moan escaping him as you kept up your rhythm. The way he seemed just as surprised as you was arguably very cute, and you kept stroking him slowly and kissing his lips until he tried to get away from your touch.

“- I-I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t feel it coming…”

His embarrassment was coming back full force, and you were really, really starting to get addicted to how adorable he looked with his red cheeks and shifty eyes. You wiped your hand against your thigh, not caring too much for his cum before you grabbed his face, smiling at him while you tried to ignore the fact that his fingers were still stuffed inside of you even if he wasn’t moving them anymore.

“- Did it feel good ?”

Jeongin nodded and your smile only widened. 

“- Then never be embarrassed about having a good time baby. 

- But what about you ? You didn’t cum, did you ?”

You chuckled as you shook your head, placing another kiss on his pursed lips. You were thoroughly fucked. You knew you shouldn’t have started this at all, but now that you were here, you didn’t want to leave anymore. 

“- No, but it’s okay. I enjoyed watching you.”

There was a look of disappointment on Jeongin’s face as he looked up at you. He stayed quiet for a few seconds, as if he was trying to think about what he was going to do next, and before you knew it, he had you pinned underneath him, his larger frame hovering over you as his eyes were glued to your exposed cunt. Your squeal of surprise at his unexpected move made him look up at your eyes that were now pleading you.

“- Please, teach me how to make you cum. I wanna make you feel good too. I wanna… I wanna eat you out. Teach me.”

And how could you say no when he was so eager to learn, so eager to please you, so pliant when you pushed his head in between your thighs ? And from the way he was hungrily lapping at your folds, you were assured that your “teaching” wouldn’t stop there.

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts and translations of my works.

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kinktober (dm or comment to be added) :

@d-dilemma @bath1lda @leeknowinggg @anxiousskylar @mikaelless

[chocodile]

Hi ! I’ve been a massive fan through the years, seeing you develop Hyden and his world and how full of life and wonder and details is so awe inspiring and cool! I really love your work and your style is so vibrant and electric! It always makes me happy when I see your posts pass by

I wanted to ask if you had any advice about wanting to share your stories with the world. I get so anxious that no one will care and I’ll just be posting to no one. I don’t want fame , just mutual interaction or have people genuinely curious , hear about others stories and be able to tell my own

How did you start? I don’t want to assume , but you do have so much confidence and are very well spoken in the way you explain your lore, what helped you get over any fears or worries?

Gosh, thank you so much for the compliments! That's so sweet of you to say… it means a lot to me that people enjoy my stuff.

My thoughts on your other questions about sharing stories are long, rambling, and disjointed… apologies in advance for the length, I swear I tried to edit this down:

Regarding sharing stories, I'd say the most useful thing you can possibly have is to have at least one friend you share story stuff with who is totally on board with it and having fun too. I've been coming up with stories and characters my entire life, and only twice have I really had an audience for it. Every other time it was just me and my sister, or me and a couple friends, or me and my wife doing creative stuff semi-privately just for the joy of the craft.

(Of course, I know that's easier said than done… but if you do have creative friends, organizing some plans to share stories with each other, ask questions, create AUs where your OCs from different stories interact with each other, etc can be very psychologically nutritious.)

Regarding feeling anxious, I suppose I never felt much anxiety about it myself, so I'm not sure how to advise there… I was a teenager on Neopets where putting massive amounts of work into character stories that nobody might ever read was the norm… unless you were astronomically popular, it was expected that you would probably never hear from your audience and would never know how many people read your stories. Everything was primarily for your own entertainment, and I carried that approach forward into other creative works. Of course, it's hard not to feel a little self-conscious these days, when you can easily see what people are saying and see who is getting "engagement" and who is not... but I do think that aiming to entertain yourself (and perhaps one or two friends) first and foremost is the healthiest approach. Plus, if you are really invested in something and constantly producing lots of art and info about it, people tend to pick up on that positive energy.

Apologies if this isn't super useful... I know "just don't care and also happen to have a bunch of friends with very specific interests!" is not very helpful advice in itself.

I have many other thoughts on "launching" a story, how to meet other OC creators, and trying to build an audience who interacts with your characters... it's something I've thought about a lot. I can share my insights for others in this boat, if anyone's interested? I'm unsure if I should include them here since it might feel lecture-y to Anon (and also this post is long enough, PHEW). Let me know if you're interested in hearing them though!

[itsnickgalitzine]

yes, exactly. it's what tells me we have something true and special together. i don't either, i believe i'll spend my life with taylor and i couldn't be happier. how you manage to make me just like — gush about my relationship. oh thanks for thinking so — but i need you guys to help keep me grounded and when i need a helping hand. thank you, darling, it's not as easy to handle it all as it looks though. private ; easier said than done for me in this situation. it's just like — i don't know how to approach the topic of what's getting me without sounding regretful or ungrateful. and in texts ? definitely not where we should talk as i know i'd sound quite rude. it has been for now but i'm sure we'll figure it out soon.

that’s how you know it’s real—you’ve never loved anyone like this, and you’re choosing him every day. and he’s choosing you. that’s what lasts. i have no doubt you’ll keep growing together. and you’re everything with or without us, but i’m glad you keep us close. you’re managing so much, and from where i’m standing, you’re doing it beautifully. PRIVATE: i hear you. and i don’t think you need to have the perfect words before you talk to him—sometimes, just starting the conversation is enough. if something’s eating at you, even while you’re happy, then it’s worth figuring out, and taylor will want to be part of that. but i understand the worry, and if focusing on other things helps for now, then do that. just don’t push it down so far that it becomes impossible to reach.

[danrifics]

[wereshrew-admirer]

scratching at the walls

[sysig]

Coding woes (Patreon)