#i've had such a pain finding a way to get my hands on this short story

[badolmen]

Joy, Devil's Breath by Michael Rudin Google Drive link be upon ye.

[teaboot]

I've never had a cat before and I'm hoping to get one soon. Do you have any advice?

Treat a new cat as you would a new roommate. Give them space and time to settle, establish a pattern and a rhythm, and in time they may choose to become friends and spend time with you. Dont force a friendship.

Use simple words and repetition to establish communication. Words like breakfast, treat, snack, lunch, supper, dinner, food, and eat all basically mean, "I am feeding you; expect to be fed", but it's a lot for a little guy to remember. I just say "Dinner" when I mean "cat food is coming", and so my boy knows exactly what I mean when I say it. As a plus, using only one word for snack time means he has no idea what the other words mean, so I can talk about food in front of him without ruling him up.

Pay attention to body language. Cats all have different personalities, and you'll learn their likes, dislikes, and messages over time this way. Son boy here loves anything with plumbing but dislikes getting wet- his favourite blanket to chew and snuggle goes on his favourite chair, and he gives me a specific gesture when he wants me to kneel down so he can jump onto my shoulder.

Read into problematic behaviour. Cats pee in weird places when they're hurting, in distress, or have insufficient of unclean litter box space. Biting, attacking feet , and knocking things off tables often means they're understimulated and need you to play with them, or at least need some kind of enrichment or puzzle to tackle. Tail flicking can be frustration or irritation. Purring is usually good, but may also be self-soothing behaviour to alleviate pain, encourage healing, and relieve anxiety, like over-grooming.

Like children, "bad" behaviour isn't malicious- it usually means there's something you aren't seeing.

Learn how your cat expresses love. Loads of people think cats are uncaring, cruel, and indifferent, but the truth is, they're just not dogs. Spending time near you, showing an interest in tools you're using or projects you're working on, sitting the way you sit, laying on their back, rubbing on your legs, wiping their face on your shoes when you get home- these are signs that your cat is enamored with you. You're their family, they feel safe and protected around you, they're curious about things you enjoy and want everyone to know you're family.

Set reasonable expectations. Again, cats are not dogs.We bred dogs to desire our approval- cats walked into our lives themselves. They have no human-programmed need to fulfill a duty or perform a task to your standards.

Training cats to do tricks isn't as hard as people say, but the willingness or interest in doing the trick is more heavily reliant on personality and mood. Some cats will refuse all but the most basic requests- I'm lucky in that Ollie understands and is willing to do several, provided I don't abuse his trust and he's not crowded or overwhelmed or just bored of doing it over and over in a short period.

Ollie, for example, knows Up to stand on his back legs and hold my hand, Down to get to a surface I indicate, Out to emerge from a closed space, Come to find me where I am, Help? when I'm offering to let him use me as an elevator, Dinner when I understand he's hungry and am getting food, and when I put on his collar he knows to climb into his carrier 'cause we're going somewhere. And he'll do any of these about 90% of the time, either ignoring me or phoning it in when there's something interesting somewhere else, or if he's feeling anxious.

Lead by example. If you dread taking them to the vet, they'll see the anxiety in your body language and behaviour and likely learn to hate it, too. Again using my guy an example, I starred taking him on walks long before his first vet appointment, just to get used to his carrier and leash. Then his first checkup was relaxed and informal, with plenty of treats, and I let him explore the examination room with permission from the tech. Now he loves going, so I'm not stressed about taking him, so I don't stress him out in turn, and the vest doesn't have to deal with a stressed out cat slowing things down and fighting with them.

Make sure your sources are good ones, and also good ones for you. I will recommend Jackson Galaxy's YouTube channel for cat advice because a lot of what he does matches up with what I've learned and know to be true. I don't personally recommend Ceasar Milan because I personally find his methods distressing to recreate regardless of efficacy, so even if that advice was useful, *I'd* be miserable, and it'd just be trading one issue for another.

Have a person who can help. You never know when you might end up out of town overnight unexpectedly, or when your place may need serviced or fumigated, or if you may be called out of town. Before getting a cat, research reliable pet sitters, house sitters, pet daycares, whatever, just in case.

Consider pet insurance. No long spiel here, just think about it. Especially if you don't know your cats ancestry or potenyial health risks. An on top of that, fucking vaccinate them.

Dont let them free roam. At all.

I grew up on a farm with free-roaming barn cats. Do you know how many times child-me cried over having to bury them? Illness, disease, pregnancy, vehicles, other territorial cats, ticks, fleas, litter, poisoned prey, malicious humans, local wildlife, predatory birds, scrap metal, extreme heat, freezing temperatures, tainted water sources, poisonous or venomous critters, getting stuck in small or high places, tapeworms, loose nails, old equipment, falling branches...

I've seen some truly body-horror slasher-movie shit- just truly nauseating visual fuckery- and I'm telling you not to let your cat free-roam.

Leash training isn't hard. Supervised walks aren't hard. Even keeping your cat physically fit and entertained indoors isn't an impossible feat. Don't let your fucking cat fucking free-roam. Fuck

Also read up on foods and plants cats can't do, like every houseplant in existence is toxic it's insane

Anyhow yeah that's like. A couple things I guess

Here, have an Ollie Pic

[highway-143]

hold my hand - nishimura riki

genre: smut, fluff

pairing: bf!nishimura riki x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k

now playing: connected (bang chan) - stray kids

(proofread)

all scenarios are fake and are not meant to harm any idol in the story

------<3------

"riki stop!" you giggle as your boyfriend tickles your stomach. a movie played loudly in the background, drowning out both of your laughter. your arms and legs flailed around riki as he continued to tackle you into the couch, his hands running around your abdomen.

"i can't!" his bright smile shows itself in the dim light of his living room, making your heart flutter. "you're just too adorable!" he chuckles and finally takes his fingers off of you. you admittedly miss his touch, but thankfully he lies next to you, pulling you in his arms to close the gap between his chest and your back.

"you smell good," he says, his lips against your neck muffling his voice. "i could smell you forever"

you blush and lace your fingers through his, your intertwined hands pressed against your stomach, holding your bodies close together.

riki loved being close to you. cuddling, holding hands, and soft kisses were frequent when the two of you spent time together. you were practically inseperable at this point.

you loved riki so much, it felt like a physical pain in your chest to be away from him for too long. he was the most precious piece of your heart now. nothing in the world could change that.

so now you began to think. about sex. a lot.

you haven't had that... discussion... with him yet, it's always been a little too embarrassing and nerve wracking to bring up.

but you couldn't deny the steady feeling of emptiness between your legs, especially at times when he held you this close. you were getting more and more ready to jump that next hurdle, with his hand holding yours along the way.

"ki?" you ask, rubbing circles over his knuckles with your thumbs.

"hmm?" he hums against your neck.

"can we talk?"

"whats up babe?" he sits up and pulls you so you are facing each other, cross legged and still on the couch.

you squint your eyes and clench your fists, very nervous. "i want to have sex with you."

he stares at you in shock. his eyebrows furrow adorably, and his lips slowly form a smirk.

"you want to.... let me finally fuck you? for real?"

"yes i-"

before you can finish he pounces on you, pinning you under him. "i've been waiting for you, babe" he whispers sultrily in your ear. "you don't know how long i've wanted this"

your face flushes under his intense gaze. "if i'd known i would have said so sooner, i'm so-"

"ah! don't be sorry. not even for a second. i want you to be ready when you are ready, not when you want to appease me because my dick is hard."

if it's even possible, your face reddens further. he lets out a sexy laugh at your embarrassment. "what, do you think that's weird?"

"no, it's just different... i don't know what to do or how to do it well, and i'm nervous, ki"

"don't be nervous, babe. you know it's both of our first times. you don't need to be embarrassed with me. especially not with me"

"thanks, baby"

you wring your hands and look around the room. nothing seems right. its too bright, too cramped, too quiet, even with the movie in the background. the silence between you and riki is deafening.

"so did you just say that in general or do you want to do it now?" he teases, a wide grin forming on his insanely kissable lips.

you slap his arm. "yeah i mean now, i just don't really know what to do." you cast your gaze downward, looking at the hem of your shorts that was being rumpled in your fingers.

"then lets find out together." riki grabs your hands in his and pulls you off the couch, guiding you down the hallway of his small apartment.

when you reach his room, he puts you on the bed, shutting the door and turning off the lights. the faint glow of dusk seeps through his windows and spills into the bedroom, lighting the room in a romantic haze that has your senses on high alert. every slight motion has you on edge, anticipation rising as riki steps closer and closer to you.

"what do you want to do?" he asks, eyes softly gazing into yours, looking for any response

"i... god this is so embarrassing!" you bury your face in your hands, and riki chuckles in amusement.

"babe, look at me. please." he pulls your hands down by your wrists, bringing your gaze to him. "this isn't about being perfect. or looking perfect. its going to be sloppy, its going to be hard. but i know that we can both take it, and that we will love each other no matter what. right?"

you nod your head slowly, tears threatening to fall onto your cheeks.

"words, please" riki begs from his kneeling position below you

"right"

he smiles "okay. so where do you want to start?"

"i... i guess we should maybe take off our clothes?"

"probably a good idea"

you both start removing your clothing. your fingers tremble as you pull your shirt over your head.

and although you cant see it, riki's are too. he nervously pulls his pants down, hands shaking like he had too much coffee.

you and riki take each other in. your whole body heats up as his gaze trails over your bare skin. it felt so irregular. nobody has ever viewed your body this way. you stare at riki's gorgeous abs, slowly making your way to his cock.

it was half hard, not fully aroused, yet still bigger than what you thought it would be. you worry how you're supposed to fit him in you. but damn, it was just so beautiful. the tip was a pinkish color, and you could just make out a vein traveling down his shaft, dissapearing into his pelvis.

"holy shit, you're beautiful." riki says, jaw dropped as he rakes his eyes over your insecurities. you dont mind your body, but hell, you couldn't ignore the curve of your stomach, or slight thickness to your thighs. you use your hands to cover your stomach, but riki moves them away.

"dont you dare try and cover yourself. you are absolutely gorgeous. do you hear me?" his voice is practically a growl as he tugs your wrists.

"okay, ki." you say, smiling up at him.

he takes your lips in a soft kiss, pulling your face to his by cupping his hands on your cheeks.

"i love you so much" you say, pulling back to look at him

"i love you more" he whispers into the darkness. "what do you want next?"

"no, its your turn to choose what we do," you try to be teasing, but only feel nervousness

"well lets get on the bed. go put your head on the pillows." he points to the empty bed behind you.

when you are settled, riki climbs over you and places soft kisses on your face, caressing your hot skin with his lips as his sturdy arms hold himself up above you. you let him kiss his way down to your neck, slowly sucking on the skin near your collarbone as you wrapped your arms around his back.

he pulls away and kneels at your waist, looking at you for any sign of regret.

"are you ready?" he searches your eyes for uncertainty, but you nod in approval.

"words"

"yes," you breathe .

he pulls himself in between your legs and spreads them wide, getting a perfectly unobscured view of your glistening pussy

"already wet for me babe?" his eyes dialate from pure enjoyment. "and i haven't even touched you yet"

"please," you scoff, "you know what youve done"

"mmm" he moans as he slowly aligns his tip with your entrance "are you ready?"

you grab his wrist and grip his hand tightly. "lets do it ki." you grit your teeth an he slowly pushes his tip onto your opening, only for it to slide up, refusing to enter.

you moan from the friction of his dick rubbing your cunt. he chuckles and pushes back do your entrance, even slower in entry this time.

but again, he slides right out.

every time he tries to breach your walls, they tighten and refuse to let him in. by the sixth time, riki groans in pain. his cock now fully hard and throbbing in need, his tip is red and coated in a smeared mixture of your combined slickness.

you lay back, squeezing his hand as if its your life force as tears begin to fall down your cheeks. "i... i can't do it, ki" you sob. "it's too big, i can't do it.... i can't do it..."

your tears paint trails on your face while riki squeezes your hand even harder. "you can, baby. i know you can. do you want me to try and stretch you out?"

you nod and choke back another sob, pulling yourself together.

this time, riki doesnt ask for words. he sees how distressed you are, and places a kiss on your hand, still held in his.

his free hand works its way between your thighs, finding your entrance. he smoothly slides one finger in, rubbing it along your gummy walls as he stretches your hole further. he slides a second finger in. then a third. and a fourth

your cunt burns from the pressure as his fingers glide inside you, not with the intent to pleasure, no. that was for his dick tonight.

riki removes his fingers, bringing them to his mouth as he moves his cock back to where he was before.

you stare at him, completely in shock, as he slurps your juices off of his own digits, a slutty smile curving the corners of his lips as he sucked on the sweet liquid

when he pulls his hand out of his mouth and back to its guiding position at his dick, you ready yourself, holding his hand tightly.

he spreads your legs as wide as they can go and finally shoves his tip into your pussy.

you gasp at the stretch. it was definetly more than his fingers, but fuck, it felt like heaven once the stinging subsided

riki moaned in joy as your core squeezed him nicely. "oh fuck, babe, you're fucking tight"

he slowly pushes deeper and deeper into you until he cant go any further. only 2/3 of his length fit inside of you, but it fit in you perfectly.

"baby, you are fucking wonderful. i'm so proud of you" he says, giving your hand a faint squeeze "do you want to see if we can fit the rest of me in?"

your eyes look wild at his words, darting from his face to what you can see of his abdomen.

"you... you meant thats not it?" you ask, ready to cry again. "i don't think i can"

"that's okay baby, you're doing wonderful" riki takes your other hand and squeezes both "this feels fucking perfect"

"im sorry, ki" you say, the tears that were being held back slowly falling down your cheeks now "im sorry i cant take all of you. i want to take all of you, i do, but its so much"

he looks down at you with soft eyes. "how about we try something else?"

you nod again, and riki slowly pulls out of you and picks you up. he flips over so you are straddling his waist, and he is where you were

"now try," he says, helping you position yourself on him.

you slide his dick into you, sinking down on it inch by inch until you finally have all of it inside.

you and riki grin in satisfaction as you settle down onto his pelvis, but that doesnt last long. he smoothly flips you back to where you were before, only now he is buried fully inside your aching core

"do you want me to move?" he asks, gripping your hand again

"fuck yes. please go"

riki starts pulling out, then thrusting back in. his motions start out lazy and slow, wanting you to feel pleasure instead of pain.

"faster, ki. i can take it"

he immediately quickens his pace, his hips slapping hard against your ass. his hand grips your thigh, leaving marks on the skin as he held you open

his other hand still held yours. you squeezed it as you felt his dick pounding deeper and deeper inside of you, making you see white.

"shit, baby... i'm-i'm gonna cum" riki groans, his head hands limply off his shoulders, the tips of his hair slightly ticking your stomach

"then -ah- do it ki, cum in m-me"

your body shudders as you feel your orgasm building up, the band threatening to break while riki thrusted hastily into you.

he holds your thigh tighter as orgasm takes over, thick jets of cum spilling into your cunt, filling up what little space you had left.

your body snaps from the feeling of being so full, twitching and clenching with riki as you both rode the high, hand in hand.

riki slumps next to you, pulling his dick out. it left you with an emty feeling, but he pulled you closer to his chest to make up for it.

that didn't last long though. he immediately shot up and walked into the bathroom, only giving you a "stay there" to wait with.

he walked back out, his boxers back on, with a towel in his hand. he pressed the cool cloth to your forehead, slowly working it over your body until it cleaned everything, even the dripping mess between your legs

he tosses the fabric away and lays back down, pulling your back to his chest and wrapping his arms around you again. you take his hands, whispering into the darkness of his bedroom

"ill hold you forever" you say.

"and i will hold you longer"

------<3------

a.n- dear god im crying. this was so sweet to write. riki is def the type of bf who isnt afraid to tease but fs knows what he needs to do to make you feel good. but now my heart is hurting bc man, i need this boy in my life like right now. okay time to put me back in my cage before i say smth more out of pocket

please reblog if you liked it, and comment with ideas bc i need more XD

masterlist

[adieutristana]

Hii

Can you make Arcane women X Reader who became blind or deaf in an accident trying to protect them?

I love your writing and sorry for any mistakes, English is not my first language

of course! thank you for the request, and your kind words <3

disclaimer that i am neither blind nor deaf but chose deaf because i know it better (family members). i tried my best but the last thing i want to do is be disrespectful, please let me know if you have any feedback.

summary; headcanons of arcane women with fem! reader who went deaf protecting them.

characters included; jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn.

warnings/tags; mentions of war/combat, injury, medical talk (mel), hurt/comfort, fluff

men dni.

jinx;

✧.* your first time being caught in crossfire was nothing short of terrifying. jinx's ego is inflated beyond belief, even going as far as to say she just can't seem to die. but it doesn't make you any less fearful for her safety, or more importantly, her life.

✧.* she's got another enforcer on her back, chasing her through the lanes as she repeatedly tries to fire her gun to fend them off. it's not seeming to work, though. she's panting, her legs threatening to give out underneath her, but she can't stop moving. not now.

✧.* you happen to be walking by after running an errand, and seeing jinx zip past you is concerning, to say the least. you decide to shift gears to follow after her, clutching a bag of produce to your chest as you run. but god, jinx is fast.

✧.* you finally manage to catch up to jinx, long, blue braids trailing behind her as a sort of unintentional tracker.

✧.* "jinx- jinx, what's going on?"

✧.* "damn enforcer... won't leave me alone... it'll be fine, i've got this taken care of." she says through gritted teeth, weaving in and out of different alleyways with expert speed.

✧.* the enforcer is approaching behind the two of you, closer and closer. you forcefully take jinx's elbow and shove her behind you, fully blocking her body. and then, the impact.

✧.* you're not even sure what happened- just the next thing you know, there's an enforcer with several holes in their body, and jinx is knelt in front of you. trying to speak to you, but it's like the world's gone silent.

✧.* "what? i don't understand... what's going on," you mutter, half to yourself, and half to jinx. but you quickly realize that you can't hear yourself speaking, and you can't hear her voice, despite the fact that she looks distraught over you. you're bleeding, the shock of it all stopping most of the pain, yet it just doesn't feel real.

✧.* jinx quickly grabs your shoulders and guides you back to her hideout. it's obvious that you're shaken up and in a haze, the last thing your girlfriend would want is you trying to find your way there by yourself in this state.

✧.* she sits you on a tattered couch, getting her (your) first aid kit out to hastily patch you up. you're looking at her hands working quickly on your wounds, but don't notice the fact that she's trying to ask if you're okay, if you're hurting, if you can forgive her for not being able to stop you from getting hurt. she looks up at you, dark lips pressed into a thin line. her brows are furrowed, searching your expression.

✧.* "i... can't hear anything." you say, although again, you can't hear the sound of your own voice.

✧.* jinx's eyebrows raise this time, but she quickly finishes wrapping your injuries without another word.

✧.* jinx is used to communicating non-verbally since taking in isha, but she wants to be sure of how you'd prefer to do it. first she'll make sure you don't have any lasting injuries, apologize profusely to you for everything despite going unheard. then, she'll start writing things down for you to tell you.

✧.* before long, you and jinx are making your own system of signs. you'd had to take up sign language classes, but jinx wanted to be able to communicate with you more intimately. whether you wanted to speak to her or no longer speak at all, she wants you to have that option.

✧.* 100% blasts her music even louder when you're around. she'd read something about deaf people being able to enjoy music via vibrations of the floor, so she keeps that in mind. most of the time she just plays 'get jinxed,' but the thought is there.

✧.* jinx ultimately just wants to help you get back on your feet and adjust after the accident. she thanks you profusely for protecting her like that, apologizing in the same breaths. naturally, some things in your lives will have to change, but she just wants you to be able to get back to living your life.

vi;

✧.* being with vi means being okay with her coming home with various bruises, cuts, scrapes, even sprains and broken bones from time to time. she can't always explain every injury, memory fuzzy from the series of events the day held. but regardless, she'll let you wrap her up, massage her, take care of her. it's nice to be doted on for a change.

✧.* vi's one and only strict rule is that you are not allowed to get involved in any of the fighting she does. even if it's something as seemingly harmless as standing before the council, you can never truly know what'll happen. you stay home, or at work, anywhere but where vi is getting into a fight. the last thing she wants is to see you hurt the way she gets hurt.

✧.* but this time, you decided not to listen. go behind your girlfriend's back. she's got a particularly dangerous job in the lanes, something about negotiation...? but it's the person she's negotiating with that worries you. so you decide to trail behind vi, staying a few feet behind her so that she doesn't notice you. it's harmless just this once, right? it's not like you're actually fighting, you're just making sure she's okay.

✧.* at first, things seem to be going well. a famous dealer of shimmer, someone she's decided to try and take on in an effort to slow the supply in zaun. you can't make out anything they're saying, but no punches are being thrown. that's always a good thing.

✧.* until they are.

✧.* vi has her gauntlets, striking and dodging with expert speed. you've seen vi before in pit fights that she allowed you to attend, but it always surprises you just how strong the girl is. she's like the human equivalent of a tank.

✧.* you inch closer, until you're peeking out from behind a corner at vi and the man. she seems to be holding her own so far, but you can't help the overwhelming dread enveloping you.

✧.* a punch is thrown by the man that makes your heart drop, and you immediately rush to jump in front of vi, guarding her with your body.

✧.* "babe, what are you doing-" she gasps, before you're hit several times, over and over. her eyes blown wide, vi leaves your side for just a moment to take the man down. she understands now that it's pointless, someone like this can't be reasoned with. she's not sure why she even tried, especially seeing you hurt like this.

✧.* vi kneels down beside you, wrapping both arms around you before quickly helping you up. she takes one of your arms around her shoulder, supporting your weight as she brings you home. she doesn't try to pry, try to talk to you, her mind focused on just getting you to safety.

✧.* the second she gets you through the door, vi sits you down on your bed, grabbing a kit to patch you up. still silent, still focused, her eyes unmoving. she seems strangely stoic, but you chalk it up to her just being absorbed in what she's doing.

✧.* finally, she looks up at you, and asks, "do you feel alright, baby?"

✧.* you furrow your brows, trying to make out what she's asking you, but you simply can't. everything is silent, and you don't know why, and you wish so badly to hear her voice. your lips are parted, but no words come out.

✧.* "baby?"

✧.* "i... everything is quiet." you mutter. vi’s eyes go wide, but she immediately catches onto what you’re saying- and scrambles for any way that she can talk to you. writing at first, but she listens intently as you speak and tell her exactly what you need. her first priority is helping you heal from your external injuries, her second is to help you adjust.

✧.* vi wasn’t really given a formal education, but she will seek out a local class or group so that she can learn sign language for you. the last thing she wants is to not be able to properly communicate with you. given, she doesn’t know much about deafness or hearing loss, but she’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re able to get back on your feet.

✧.* generally, though, she tries not to mention the accident too much. she knows it’s a sore spot for you, and she also doesn’t want to reduce you to the fact that you lost your hearing. you’re still the same girl that she fell in love with.

✧.* however, vi is eternally grateful for the way you protected her that day. she doesn’t know what could’ve happened to her if you didn’t.

mel;

✧.* it happened during the attack on the council.

✧.* you were overseeing the meeting regarding the independence of zaun, a peace treaty of sorts. your girlfriend frequently invited you to sit in on meetings, saying that it was important for you to be aware of what’s going on in the city. part of you thinks she just wants an excuse to spend more time with you, though.

✧.* one second you're watching spotlights flicker as council members make their decisions, the next second you hear glass shattering and screams. you're throwing yourself over mel's form to soften the blow to her. and then- nothing.

✧.* you wake up in a stiff bed, your back feeling as if it's on fire, various tubes and wires sticking out of you. you look around, vision clouded, taking in your surroundings. a bland-looking room with white curtains, the air dry, a vase of flowers on a table, and a chair beside your bed. with mel sitting in it.

✧.* "darling, you're awake," she breathes out, reaching for your hand. she wants more than anything to bring you close, to hold you to her and never let go, but she can't do that right now. not while you're in this condition.

✧.* you squeeze her hand, but you don't register what she's said. you can't hear anything, in fact, and it's... strange.

✧.* you just look at mel, your expression still. she's searching for something, anything.

✧.* "...please, darling, say something."

✧.* "i can't hear you, mel." you state.

✧.* it doesn't take long for mel to catch onto what's happened, likely due to how many tragedies she's seen in her life. she's seen people lose their vision, movement in their bodies, limbs, and their hearing.

✧.* mel squeezes your hand back, a pained look in her eyes, but she's just grateful that this is the worst thing that came of the explosion. her first priority is getting all of your external wounds healed, getting you back to a state where she can finally take you home and hold you the way she aches to.

✧.* in the meantime, mel hires one of the best sign tutors in piltover (she can't be bothered to take a group class) to teach both you and her. the last thing she wants is for you two to not be able to communicate, even if you insist that you can (sometimes) read her lips.

✧.* the second the doctor says you're in good enough health to go home, mel is gathering your things and rushing you home. she's fussing over you, making sure you're okay to walk after being in bed for so long, peppering your face with gentle kisses and no doubt leaving some of her lip gloss behind.

✧.* mel does still want you to sit in on council meetings, despite everything. internally, she feels horrible for your sacrifice and selflessness. but she doesn't bring it up- she doesn't want for you to feel guilty or bring up any bad memories. she does hire an interpreter to sit in as well, so that you can still follow along.

✧.* mel also is careful to let you know that she's in the room before touching you. one of her favorite things used to be wrapping her arms around your waist from behind, nestling her face into the crook of your neck and pressing gentle kisses to sensitive skin. but she realizes that may startle you now, so she'll make sure that you can see her before doing anything.

✧.* your girlfriend overall is just very caring, very doting, as always. she's always been an attentive and devoted lover, wanting to make sure that you're comfortable and most importantly happy.

sevika;

✧.* it was during the rally in zaun, near vander's statue. all was well, you were stood next to your girlfriend as she spoke to a crowd of various groups- jinxers, traders, silco's former allies... your hand on the small of her back to reassure her as she spoke.

✧.* until enforcers raided the rally, full tactical gear and brute force. the crowd immediately disperses, some being thrown to the ground, others shoved against fences and handcuffed- and the second a spear was thrown at sevika, you knew you had to do something.

✧.* sevika was always insistent that you allow her to do the hard work. she's used to defending others, throwing herself in the face of danger and taking the worst of everything. she did it for silco, she did it for jinx, hell, she does it for you.

✧.* before she could protest or push you out of the way, you were throwing yourself in front of sevika, taking all of the blows directed at her. the instant she realized what you were doing, she was gripping your shoulders, trying to shove you away from her, saying "i've got this, move," and asking what the hell you think you're doing. but you won't budge.

✧.* you just keep taking it, hit after hit, wincing and screaming out in pain, but you can't bear to see sevika hurt. not anymore than she already has been.

✧.* the next moment you remember is waking up in your girlfriend's lap, her cradling your head, brows knitted together in painful concern. it hurts her to see you like this. the second you begin to blink your eyes open, she's holding you close to her chest.

✧.* she pulls back slightly to look at you, just taking in your features. god, sevika is just so grateful that you're alive, that you aren't hurt too badly. you're bruised, you were beaten, you have a few cuts and gashes, but it seems like she's gotten those cleaned up while you were unconscious.

✧.* "dove? are you okay? please, talk to me."

✧.* you wince slightly, your lips parted. sevika is trying to say... something, but you're not able to understand any of it.

✧.* "i don't- i don't understand..." you breathe out, and then you realize that you can't hear your own voice either.

✧.* "what don't you understand?" she asks, but you still can't quite make out what she's asking you. what you can see is that her expression is growing more and more frantic.

✧.* "i can't hear you, sev. i can't... hear anything." you say, hoping to god she understands what you're getting at.

✧.* her eyes widen, but sevika's expression quickly softens. she knows more than most people do what it's like to lose something in battle, having lost an arm protecting silco from one of powder's bombs nearly a decade ago. she sighs, pressing her lips into a thin line, and nods. she doesn't say anything further, but helps you onto your feet so that she can make sure you're fully there after being out for so long.

✧.* first thing she does the next morning is seek out some kind of resources for sign language. she's not the type of woman to take formal classes normally, so she'll stop by the only (run down) public library in zaun and begin to teach herself. it does take some time, but she gets there, and eventually she's at your level (although you went to an actual class).

✧.* similar to mel, she'll let you know that she's in the room before touching you in any way. one of sevika's favorite things to do is brush the small of your back from behind, give you lingering touches in the morning after she's woken up and you're already cooking breakfast. but she knows you'd probably jump out of your skin now that you can't hear her behind you, so she'll do whatever she can to avoid that.

✧.* as i've said many times, i do imagine that sevika is a pretty soft and gentle lover the majority of the time. this transcends into this, but above all, she wants you to just adjust. life goes on, you learn how to live with what you've lost and work around it. she knows that very well from experience.

caitlyn;

✧.* you were caught in crossfire of one of the many shootouts between noxian forces and piltover's soldiers. you had never been a violent or confrontational person, preferring to watch from the sidelines and let your girlfriend take care of the dirty work. that didn't mean that you didn't have opinions, but you opted to stay behind the scenes.

✧.* lately, though, caitlyn has been coming home with worse and worse injuries. at first it was a few cuts, a few gashes, but then it's stab wounds, bullet holes in her arms and sides. it's a miracle how she hasn't been vitally wounded, but you don't want to wait until that actually does happen.

✧.* so one day, you insist on letting you come with her. caitlyn tries to protest, tries to persuade you to just stay home, or go out to local shops, or take yourself out to eat, anything but putting yourself in the face of violence with her. but you're relentless, you won't have any of it- so finally, she gives in.

✧.* "stay at a distance, okay? the last thing that i want is for you to get beaten up like i do."

✧.* you try to listen, you really do. but with ambessa, noxian forces, soldiers coming at caitlyn and topside's soldiers from all directions, it's hard to not want to do something. the battle is getting more heated, caitlyn moves with frightening speed and accuracy. but it's not enough, not this time.

✧.* your eyes don't know where to look, don't know what to focus on. you can hardly keep up with everything, especially from where you're standing, but you finally decide to step in. you can't bear to see caitlyn get hurt anymore, and you can't even begin to comprehend the idea of losing her because of this.

✧.* it all goes by in a flash. you in front of caitlyn, the woman screaming your name, being shoved to the ground, sharp pains, then nothing.

✧.* you wake up in caitlyn's bed, surrounded by bouquets she got you and with her sitting on the edge of the bed. the second that she registers you're regaining consciousness, she can only smile down at you with tears pricking at her eyes.

✧.* "oh, thank gods you're awake," she breathes out, immediately reaching to take your hand and intertwine your fingers with hers, calloused thumb running across the back of your hand.

✧.* what's strange is that you can feel caitlyn's hand against yours, you can see her lips moving, but you can't hear anything, and it's driving you crazy. clearly she's trying to say something to you, but it's inaudible. everything is.

✧.* she furrows her brows, waiting for your response. normally, you don't take this long, but you're just... staring at her, your expression unmoving.

✧.* "dear?" she asks, her face growing visibly worried.

✧.* "i don't know what you're trying to say, cait, i- i'm sorry." you whisper. "i can't hear a thing."

✧.* caitlyn is a smart girl. she takes a moment to process what you've said, but it does click in her mind pretty quickly. you've lost your hearing. a million thoughts swirl through her head, about learning how to effectively communicate with you, how to adjust around this, but she can't get ahead of herself. she just sighs, gently brushing her lips against your forehead and letting you continue to rest.

✧.* however, similar to mel, caitlyn hires a sign teacher to teach both of you. cait is very immersed, practicing with you whenever possible. it's not only a good bonding experience, but it helps her be able to accommodate you better.

✧.* absolutely doesn't let you go on any more missions with her, though. not that you'd ask- but if you did, the answer would be an immediate no. neither of you really speak about what you did that day.

✧.* caitlyn is grateful that you jumped in to defend her, knowing she likely would've suffered worse in her own wounded state. but it's a sore spot for both of you.

✧.* caitlyn is also very well-researched, so she does go to some archives to read about hearing loss and how to build something around it. that's all she wants for you, really, to be able to make something out of this. she doesn't want to coddle you, doesn't want to give you sympathy that she knows you don't need. she's grateful that you came out the other end with your life intact.

[damneddamsy]

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

FREEFALL FUNCTION—Descent governed by forces outside one's control.

summary: After a disappearance shakes his world, Joel finds himself craving home, touches that promise, hands that stay.

a/n: I was in a really bad headspace, and that's why I wasn't replying a lot to your sweet comment (I've read them all, thank you so so much), or responding to messages. I just needed to get this chapter off my chest, because it's been building up to this, and I've been coming back a lot to fix this specific part so a lot of WARNINGS please: vague mentions of rape, lotsa violence, trauma, action, and just a fuckload of angst. also, LOVE. SO MUCH LOVE. hope you've got your hearts ready and some bandaids.

Joel was making a list.

A real mental inventory of all the fucked-up shit that had gone sideways since last night.

He had to. Otherwise, his head would be a mess of rage and regret, spinning in circles, getting him nowhere but down. And he needed to focus.

First, the crap he’d spewed at Leela—words he couldn't take back, words he didn't mean, words that sat like rusted nails in his gut. Sharp, corroded, poisoned with his own damn pride. He should’ve known better. But meaning didn’t matter. It was what she heard that counted. And what she heard had been enough to make her go quiet on him. Worse than yelling. Worse than anything. He’d rather she cussed him out, swung at him, anything but this.

Second—fucking Tommy. The son of a bitch dared to leave him behind on this run. Rode off without so much as a glance back, like Joel was the one being difficult. Like he was the one who needed space. Like he wasn’t the one who’d been fighting tooth and nail to put things right. And now he was playing some game of keep-away like Joel didn’t deserve to be part of it.

He clenched his jaw at that. He didn’t like being shut out, especially not by his own damn brother.

Third—his back. Christ. Riding non-stop for the past hour had him aching fiercely. His lower spine felt like it was grinding itself down to dust, and every bump in the trail shot pain clear up to his skull. He was too old for this endless shitwork, but stopping wasn’t an option.

And then—Leela. Because out of everything in his life that was spinning out of his control, she was the one thing he wasn’t willing to lose.

He hated it. He hated this helplessness. The desperation to know that she was alright. This madness was a product of his own idiocy.

Right. That was the list.

And now, this—this goddamn trail. Because like clockwork, the next thing to add to his tally of frustrations was creeping up on him before he saw anything.

The Colten Bay trail had started to look familiar—small bends in the path, the way the trees arched overhead, creating a canopy of shifting shadows. He'd been riding for two hours, maybe more, the passage of time lost in the churn of his thoughts. He wasn’t as good as Tommy at navigating these woods, not yet, but he wasn’t blind either.

The ruined road into the small town had gone quiet—too quiet. No wind whistling through the broken windows, no birds, no distant scurry of wildlife picking through the remains. Just silence, thick and suffocating,

He took it in as he rode in slowly, scanning the hollowed-out husk of a town that had been left to rot. Storefronts with shattered windows, doors hanging off hinges, sun-bleached signs dangled by rusted chains. Rusted-out trucks half-buried in overgrown grass. A rust-colored stain smeared across a brick wall, years old, but still dark enough to make something curdle in his gut.

Joel pulled up short, dismounting without taking his eyes off the wreckage. His boots hit the pavement with a dull thump, the heat of the sun bleeding into the soles of his feet.

It was even worse up close, but nothing he wasn't used to. He'd seen worse. Nature had started creeping back in—vines curling over stone, weeds splitting through the pavement—but it wasn’t enough to hide the bones of what had been left behind.

He adjusted his grip on his rifle, raised and cocked to take aim, his every sense straining for something—growls, clicks, rifles, shoes, anything.

Then he heard it.

A voice. Then voices. Faint, distant. Threading through the ruins.

Tommy. More specifically—his shitty brother’s loud-ass laugh.

Joel exhaled sharply, stock perched tight into his shoulder, trying to shake the tension curling through him. Tommy was laughing, which meant the dumbass wasn’t dead. Which meant there was no immediate danger.

Still, Joel pushed forward carefully, stepping over debris, keeping to the edges of the street.

And then he spotted them.

Tommy, standing outside a withering old appliance store, leaning against the frame with his rifle slung loose over one shoulder. Ellie was a few steps away, arms crossed, leaning on her rifle like she was already bored.

Ellie—fucking Ellie. What was she doing here? Did nobody think? Did nobody use their goddamn heads? She hadn't even been down this path before. Kid was going to get herself killed.

Joel barely had time to process it before Tommy caught his movement. His brother tensed immediately, his hand twitching toward his gun, already halfway to raising it before recognition hit.

Joel threw up a hand. “Jesus Christ, Tommy, it’s me.”

Tommy exhaled sharply, lowering his rifle. “Son of a bitch—”

Joel didn’t let him finish. “The hell do you think you’re doin’?” His voice came out low and edged, riding the line between frustration and relief, still fueled by the panic that had been burning through his veins for the last two hours.

Tommy gave him a flat look. “Right now? ‘Bout to blow your goddamn head off.”

His pulse thundered, but he forced himself to keep steady. “You were goin’ off alone? Did you want to get your ass kicked?”

Tommy scoffed. “Toldja, not a tough job. In and out.” He tilted his head toward Ellie. “And I’m not alone. I’ve got the kid. And the whizkid.”

Ellie grumbled. “How am I still a...? Ugh.”

And as if Leela even counted as a backup. How the hell was she supposed to protect anything? What was she gonna do—build a goddamn time machine? Throw a wrench at danger? Jump in a fucking toolbox? She could hardly walk without wincing half the time, always too lost in her head, too quiet, too—

Joel exhaled hard, scrubbing a hand down his face before turning to Ellie. She barely acknowledged him, arms still crossed tight, scuffing her boot against the pavement like she was already tired of waiting.

He huffed, stepping over, and giving her shoulder a firm squeeze. Just checking. Just making sure. She was real, breathing, safe, alive.

“You alright, kiddo?”

Ellie rolled her eyes, glancing up at him. “Relax, old man. No one's dead yet.”

Joel's jaw ticked.

She jerked her chin toward the store. “Your girl’s back there. Still scrounging up stuff.”

Joel stalked forward without another word to her. The place within was dim, slats of dying afternoon light slanting through the busted-out windows, casting long, jagged shadows across rows of overturned shelves. The air reeked of stale plastic and mildew, and somewhere, a strip of metal dangled from the ceiling, creaking with the breeze.

He stepped past a shattered washing machine, careful with his footing, ears straining.

His fingers flexed around the stock of his rifle, irritation already flooding his focus. Stupid. This was so fucking stupid.

Leela was nowhere in sight. Just more and more metal shelves stripped bare, and the soft creak of something shifting toward the back.

He found her there—half-hidden behind the last row of shelves, grunting as she wrestled with the handle of a rusted cart already stacked high with shit he didn't know the names of—gears, belts, maybe the guts of an old dryer. Heavy-looking. Useless-looking.

Joel barely stopped himself from cursing out loud. “Jesus, darlin'.”

She glanced up then, catching sight of him, eyes flicking to the rifle still in his hands. He saw the brief tension in her shoulders, and the slight narrowing of her eyes, before he wordlessly slung the weapon back over his shoulder.

“Joel,” she greeted, a little surprised but didn’t care enough to show it.

Just Joel. As if he hadn’t spent the last two hours riding like a maniac through the woods, as if she hadn’t left Maya alone like she hadn’t done the most reckless, mind-numbingly foolish fucking thing she could’ve possibly done.

There were so many things he wanted to say. To lay into her, to yell, to cuss her out, to tell her what a fucking idiot she was.

For leaving Maya alone. For coming out here, unprepared, with Tommy of all people. For not thinking—despite whatever had happened between them—that she could have left the baby with him. Because that was how it worked. That was how relationships worked. Or would have worked. If they had ever thought to address what the fuck they were. Too friendly neighbours? Co-parents? A friend he really wanted to belong to for the rest of his life? Just two people who knew each other too well?

No, but she looked fine. Which would've been great if it didn't piss him off even more. As if she hadn’t made him lose his goddamn mind these past few hours.

His jaw ticked as his gaze flicked down, scanning her, frustration mounting as he catalogued every stupid decision she’d made today.

She’d put on a nice windbreaker—for once—yet she was completely underdressed for the trip. No flashlight strapped to her pack. No holster. No decent boots. And for the love of all that was holy—where the fuck were her pants?

She was in nothing but those annoying tiny shorts, legs all bared for the claws or teeth of a clicker, like she thought she was going out for a fucking morning stroll instead of a dangerous supply trip with Tommy.

Joel exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. Stupid, stupid girl.

And she was looking at him like she was waiting. Like she knew exactly what was coming.

Proving her right, he took a slow step forward. “Are you outta your goddamn mind?”

Leela didn’t flinch. She just looked back at him, even, hands tightening over the handle of the cart. “Didn’t realize I needed permission from you.”

“Ain’t about permission. It’s about sense.” His voice dropped lower, biting. “Somethin’ you seem to be lackin’.”

Leela didn’t rise to it. She never did. It seemed to be this ongoing habit of hers. She just let the words settle between them, let it fester, before she turned her focus back to the cart like she’d already decided he wasn’t worth arguing with.

And that? That made something in Joel snap.

“Y'know, you're always thinkin’, but you don’t think, do you?” His fingers twitched at his sides, curling into fists before he could reach for her, shake some goddamn sense into her. “You’re out here, in the middle of this—” He gestured vaguely at the abandoned town, at the dust, the dried blood smeared across the floor, the risk that was so apparent to him and not to her, “—and you don’t even have a fuckin’ gun on you.”

“I have a knife in my bag,” she defended, but with not as much fight.

Joel let out a sharp, bitter scoff. “Is that gonna do much good against a clicker? Maybe they’ll take a step back, let you go ‘cause you've got a real nice set of kitchen knives in your pack.”

Leela’s expression didn’t change. “But, Tommy has a gun.”

Joel let out a humourless breath. “And I guess everyone else has fuckin’ daisies.”

She shrugged. “Ellie has a gun, too.”

“Oh, ain’t that perfect?” His voice dripped with sarcasm, his chest rising and falling harder now. “So, what, you’re just trustin’ everyone else in the goddamned town to keep you alive? You think that’s how it works?”

Leela didn’t blink. Didn’t react. Just stared at him, quiet, unmoving, in that way that had always fucking unnerved him. She wouldn't fight back for him.

And that silence? That refusal to defend herself, to say anything, to at least try to justify the absolute recklessness of what she was doing—it only pissed him off more.

Because if she didn’t care, if she wasn’t afraid—then what was he even doing? Why did he even bother?

Joel threw his hands up, biting back the string of curses burning the back of his throat. His patience had already been worn thin, sanded down to raw edges.

“Fine,” he muttered, stepping away like he was physically forcing himself to let go. “Do whatever the hell you want. I'm done.”

She didn’t argue. Didn’t even flinch as he turned sharply on his heel, raking a hand through his hair, his pulse still thrashing out the remnants of his irritation.

She could've spared him a little fight. Snapped something cutting, something sharp enough to match the anger buzzing beneath his skin. But instead, she said quietly—

"I think that’s how trust works."

The words landed deep, right in the place where things stuck—where they burrowed and festered before he could shove them down.

It should’ve been just another one of her quiet, cryptic remarks. No, this felt undeniable.

That’s all she’d ever wanted from him, wasn’t it? From the beginning, it was for him to trust her. For her to trust him. To trust that she could handle herself. That she wasn’t this fragile, breakable thing that needed to be caged for safekeeping.

And him—he’d been too fucking blind in his own haze of anger and anxiety to see it.

Leela didn’t wait for him to say anything. She just turned, dragging the cart behind her, grating against the ageing floorboards with a long scrape. Moving forward, focused, methodical, searching.

Ignoring him completely.

Joel exhaled hard, grounding himself, still riding the tail end of his frustration. Because the worst part was that she was right. But he would never admit that.

A sudden, violent crack split the air. The sound of wood splintering. The groaning of something old, something giving way.

Joel’s stomach lurched. His head snapped up just in time to see the floor beneath her buckle, the rotted planks slumping under her weight. Her hands jolted out instinctively, fingers clawing at empty air, a piping scream tearing out her throat.

Then, nothing. She was gone.

“Leela—!” Joel surged forward, reaching before he could think—but it was too late.

The floor swallowed her whole, boards snapping shut like a broken jaw, dust curling up in thick, choking plumes. The sound of her landing—hard, jarring—hit his ears like a gut punch. Then came the whine of shifting debris. The scrape of metal. Her groan strained with effort.

That sound. A sick, inhuman clicking.

Joel’s pulse kicked like a gunshot. His muscles locked, his body firing forward on instinct before his mind could even catch up.

Fucking clicker. It was down there with her.

The thought sent a cold, ruthless and electric prickle ripping through his chest.

Joel barely had time to think. A screech echoed up from the basement, followed by the hysterical sound of struggle, of something heavy slamming into concrete.

He dropped to his stomach over the broken floorboards, rifle braced, eyes straining through the broken planks. His flashlight cut through the dust, the yellow beam sweeping frantically over crumbled furniture, cracked linoleum and rusted-out shelving.

Then the light found her.

Leela was on her back, breathing hard, limbs tangled in broken debris. And above her—

The clicker.

It was on her.

Face sickly split and scarred like some rotting flower from the overgrowth of Cordyceps. Snarling, yellowed teeth dripping, gnashing too close, pinning her down. Hands curled into claws, raking at her shoulders and throat, missing if not for Leela's battling strength. Its body convulsed, straining forward with desperate, single-minded hunger. To feed. To kill. To infect.

And she was holding it off. Barely.

“I got you, baby, I got you,” he whispered aloud, fists tight around his rifle, taking aim.

Joel’s trembling hands steadied, years of muscle memory overriding the blind panic gripping his chest, his heartbeat a rapid-fire hammer against his ribs. His thoughts narrowed into one singular focus: kill the fucker.

But he didn’t have a clean shot.

The clicker was thrashing, too close, too erratic, its face just inches from hers. One wrong move and—his stomach roiled at the thought.

"Hold it there!" he yelled.

Leela didn’t respond—only sucked in a breath and turned her head, her knee jerking up to slam into the thing’s gut, rearing it back an inch—just enough.

Joel fired.

The first shot grazed its shoulder, making it shriek.

The second and third shots went straight through its skull. The fourth one, although completely unnecessary, sparked off from his trigger.

The clicker went rigid, its movements stuttering like a puppet with its strings cut.

Then it slumped. Its deadweight crashed onto Leela, forcing the breath from her lungs in a sharp, strangled sound.

For a long second, Joel didn’t breathe. Didn’t move. His mind was still catching up, reeling from how fast it had happened. One second she was standing there, the next—she was nearly gone. Taken from him. He saw a flash of what could've been if he hadn't made that shot.

His hands were shaking.

Boots pounded against the floorboards behind him, but the sound barely registered until Tommy's voice cut through—sharp, urgent.

“The hell happened?”

“Where is she?” Ellie demanded, rifle raised.

Joel was already moving.

“I got her, I got her,” he ground out hoarsely, twice to himself, barely keeping up with the adrenaline roaring through him.

Without hesitation, he leapt straight down into the hole, landing hard on the basement floor, his knees taking the brunt of the impact. He came up, rifle-first, and his flashlight swept the space—shadows stretching long against the damp walls, old shelves lining the perimeter, nothing but silence now.

Leela had already pushed the dead clicker off her, chest rising and falling too fast, breath coming in sharp inhales, hands clenched into her shirt collar, shoulders drawn tight. She hadn't moved beyond that.

Joel was on her in an instant, pushing her hair out of the way. “I'm here. You're okay.”

But the moment his hands found her skin—

She screamed.

It wasn’t just fear or panic. It was an impulse. It was raw, broken, blood-curdling, a sound that clawed its way out of her throat like she was being torn apart.

She thrashed against him, full-bodied, desperate, her hands flying up, kicking him off, shoving at his chest, nails catching against the rough fabric of his jacket. She was fighting with everything she had, body twisting, gasping through sobs, her strength fueled by something deep and unconscious.

"No—no, please, please—stop!"

Joel flinched.

Not at the force of it. Not at the hit.

At the sound. At the way she said it. Like she wasn’t here. Like she wasn’t seeing him. Like she was still down there in the dark, with that fucking thing clawing at her.

It hit somewhere he didn’t have words for, someplace that made his stomach twist and his ribs squeeze tight.

Because she wasn’t just afraid.

She didn’t recognize him. For a second—a heartbreaking second—he was just another set of hands on her, just another force holding her down, just another compulsion, and the thought of that—of her looking at him and not knowing him—it fucking gutted him.

But he didn’t let go.

“Hey,” he coaxed, his grip firm but cautious, hands bracing her shoulders, keeping her still, not trapping her, just holding on. “It’s me.”

She was still fighting him. Still gasping. Still somewhere else.

His hands moved—one sliding up, cupping her face, fingers pressing into her skin, desperate, grounding, his thumb stroking over her cheek like he could physically pull her back.

"Just look at me," he murmured, voice softer now, voice wrecked.

Her body was still trembling beneath his hands, her muscles locked tight, her pulse battering out a frantic rhythm beneath his fingertips.

And it hurt like shit. Hurt to see her like this, to know that she was still drowning in what he couldn't touch, that she was still lost, still bracing for a fight that was already over.

So he did the only thing he could.

He took her hand. Brought it to his shivering lips. Pressed a kiss into her palm, firm, warm, real.

“It’s me,” he urged.

Her breath hitched. Her fingers twitched against his skin. Her vision cleared. Then she saw him. Finally saw him, those brown eyes focusing.

And in that split second, her body wilted against his. The fight drained from her like water slipping through open hands, leaving only exhaustion, only relief, only the sharp, shaking remnants of fear still rattling in her chest.

Her lips parted, and a single, barely-there whisper fell from them—

“Joel?”

Joel exhaled, like he'd been holding his breath this whole time. Like the air had been punched out of his lungs.

“Yeah, baby,” he murmured, his thumb stroking over her cheek, over the damp trail left behind by her tears. Her pulse was still too fast, still too frenzied beneath his fingertips, and that tightness in his coiled harder.

He wanted to tell her she was safe. That it was over. That she was alright. But his voice was too fucking broken to say any of it.

He swallowed hard, still fighting the residual panic gripping his chest. He had to see. He had to know.

“Let me see,” he rasped, his hands already moving, frantic, fierce. “I have to see if...”

His fingers swiped up her sleeves and lapels, moving too fast, running over her arms, his mind slating every inch of skin, checking, counting. No bites. No scratches. No bleeding.

Down her sides. Down her shoulders and neck. Down her thighs. Down her calves—and his stomach dropped.

“Oh, Christ.” The words left him in a breathless rasp, barely there.

At the back of her calf—a deep, glistening wound. Blood ran in a slow, damning trickle down into her shoe.

Joel's inhale caught in his throat. The edges of his vision blurred. His ears started to ring.

No. No, no, no—not like this. Not now. Not her.

His hands loomed over it, useless, fingers twitching, unable to touch, unable to breathe.

The panic surged like wildfire, like an explosion inside his chest, riving through every thought, every shred of calm, reducing everything to one singular, burning horror.

This couldn’t be happening. What could he do? He couldn't stop this. No, this was beyond him. His mind scrambled, flipping through every second of the fight, anguished, reckless, trying to remember—had the thing bitten her? Had it broken skin? Had it—

His pulse roared in his ears, hammering so loud it drowned out everything else.

He was losing her.

His throat closed up. His fingers curled into fists.

He was losing her. He was losing her. He was losing her.

Again, and again, and again.

His vision tunnelled, narrowed down to the blood, to that slow, seeping trickle, red against her skin, a death sentence in real time. He swiped his thumb over the wound, barely thinking, breathing, hoping maybe it'll sicken him too, because he couldn't take another blow, another fight—

And—his finger nudged something hard. Not a claw mark. Not torn flesh. Not infection.

A splinter.

A sharp piece of wood, lodged deep under the broken skin.

Leela flinched, hissing in pain. “Ow.”

His entire world tilted, cracked, and realigned itself in the space of a heartbeat.

And then—he crashed. His whole body sagged, the relief so brutal, so fucking absolute, it nearly knocked him flat. His head dropped forward, breaths rattling back into him, shaking, breaking.

“You're fine. You're okay.”

It hit him so hard, he felt dizzy. Like he’d been standing at the edge of a cliff, ready to fall—and suddenly, somehow, he was back on solid ground.

His hands found her again, gripping her tight, pulling her into him, pulling her against him because he needed to feel it, needed to know she was here.

He pressed her face into his neck, arms locked around her, one palming her head, the other over the edge of her braid, holding on like his body was still catching up to what his brain knew now—that she was okay. That she was still here. That she was still his.

His heart was still hammering, still pounding out a brutal rhythm against his ribs, his breath coming fast, too hard, too jagged. All he could think about was how much he lived for this girl, that he couldn't take another step forward without her, that he'd lose all purpose in this damned world.

He turned his face into her hair, pressing a kiss there, desperate, lingering. He pushed his lips wherever he could reach; eyes, temple, ears, jaw; it didn't matter. As long he could convince himself she was real.

"You stay with me," he whispered, voice muffled into her hair. "You stay."

She didn’t have to say anything back. She just clung to him, hard, her fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, her breath still sharp, still ragged, still too goddamn close to slipping away from him.

After a long moment, she pulled away, a little more than uneasy, her hands shaking as she swiped roughly at her eyes, breath uneven, fingers bruised, arms bruised, skin mottled in dark, ugly shades.

Joel saw it all. The marks. How badly she was still trembling. How she still hadn’t fully caught her breath. And something inside him cracked—deep, marrow-deep, where all the old wounds lived.

He couldn’t lose her. Not ever.

Clenching his jaw, he reached behind her way too roughly, into her pack, shuffling things around until he felt it.

He found the knife. And pressed it into her hands, firm, insistent.

"Knife in your hands," he said, voice gruff, still rigid, still devastated. "Not your pack, you hear me?"

Leela nodded shakily, fingers closing around the handle.

And Joel just sat there for a moment, staring at her, still feeling the phantom panic in his veins, still trying to convince himself that she was okay.

That she was here. That he hadn’t lost her.

X

Tommy wasn’t buying it.

And it pissed Joel off. Piled onto the other—what? Five? Six? A dozen? He’d lost count—things already on his shitlist.

Still, he kept his distance. Kept Ellie back, too, for no reason, discounting the fact that she was immune.

Leela dragged the overflowing cart forward on the dead street, limping slowly. The old thing rattled, wheels stuttering over cracks in the pavement. Every so often, she’d stop—digging through rusted-out trucks, popping the hoods of long-dead cars, arms trembling as she reached in, feeling around for parts.

The afternoon sun beat down on them like a long-suffering punishment. It baked the asphalt and turned the air stuffy and dry. She was struggling. Joel could see it—the slack in her shoulders, the sluggish, tired way she moved, the way the limp in her step was getting worse. She was running on fumes.

He’d managed to pull the splinter from her calf, and cauterized the wound with the searing end of the rifle barrel, just in case. She’d cringed hard, let out a yelp, and gone stiff beneath his hands, but she hadn’t cried. Hadn’t fought him on it. Hadn’t even looked at him afterwards.

He’d bound it up tight with a strip of his flannel, close and snug. And that was that.

But fucking Tommy was still keeping his distance.

Joel glanced over his shoulder, scowling as his brother trailed behind her, still gripping his rifle like he was waiting for the worst. At least ten paces back. Observing for twitches. He wasn't wrong for being cautious, but Leela was seeing it, feeling it, how she was being treated like an inconvenience.

Ellie clucked her tongue from beside him, shifting uncomfortably. “You're such a cruel bitch, man,” she muttered. “She’s probably fine.”

“Probably ain’t good enough,” Tommy answered flatly. “Not takin’ any chances.”

Joel clenched his jaw, tension winding tight in his chest. Since when was his brother, the ex-Firefly, the bleeding heart, suddenly such a cynic?

“Joel?” Ellie shot him a look, voice careful, hesitant. A little afraid to ask. “It wasn’t a bite, right?”

His patience splintered as he bit out through his teeth, addressing his brother instead. “If I say it one more time, Tommy, it’ll be after I break your goddamn rib.”

Tommy scoffed, shaking his head. “Hey, don’t blame the messenger.”

Joel didn’t bother with a response—just slammed his shoulder hard into Tommy’s as he passed, enough to make his brother stumble, grumbling under his breath. Thought it would make him feel better, but surprise, surprise; he should've just tripped the son of a bitch on his ass.

He didn’t care. Not about Tommy’s paranoia, about the way he was still watching Leela like she was a loaded gun with a faulty trigger. It made Joel feel like shit.

Now, he refused to believe in a lot of things, but he believed in his own eyes. And his eyes told him she was not infected.

So he strode ahead, sifting into his pack, and digging out his water bottle. Hadn’t refilled it in two days, but she needed it more than he did.

He reached her side, matching her pace. “Have some,” he said, holding it out.

Leela didn’t look at him. Kept walking.

Joel ground his teeth, his grip on the bottle tightening. “Drink.” His tone brooked no arguments.

She sighed, glancing at him sideways, eyes dull, vacant. “What if I’m infected?”

Joel nearly stopped in his tracks. “You’re not infected,” he muttered, exasperated. “There's no sign.”

She let out a breath, shaking her head. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

Her voice was thin. She pressed the heel of her palm into her forehead, hard, like she could grind the thought out of her skull. Punish herself with it.

“You were right, Joel. I’m always thinking—but it’s never about the right things. Maya, my research, my home... this is all on me.”

Joel frowned, something uneasy twisting in his gut. "Look, what I said earlier—how I—”

"I don’t care anymore,” she cut in, her voice barely above a whisper. “I deserved that.”

Joel felt that like a gun wound with no clean exit. She said it like a fact like she'd decided this. Could she not stop being so goddamn awful to herself for two seconds? Maybe not lay a bad trip on herself every time something went south?

His grip on the water bottle tightened. He took a breath and fought for patience.

"You didn't deserve shit." His voice was lower now, rough around the edges. "You fought your ass off, and you’re still here. You survived. That’s it. End of story, movin' on."

She didn’t answer. Didn’t look at him.

Joel hated this. Hated watching her walk like that, shoulders hunched, eyes distant, like she was already halfway gone.

Like she wasn’t even trying to hold herself together anymore.

He shoved the water bottle toward her again. “Drink the goddamn water.”

Joel watched as she took the water bottle, hesitating for just a second.

Then she raised it to her lips and gulped down what was left, fast, like she hadn’t realized how thirsty she was until now. Water spilled from the corner of her mouth, slipping down her chin, but she didn’t bother wiping it away. Just drank until the bottle was empty until she had to stop and take a breath.

Joel let her have that moment. Then he took the cart handle from her grasp and took the load off her. Leela didn’t argue. Just fell in beside him, silent, exhausted.

It was just then that Ellie's complaints started up. When Ellie's grousings about 'severe FEDRA-level slavery,' got on his nerves, Tommy finally threw up his hands and called for a break.

They stopped at the next street corner, gathering under the shade of a souvenir shop. Tommy passed out rations—peanut butter sandwiches from Jackson, stale at the edges but still good enough. Ellie tore into hers immediately, swinging her boots where she perched on the ledge of the broken storefront window, crumbs scattering at her feet.

Joel didn’t even have to look at Leela to know what was coming. She hesitated, turned the sandwich over in her hands, once, twice—like she was waiting for some spark of appetite that never came.

"I’m not hungry," Leela muttered, setting the sandwich beside her knee before pushing herself up.

Joel watched as she stepped away, moving toward the shop entrance like she was just stretching her legs like she hadn’t been looking for some rest since they sat down.

He sighed and let her go.

Ellie frowned, still chewing. She glanced at the sandwich Leela left behind, then at Joel. "She eat anything today?"

Joel shook his head once. "I don't think so."

Ellie sighed. Then she dusted off her hands and hopped down from the ledge, following after her.

By the time Ellie caught up, Leela was already inside, wandering between toppled racks and glass cases that had long since been looted. Her fingers trailed over warped magazines and stacks of yellowed postcards, her touch too soft, like she was afraid anything more would make them crumble.

Ellie grabbed a few postcards from a rusted wire display, flipping through them. Bright colours, frozen places—little glimpses of a world that didn’t exist anymore.

"Hey," Ellie said, nudging one toward Leela. "What about this? Looks so cool."

Leela blinked like she was only just realizing Ellie was there. She glanced down. A postcard—a sun-soaked coast, palm trees stretching lazily over white sand. Probably reminded her of her before home, her lip twitching up a little.

Leela flipped it over, scanning the faded text. “Mallorca.”

“You been there?”

A pause. And then, a small nod.

Ellie plucked another—this one softer, the colours faded from time, the name written in neat cursive along the bottom. “An...ti...bees. Anti-bees. Never even heard of that.”

Leela didn’t even glance at it, and nodded again. “Antibes. France. Been there, too.”

Ellie studied her, then stuffed the postcards into her jacket. "Shit. You’ve been everywhere. Awesome."

Leela didn’t say anything or smile back. Didn’t brag, the way Ellie probably wanted her to. She continued to flip through the postcards like they were meaningless. Like they weren’t memories at all.

Joel exhaled, rubbing a hand over his beard, his eyes never leaving her. She looked so small in there. As if she could’ve been just another part of the abandoned store—one more thing left behind.

“Joel.” Tommy’s voice cut through his observation, low and careful.

Joel barely glanced at him. Just kept chewing through the sandwich Leela had given him, eyes still on the store.

Tommy hesitated. “What’s the plan if she turns?”

Joel stopped chewing. The words landed like a slow knife to the ribs. He wanted to put a hole through that window just listening to it.

He swallowed, rolling his jaw. “I said she ain’t gonna turn.”

“I know, but—” Tommy exhaled, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Look, I believe you. But I gotta ask, ‘cause if you’re wrong—”

Joel turned to face him fully now, expression hard as stone. Seething. “Tommy.”

“Would you shoot her?” Tommy asked, blunt.

Joel barely chewed his last bite. The bread felt dry in his mouth, sticking to the roof of his mouth like dust, but he swallowed it down anyway, his eyes locked on the store where Leela was standing, a little more life in her eyes as Ellie attempted to cheer her up with her endless supply of puns.

Tommy’s question still stuttered his mind. Would he shoot her? Could he shoot her?

Joel wanted to say yes. He wanted to say he wouldn’t hesitate, that if she turned, he’d do what had to be done. That’s what he was good at, wasn’t it? Putting things down when they needed to be. Bear the brunt of the hard decisions.

But the words didn’t come.

Instead, his mind raced ahead of him, flashing through all the things he didn’t want to see. Leela, breathing hard. Weeping. Pleading with him. He could hear it now, could picture it like it was real like it had already happened. Her voice breaking. That sharp, desperate shake of her head. Those big, dark eyes, utterly empty this time, hollow, her veins crawling black, twitching.

Please, Joel. I don't want to die. Would she fight him? Would she try to run? Would she make him do it?

Or worse—would she accept it? Would she nod, take one last breath, close her eyes and wait for the bullet?

His stomach turned. He knew Leela, even at times like this. She’d make it easy for him. She wouldn’t beg. Wouldn’t run. Wouldn’t force him to wrestle her to the ground. She’d just—let it happen. Face his rifle head-on. Make it quick, Joel. I don't want to feel a thing. And that thought was worse than anything.

Joel exhaled slowly, rubbing at the knot forming between his brows.

But it didn’t stop there. Because then came the next part.

Maya. God, Maya.

His throat tightened, his chest constricting at the thought of her alone in that house, waking up hungry, crying, waiting for a mother who was never coming back. Waiting for Leela.

If she was gone—if Joel let that happen—what happened to her daughter?

Would he just hand her off to Maria without a second thought, because her mother's murderer couldn't touch a hair on that sweet head without tainting it? Or would he do it himself anyway, raise her, love her, stay with her in that big white house, tell her about a mother she’d never remember if only through pictures?

Joel inhaled sharply, cutting that thought off at the root. He couldn’t go there. Couldn’t let his mind wander any further down that road.

His hand flexed where it rested on his knee, fingers twitching to his pant pocket where the imprint of the little button embossed on his thigh, the one that Maya had picked off the street last night and passed to him with that soul-crushing, gummy grin of hers.

The answer should’ve been easy.

It should’ve been an immediate yes. He should’ve said it by now.

How could he go back to being the man he'd been desperately trying to outrun? He wasn’t one to pull the trigger just because something looked bad anymore.

Because he knew better. Knew what it meant to lose. Knew what it meant to take. And the sheer fucking burden of it didn’t sit right on his soul.

Joel sighed, fiercely shaking his head. “We’re not havin’ this conversation.”

Tommy didn’t push, but Joel could feel him watching. Waiting.

And Joel hated it. The doubt, the uncertainty, the way it stuck to him like blood on his hands. Because the truth was—If it came to that, if she was turning, if there was no saving her—Joel wasn’t sure he could do it.

X

By the time they reached the lake, the more relaxing route toward Jackson, the day had worn them all thin. Relief was sweet, to Leela more than the others.

They deserved this breathing spell, maybe that's why Tommy took this trail. It had been miles of hot sun, dry wind, and half-dead exhaustion that hardened into the bones. Too many things had happened—too many conversations left half-finished, too many wounds, seen and unseen, still bleeding under the surface.

But here the air was clean, touched with crisp pine and cold water. The lake stretched out wide before them, the mountains cradling it like a secret, their peaks softened by the golden evening light. The cabins stood quiet among the trees, their wood dark with time, their windows empty.

Joel slowed his horse, taking a breath, letting his shoulders drop just a little.

He imagined Maya here, toddling in the shallows, barefoot and giggling, a little bucket hat over her feathery curls, stuffing her tiny fists with pebbles and leaving baby footprints in the wet mud. Happy. Safe. With her parents. The kind of afternoon that should’ve been normal for her.

He missed her. Too, too much. He absently rubbed the button at his pocket, bearing a small smile. Had it been really been the whole day? He couldn't wait to get back home, have her breathe out that panting, hitchy breath of laughter as she came wobbling for him.

Still, it was nice here. Peaceful. And for a second, it felt like they weren’t running.

He glanced over at Leela.

She was staring straight ahead at the lake’s smooth, glassy surface, her fingers slack around the reins of her horse. Not moving, not speaking, just looking.

“Actually kinda pretty, ain't it?” he murmured.

She only let out a quiet breath.

“Yeah,” she said eventually, voice barely above the hush of the wind.

He studied her for a moment—the way she looked at the lake without really seeing it, the way her voice didn’t match the lightness of her words.

She was doing that awful thing again. Reaching for something just out of her grasp. Trying to picture something that wouldn’t come.

Joel sighed and swung off his horse, moving toward hers. He took the reins, steadying the animal before tilting his head up at her.

“Go on, then.” He nodded toward the water. “Let your hair down for a bit. We're close to town anyway.”

She shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes. “I'm good.”

“Now, darlin’—”

“Joel.” He heard it then—the edge to her voice. The exhaustion. “I'm not in the mood. Just go.”

Joel clenched his jaw till something popped. He didn’t let the disappointment show and didn’t press the issue. He knew better.

Just nodded once and turned away, walking toward where Tommy and Ellie stood by the lake, rolling out the tension from the day.

The breeze cooled off the water, lifting the heat that had weighed heavy on them. But Joel still burned not just from the sun, but from something else, a displaced load in his chest. He needed quiet.

He let himself wander, boots moving on their own past the cabins. The dirt was loose beneath him, old pine needles crunching, the scent of damp earth dense in the cooling evening. The distant rustle of birds carried over the water, but Joel barely heard it.

He was still too full of her voice. The way it wavered. The way she looked at him, absolutely devastated, before she had sighed.

He willed himself to focus on something else. Just the ground beneath him. Just the sky above him. Just breathe in, breathe out.

Until he saw it. He had to do a double-take, just to make sure he wasn't seeing stuff.

A cabin, the same size as the others, but this one—

This one was burned to hell. The entire thing had been gutted—charred black, the roof caved in, the porch sagging on its last, miserable legs. Windows blown out, the edges jagged with soot. The wood still smelled like it had burned recently, that sick, acrid stench of an electrical fire curling up in the back of his throat.

Joel stopped.

His muscles coiled tight, readied, breath slowing as he scanned the surrounding area.

The other cabins were untouched, not a mark on them. But this one had been burned down to the skeleton.

Something about it didn't sit right.

Slowly, Joel turned his head, looking over his shoulder. Ellie and Tommy were still by the lake, too far away, Ellie skipping rocks, Tommy saying something, hands moving as he talked. Leela was out of sight, hidden by the cover of trees and cabins.

Joel returned to the cabin in the spirit of inquiry, stepping onto what was left of the porch. The boards creaked, soft under his weight, and when he pushed open what remained of the door, the smell hit him like a gut punch—smoke, damp ash, something rotted.

The fire had torn through the inside just as bad as the outside. Everything was gone.

The walls were scorched, furniture reduced to blackened skeletons, and the mattress was little more than charcoal and wire. The space had been stripped of warmth, of life, reduced to nothing but ruin.

“Jesus.” The word barely left his lips before he saw them.

Two bodies.

Scorched. Twisted. Unrecognizable. Stilled in the exact positions they had died. One was closer to the bed, curled inward like they’d been trying to protect themselves from the heat. The other sprawled nearer to the door, obviously in an attempt to escape.

Joel knew that stance. He’d seen it before. Run and burn.

The uniform was barely there—scorched black, peeled away in places, but the collar remained intact enough to tell the story.

He crouched, eyes tracking across the floor, the details unravelling themselves in layers. Former FEDRA, probably. Runaways. Recently turned raiders. Even through the charring, he recognized the insignia on the camo-green collar.

Joel nudged what remained of the skull with his boot, the brittle bone breaking apart, collapsing inward like a dry leaf.

“Probably fuckin’ deserved it,” he muttered. But it didn’t bring him any comfort.

Something was off.

This wasn’t a FEDRA outpost. Wasn’t a checkpoint, a patrol route, or a resupply station. The room was too small, too personal. The furniture—what was left of it—wasn’t a regulation. The scattered remains weren’t military-grade. Yet, the whole place stank of it. Tyranny. Wealth. Power. Drugs. Rot.

Joel’s eyes roved over the wreckage. The fire hadn’t taken everything, though.

There, right by the bed—melted plastic, warped glass. Empty pill bottles and liquor containers. Loose zip locks, some of them still filled with white powder Joel used to begrudgingly peddle back in Boston. Ration packs from the QZ were torn open, contents spilling out like someone had been too impatient to open them properly.

It wasn’t a checkpoint.

It was a hideout. They must’ve holed up here for a while, waiting something out.

His gaze caught on a backpack, half-buried in the charred remains, its contents spilt out like someone had gone through it in a hurry. Charred clothes, a lighter, a flashlight, and utensils.

And a shoe. Small. A size too slight for a man’s foot. The soft leathery edges curled and blackened, but the tag inside was just barely readable beneath the soot.

Joel bent, brushing his thumb over it, knocking away the ash. The letters beneath made him snort. Some fancy Italian brand. Expensive. His mind flicked back—Leela’s house, her endless closets, neatly lined with shoes that didn’t belong in this world.

No wonder. It finally made sense for rich assholes to like places like this. They came out to the middle of nowhere to fuck around, get high, waste their shit on things that didn't matter.

Joel tossed the shoe aside and straightened, moving deeper into the wreckage. His hands brushed the charred edges of furniture, fingertips finding the brittle remnants of things that had once meant comfort—pillows turned to dust, a mirror warped in the heat, a chair crumpled inward.

Then he saw the rifle.

He smirked, his lucky day. Sure, it was smaller than his, the wood stained dark, almost black beneath the soot. Sturdy, thirty calibre, American-made, definitely not the kind of rifle you wouldn't see a FEDRA soldier have. It had been tossed aside near the backpack like someone had discarded it in a hurry.

He knelt, running his palm over the stock, feeling the grit of ash give way to smooth wood. The engraving beneath was faint, hidden in the dark, but as he brushed away the dust, it came through—delicate but unmistakable.

Cherries.

Joel heaved out a breath. His fingers stilled over the engraving, his pulse hammering against his ribs. A tiny mark, burned beneath layers of soot, was almost innocuous.

But he’d seen this before.

A different rifle. A different home.

A cowboy hat. A sunflower. A cherry.

The third missing rifle. One for each member of the family.

His stomach clenched. He could see them in his eyes—lined up in Leela’s living room, the weapons she never used, never even acknowledged. The ones that were hers but weren’t hers. Polished. Preserved. Like artefacts. Like gravestones.

His throat went tight, air pushing through his nose in a sharp, uneven breath. And all at once, his body knew before his mind could catch up.

Someone had been here. Not passing through. Not scavenging.

She had been kept here.

Joel’s body locked up, a sick load clinching in his gut as his gaze swept the room again—now searching, understanding.

The mattress—charred down to its skeleton, coiled metal peeking through, the last stubborn remnants of sheets melted into the frame.

The belt.

His vision sharpened. The straps melted into the mattress frame. The scorched edge of a leather belt, its buckle twisted from heat. The dark stains, layered beneath the soot, soaked deep into the wood. A clean through the knot.

Someone had fought like hell.

Joel exhaled through his teeth, his knuckles whitening where they curled at his sides.

His brain was putting it together faster than he wanted it to.

The burned clothes in the corner—ripped at odd angles, tossed aside like garbage.

The splintered chair—one leg broken, shards of wood scattered like someone had slammed it against the floor, against a body.

The walls—scuffed, handprints smeared past the soot, the echo of someone pushing away, fighting, failing.

That sinking feeling became madness, nausea heaving through him.

On the floor—long, thin, small. A black hair ribbon. Burned at the edges, and melted in places, but the middle of it was untouched. Still soft. Still delicate. Still, something that had once belonged to a girl. He'd seen Leela use it on her braids hundreds of times.

Joel’s breathing went ragged. His pulse pounded in his ears.

It felt like poison in his veins, the slow drip of information into his head.

The way she always kept her back to the wall. The way she flinched—not much, just barely—but enough, whenever someone moved too fast, whenever a shadow crossed her path the wrong way. The way she never talked about before Maya. Maya, god, Maya.

His chest squeezed, he had to press his palm just to make sure he wasn't about to pass out. His jaw ached from how hard he was clenching it.

The fire had tried to erase it. But it hadn’t.

The proof was here, in the remains. The belt. The bedframe. The ribbon. The rifle.

Joel turned back, his gaze landing on the scorched, skeletal remains near the door. His stomach twisted, white-hot rage flickering through the nausea.

He looked at them, looked at what was left of them, and felt nothing. No pity. No hesitation. No misery.

Whoever had done this—whoever had burned this place down, made sure it would never stand again—they had done the world a fucking favour.

He could see it then.

He didn’t want to, but his mind pulled it forward anyway, like a dark thing rising from deep water, clawing its way into the light.

The mattress sagging under the force of bodies. The fight. The struggle. The burn of restraints against soft wrists, the sharp crack of something breaking—bone, furniture, someone’s resolve. The walls shaking from the force of it. The air stifling, sultry with sweat, with smoke, with the stench of men who took what they wanted, heady from a trip, and left behind the wreckage.

When the screams began, his gut twisted, nausea kicking up sharp and fast.

Joel jerked back, sucking in a breath like he’d been underwater too long. His stomach lurched.

No.

Joel swallowed hard, his mouth tasting of ash and bile. He got the hell out of there, boots scraping over scorched wood, his breath coming too fast, too uneven. His pulse roared against his skull, his stomach rolling, his whole body burning like he’d swallowed the poison of this place whole.

He turned, pushing through the ruined doorway, shoving out into the evening air.

The scent of fire clung to him. Smoke. Rot. The sounds.

He braced his hands against his thighs, head ducking down, jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.

Breathe, he told himself. Forget it. Breathe.

But it wasn’t working.

The memories weren’t his, but they were in him now, crawling under his skin, working their way into the deepest crevices of his mind.

Joel had seen a lot of evil in his life. But this—this was something else. Worse. Something he should’ve never learned. And for the first time in a long time, he wished he had stayed the hell out of it.

So, he kept walking. Didn't look back. Fast at first, then faster.

The burned cabin shrank behind him, but its looming presence didn’t. It clung to his skin, sank into the seams of his clothes, and resigned heavy and dark in his lungs.

His boots pressed deep into the dirt, kicking up dust, dry pine needles snapping underfoot. He didn’t care where he was going, only that he was putting distance between himself and that place—that stain.

But the rifle was still in his hands.

His fingers tightened around it, feeling the soot, the grit, the filth of it digging into his palms, burning like it was branding him. He wanted to throw it. Wanted to drop it, bury it, let it disappear into the weeds, let the earth swallow it whole.

But instead, he kept walking.

Until the sound of laughter struck him. Soft, rolling over the water, tangled in the breeze. It shouldn’t have hit him so hard.

Joel’s head snapped up, breaths still ragged.

Ellie and Tommy stood too close together by the shore, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, swaying, singing—loud, off-key, godawful. The words didn’t even register at first, just noise. Just a sharp, jarring thing that dragged him back into the present too fast.

And then he caught it. The song. Total Eclipse of the Heart.

Jesus.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, and everything felt too abrupt. Disorienting. His mind is still stuck in that cabin, hearing things long gone, breathing smoke that was long gone.

He didn’t know what the hell he was expecting—maybe for the world to still feel like it was on fire. Like he was.

But here they were. Laughing. Singing. Having a great time. Like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t just clawed his way out of hell. His grip tightened on the rifle.

His gaze cut past them—to her.

Leela was still on her horse, watching them, shaking her head. Her shoulders had relaxed, the tension she had carried through the day bleeding away like it had never been there.

And then, suddenly—she smiled. It was small, barely there, but real. The kind of smile that sneaks up on a person, that slips past the cracks before they even realize it’s happened. Her head dipped like she was trying to fight it, but the corners of her mouth curled up anyway. Her lashes fluttered, shoulders trembling from quiet laughter.

Like nothing had happened. As if she hadn’t been here before at all. As if she hadn’t been trapped in that place, in that nightmare, in a past she never dared to utter aloud.

Like he hadn’t just seen the wreckage of it with his own two eyes.

Something crawled up his throat, hot and mean. A sick, twisting thing. That part of him wants to put it in Leela’s hands, make her understand what he now knows. To bring it all back despite that being his last intention.

Maybe Leela really had no idea. Maybe she didn’t remember. Maybe that goddamn fog—the one she was always lost in—had swallowed it whole. Spared her.

Mercy on her mind. Whatever void above was repaying her compassion. Or maybe she’d chosen to forget. Decided to ignore it. Or maybe the pain of remembering all the horror inflicted made her lose sight of where it happened. He wasn’t sure which was worse.

Either way, Joel didn’t have the fucking right to take that from her.

His fingers uncurled from the rifle’s stock. That nausea crept back in, a slow, curling sickness that seeped into his bones.

His knuckles ached. He hadn’t realized how tight he’d been holding it—like it was the only thing keeping him upright, like it had latched onto him, burned into his skin, clung to him like a brand. It wouldn’t let go until he did.

His gaze dropped to the wood. Soot. Grime. Filth. The feel of it in his hands was unbearable. It sat there, heavy and wrong, its history seeping through his fingers like a sickness.

And there, beneath all the muck—the cherry. Easy. Innocent. A goddamn lie.

Joel swallowed thickly. His pulse pounded against his skull, a deep, insistent throb. He didn’t want to think about what it meant.

Simply let the rifle slip from his fingers. It fell soundlessly into the brush, swallowed by the dark, and disappeared into the damp earth. Gone.

His feet moved forth before his brain caught up. The path blurred beneath him, his boots scuffing against the earth as he veered off, crouching low, hands skimming the damp ground.

He needed—something. Anything to pull himself back, to ground him, to wipe the feeling of fire and metal from his hands. Though, the practical part of his head shouted, asking, what the fuck he was doing.

His fingers brushed against something soft.

A flower. Small. Wild. Purple. Delicate. Whole. Untouched.

It didn’t belong here, in the filth, in the destruction, in the wake of something so goddamn ugly. And yet—here it was. Sharing its likeness to someone he knew.

Joel plucked it without thinking.

And then he was walking again, his boots moving steady, purposive, toward her.

Leela turned when she noticed him walking toward her, her head tilting just slightly, dark eyes flicking up to meet his. A question there. A quiet curiosity.

Joel didn’t say anything. He just held out the flower.

She blinked. First at him, then at his hand.

Her lips parted. The warmth in her expression softened, deepened. For a second, she just looked at him, searching his face, like she was trying to understand something he wasn’t saying.

And then—her smile widened.

Not much. Just a small curve of her lips. But real. Honest. Breaking his miserable heart with that smile that was spoken for in his name.

She reached for it, took it carefully from his fingers, rolling it between the pads of her fingertips for a moment. Then, with the same careful precision, she slid it into her hair, tucking it near her neck. That violet bloomed against her like it belonged.

“Thank you, Joel,” she murmured.

Joel swallowed everything that burned in his throat and shoved it down where it would snuff out sooner or later. He simply managed a nod.

Then he turned, clearing his throat, his voice coming gruff, unduly commanding. “Right, let's move. C'mon.”

Ellie and Tommy groaned, dragging their feet, still laughing, still complaining, still alive.

But Joel was already looking ahead, hands loose at his sides.

He didn’t glance back at the rifle. Didn’t check to see if it had sunk into the brush, lost beneath the undergrowth.

Let it be buried.

Let it stay gone.

X

The big white house welcomed them back like an old friend, its porch light casting a soft glow over the worn steps.

Joel barely had a second to register the warmth of it before Maya came stumbling toward them, bounding forward, her small legs rushing too fast for her body. She tripped, fell to her knees, and then—“Ma-ma!”

Leela was already there. She caught her before she could hit the ground, pulling her into her arms, holding her tight, like she never wanted to let go.

Joel sighed, sucking a deep breath in. All the warmth of the lights, the faint hint of grease from the basement, the herbs from the kitchen, the white curtains snapping away in the breeze. This was what coming home was supposed to feel like.

Leela clutched her daughter to her chest, her face buried in the dark curls, inhaling deep like she could breathe her in. A shuddering exhale left her, like she’d been holding it in since the moment she left this house.

She had faced death today. And now, she was holding her life in her arms.

“Did you miss me?” she murmured to Maya, oh-so-tender. She smoothed a hand over Maya’s back and scratched gently at her belly. “Yeah? You did?”

Maya giggled, squirming in her mother’s hold.

Leela kissed her temple, her forehead, her small, chubby hands. “I missed you, too, baby girl. Mama missed you so much.”

He had seen Leela exhausted when she was with their baby girl. Distant. Detached. He had seen her shut down, her voice hollow, her eyes unfocused, like she had learned how to live in a way that kept her just outside of it.

But this—right now. She was here. Completely in Maya's orbit.

Maya pulled back slightly, tilting her head at her mother with that childish wonder, watching her closely like she was searching for something—measuring the movement of her lips, the sound of her words.

With slow, wary fingers, she touched Leela’s mouth. She wasn’t just hearing her mother’s words. She was holding them. Keeping them safe. Then, just as slowly, she brought her hand to her own lips.

Joel’s lips coiled upwards. Another trick that Leela had taught her. A way to say 'I love you'. Little smartass was catching on pretty quick.

Leela let out a soft laugh, her nose stroking against Maya’s. “I love you, too.”

He turned away. This moment—it didn’t belong to him. He felt like a trespasser like he had stepped into something too soft, too sacred for his presence. For the first time in a long time, he felt out of place in this big house.

Maria seemed to notice. She rested a hand on his back, voice quiet. “You okay, Miller?”

Joel exhaled through his nose and lied. “Fine.”

Maria didn’t push it, but her hand lingered for a second longer before she stepped away. “You owe me for that shit you pulled today. Nearly cost me a horse.” And when Joel shot her a no-bullshit glance, she added, “And a stupid fuckin' brother-in-law. Whatever.”

Joel nodded, impressed. “Naturally.”

She snorted, shaking her head as she walked out.

Joel followed her to the door, pack still slung over his shoulder. His hand landed on it, ready to push it closed—but his gaze drifted past the porch, past the quiet street, to the house across from him. His home.

He definitely should go. He should walk out, shut the door behind him, and put some distance between himself and everything that happened today for a while. The words he’d thrown at her in this house. The way he had pushed it further at the store. The grim fucking cabin.

All of it should have been reason enough to leave. But he couldn't move.

He took a slow, thoughtful breath. Let the warmth of the house settle into his skin. Then, before he could think too hard about it, he clicked the door shut.

Because he was too fucking selfish to leave.

So, Joel dropped his pack by the door, shrugged off his jacket, and toed off his boots. The big, white house had whispered around him with its scent of candlewax, firewood and warm linens, but not in him. Not just yet.

His gaze flicked up, landing on Leela just as she gently tucked the flower behind Maya’s ear. “Don't you look cute, trouble?” she teased.

A lump formed in his throat.

Maya blinked up at her mother, chubby fingers reaching to touch the delicate petals like she could hold onto them. Her eyes, wide and round, tracked her mother’s face with something close to awe before breaking off to her signature, gummy grin.

Joel had a smile curve up for her in return when she reached for him knowingly. “Hi, baby girl. C'mere, let me have a kiss, too.”

He leaned down, palming her back, pressing his lips deep into Maya’s curls, having his fill of kisses. God, he fucking loved her. She smelled of soap and soft cotton, of warm bathwater and the sweetness of bedtime. Her tiny fingers found his neck, curling into his skin. For a second, he let himself stay there, let her hold him.

Then he pulled away without another glance, stepping back from the moment before it could swallow him whole, giving them some space.

He stepped into the kitchen instead, grabbed a glass from the overflowing drying rack, and filled it under the tap.

Then—the cabin.

It came back, unbidden, curling around his mind like smoke.

The stench of rot. The filth on the rifle, caked in soot and sin. The bones burned into the floor, the pills pressing into the soles of his shoes.

Joel squeezed his eyes shut. Tilted his head back. Drowned it all with a long gulp of water.

Good. Let the fire take them. Let them burn down to nothing, to dust. If it had been up to him, he wouldn’t have left a fucking trace of those motherfuckers, not even their bones.

A warmth settled on his back.

Joel's every muscle tensed beneath it. Two palms, pressed gentle between his shoulder blades. Silently calling for him.

When he turned and glanced down, Leela was standing there. Maya was gone—tucked away somewhere safely in the living room, her shadow padding across from surface to surface for trouble to cause.

Now it was just them.

“Hey,” he tried first.

“Hi,” she returned.

She was warily watching him. Her hands fidgeted in front of her, fingers twisting together. Obviously, there was something she was dying to say, ask, or do. Without even knowing it, he knew his answer would be a flat yes.

Joel cleared his throat, setting the glass away. “Y'know, I'm proud of you. You did really well today.”

He barely got to finish that last sentence.

Before he could say anything else, she stepped forward and looped her arms around his neck. Utterly winding him.

It wasn't just a hug. This was clinging.

She pressed close and warm, her body tipping forward, her very toes crushing against his own, as though not an inch of skin should go untouched, and he hardly had time to catch her. Her arms wound tight around him, slender fingers sliding up, curling into the back of his longer, greying hair, pulling just gingerly as they dragged against the grain.

She melted into him. Sank into his chest like it was the only place she could land. She was holding on. Staying.

And for a second, Joel just stood there, hands hovering, caught between instinct and hesitation.

Because this wasn’t for him. It was for her. He should pull back. Shouldn’t take something she wasn’t giving him, shouldn’t soak up the heat of her like he fucking needed it.

Then, she shivered. Just faintly. Just enough.

And Joel broke.

His arms locked around her, one gripping her around her waist, the other spanning between her shoulder blades, brushing against her long braid. He held her tight, holding her close.

Her heartbeat thrummed against his ribs, her trim abdomen crushed into his stomach and belt buckle, and each finger of his ruined hand depressed into a portion of her spine. A soft, fragile thing.

She was here. She’d always come back.

Joel turned his face, pressing his lips against the side of her head, breathing her in, his fingers tightening in her shirt like he could keep her there. Like he could hold her together.

The cabin. The filth. The fire—it was all gone. Burned away in the warmth of her, the scent of her hair, the way her fingers curled deeper against his skin.

And Joel, for all his anger, for all his ghosts, for all the things he did and did not deserve—held on.

She exhaled softly against his neck, her breath warm, and uneven. Her hands curled a little tighter against the back of his head like she could anchor herself to him.

“I’m going to get sick and tired of saying thank you, Joel.” Her voice was quiet, a little scratchy, like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to say it at all.

Joel huffed, barely a sound. His hand flexed against her back. “Then stop sayin’ it,” he murmured.

Leela let out something between a breath and a laugh, her body shifting against his. Finding her fit against him.

Joel felt her fingers at the nape of his neck, brushing against the rough curls there. It sent something tight through his ribs, something that coiled in his chest and refused to let go.

She was quiet for a long moment, just breathing him in.

Her voice was softer when she spoke again. “If something happens to me—”

Joel stiffened. His grip on her waist tightened like he could hold her in place like just the thought of losing her was enough to make his body rebel against it.

“Don't.” His voice was a warning, a plea, rough with something he didn’t want to name.

Leela didn’t let go.

Her fingers curled against the nape of his neck, grounding herself in him. Or maybe—trying to ground him. Trying to hold him there before she said something he wouldn’t want to hear.

“If something happens to me, I need to know that you'll take care of Maya.”

He knew why she was saying this bullshit.

She was only here by chance. By luck. A few inches, a second too slow, and she wouldn’t be in his arms right now—wouldn’t be pressing against him, wouldn’t be warm, wouldn’t be breathing, wouldn’t be looking up at him with those eyes like she was asking him for something bigger than a promise. Something final.

“Ain't gonna happen,” he muttered.

“Joel.” A soft plea, a tilt of her head.

He shook his head, jaw tight, chest locking up like a goddamn vice. “Christ, Leela. This shouldn't even be up for question.”

But she was insistent, her grip on him tightening, like she was afraid he'd pull away. Like she needed him to hear this. Accept this.

“Then promise me now.” The words barely held together. Cracked down the middle. “Not Maria. Not Tommy or even Ellie. You.”

Joel clenched his teeth, something raw scraping inside his ribs. All these promises he's been making. How were any of those fair on him?

“Joel, I don't have anyone else left. You have to understand how important this is to me.” Her voice was steadier now, but her hands trembled against him. “She’s all yours. She’s always been yours. My home, all my research, my daughter—you'll be there. It's all yours.”

His breaths ached, as if it was inside him, splitting.

This was fucking real. Not some passing thought, not some fleeting worry—this was her laying it out, putting her life into his wrecked hands, trusting him with it.

Maya wasn’t just hers. She was his, too.

She had been for a long time, hadn’t she? And if something happened—if Leela was gone—there wasn’t a damn force on this earth that would take that little girl from him. It didn’t scare him anymore.

“You don’t need me to put it in triplicate,” he murmured. “I'd do it without askin’.”

Leela exhaled sharply like she’d been holding her breath. “I know. Needed to hear it from you.”

Joel lifted a hand, threading his fingers into her hair, tilting her face up just slightly. “You’re both mine. Both of you.”

He made it quiet, severe, but unshakable. A vow, not just to her, but to himself. Because that was the truth. The thing he’d known for longer than he’d let himself admit.

They were his.

Leela let out a small breath—like this was the only thing she’d needed.

But then, after a moment—she spoke again.

“If this is about legacy or—” Joel started, but she cut him off before he could even finish the thought.

“I don't give a shit about legacy, Joel. Look at me,” she said, fierce in a way that left no room for doubt.

Her fingers dug into him, pressing at the base of his skull, as if forcing him to stay his eyes on her. To the sharp edges of her features, the slight furrow in her brow.

She meant this. She fucking meant it.

And maybe that shouldn’t have hit him as hard as it did, but Christ, after all this time, after everything she’d kept close, all the ways she’d pulled away—here she was, giving him this. Not just her daughter, not just trust, but herself.

Not the Leela who brushed things off with an easy laugh. Not the Leela who went silent when it hurt, shutting herself away before anyone could get too close. Not the one who had been worn thin by exhaustion, by grief, by everything this world had taken from her.

No—this was the one who fought. The one who was staring him down now, fire in her eyes, daring him to push back.

It struck him somewhere deep, somewhere below words, below reason.

This was her. All the dimensions. The burden of her intellect, the sharpness of her conviction, the softness that she didn’t let many people see. The mother of his child. The woman he—god, the woman he really goddamn loved.

“I want my daughter with you.” A beat. “With her father.”

Everything inside Joel went quiet, dead still, like his brain had to stop just to catch up to what she’d said.

His throat worked, but no sound came out.

Leela watched him, her hands solid against him, holding him in place. Not backing down.

“Now, I know we haven’t gotten down to talking about it because of everything—” she muttered carefully, “but you accept that, don’t you? That you’re more than just Joel to Maya?”

He should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve known.

Because wasn’t this the truth? Wasn’t this what had been sitting there, waiting, just waiting for him to stop being so goddamn stubborn and see it?

Maya didn’t just cling to him—she reached for him. She trusted him in that quiet, simple way children did when they knew, down to their bones, who their people were. Or maybe it had happened even earlier, when he’d first stepped into this, when he’d first decided—without words, without promises—that he wasn’t walking away.

And he’d never fought it. Never questioned it, never thought of her as anything but his. But hearing it—hearing it, out loud, no escape, no walking around it—

It was a thunderclap in his black sky.

His eyes flickered over Leela’s face, searching. Waiting for her to say something else, something to ease the way it was fucking ravaging him.

She only waited, knowing the unspoken.

Joel exhaled, slow, long. His fingers flexed in her hair, at her waist, at the places where she fit against him.

“Yeah.” His voice was hoarse, stripped bare for her to see.

He felt his past pressing against the edges of this moment—Sarah’s wide grin, her hand gripping his as she leaned on his side, in a home full of possibilities before the world had collapsed beneath them. Ellie’s fire, the way she’d fought relentlessly against every part of him that had tried to keep her at arm’s length.

He’d been a father twice over.

And now—now he was being handed the chance again.

But it was different this time. Not just because it was Maya, because she was small and warm and already his—but also that he wasn’t alone in it.

Because this time, he wasn’t clawing through it with only guilt and hard work and grief and stubbornness and separation keeping him going.

This time, there was a warm home. A quiet life. Some room to grow. There was Leela.

Maybe that was the part that really undid him. Not just being a father again, but parenting with someone.

He thought of all those nights when she was too exhausted to function, but still got up anyway, still kept going, because that’s what she did. He thought of the hushed strength of her, the stubborn resolve, the way she had fought to keep Maya safe in a world that didn’t leave room for that kind of thing.

He wasn’t fumbling through it alone this time.

“Yeah,” Leela whispered her answer, as if reading his mind.

She tilted her head up, rising on her toes again—not much, just enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his jaw.

Joel breathed out sharply.

This was dangerous. This was slipping, past whatever line he’d attempted to keep between them for her sake. He should move. Say something. Break it up and put space where there wasn’t any.

Joel swallowed, hard. A little, idiotic, anxious part of him wondered if it had been that long and the fundamentals of a kiss had changed. There wasn't a textbook to flip here.

He had kissed women before. Had held them, had wanted them, had fucked them, and felt that pleasure only a woman could offer him when he hit the mattress.

Leela was different.

Not just because she was her, not just because she looked up at him like that—like she had never once questioned whether he was worth wanting, like she already knew this was happening, like she had already made up her mind. It didn’t matter to her that he was worn down, exhausted, and probably reeked of sweat and death and whatever the hell else he’d been working through that day.

No—she was different because he was different. Because it had been a long, long time since Joel had let himself want a woman like this.

Want without restraint. Want without thinking about the mess of it, the mistakes of it, the goddamn risk of it.

And she—God, she looked fucking stunning. Just like the first time he’d seen her, only now, it wasn’t from across the street. Wasn’t at a distance. She was here, close enough to feel, close enough to breathe in.

Her fingers curled deeper into his hair, and whatever was left of his restraint snapped like brittle wire.

His head dipped before he could stop it.

The first brush of their lips was hesitating—soft, careful, fucking fantastic, like neither of them were quite sure they had permission. Like they were hovering on the edge of something neither of them could name.

Leela stiffened—just for a second.

Joel felt it. The way she froze—like the reality of it had just hit her. But her hands stayed, one fisted against his shoulder, the other still tangled in his hair, gripping tighter, not pulling away.

A small, shuddering breath slipped from her lips.

Joel swallowed, trying to ignore the way she did that, the way her fingers tensed against his scalp, her lips parted, uncertain, and she sighed against him.

For fuck's sake, she’d never done this before. Not like this. Not the way it should be done, not to be had. She was waiting on him—watching him, trusting him to show her how.

His palm smoothed up her spine, patient, languid. Soothing. Sweetheart, you ain’t gotta be nervous.

Leela inhaled sharply. And her grip shuddered. Tentatively, like she wasn’t sure she was doing it right, her lips moved against his.

He could feel the way she concentrated, the way she was brooding in that shrewd little head of hers, and figured it out as she went, pressing a little too lightly, pulling back like she went too far, or wasn’t sure how much to give.

His chest clenched. Jesus.

She was trying. Trying so hard, even though she didn’t know how.

Joel let his other hand drift up—languid, knowing—fingertips grazing along the edge of her jaw, curving, pressing, tilting her just slightly. Guiding her.

Leela’s breath hitched.

Then, as if that small adjustment had steadied her, she softened entirely against him.

And Joel—yeah, he was fucking gone.

His fingers threaded into her hair, twisting into those wild, thick strands that weaved down into her braid, angling her deeper, letting her have all of him. Because that seemed to be all he could give her. Nothing but himself.

His lips moved against hers, gentle, sure, patient—like he was showing her how.

God, she was so fucking sweet. So nervous, so careful, but trusted him to lead her through it.

Her lips parted, a quiet, breathless sound slipping through—small, barely anything, but fuck, it hit him hard.

Joel groaned, low, deep in his throat, heat curling through his stomach. What he would give to push her up against that counter behind her, to have him pick apart that pretty pearl-buttoned night dress or bite off those bows and strings in those mind-bending backless tops of hers.

The thought only made his hand splay at her waist, pulling her flush against him, fingers pressing into the small of her back. Leela let out a soft gasp, her other hand sliding up, gripping at his throat, and she wanted more.

Well, he was already fucking ruined anyway.

His lips moved deeper into her, more certain, his fingers pressing into the curve of her jaw, tipping, angling—letting her feel it, letting her lead, letting her find her rhythm, letting her take what she wanted at her own pace.

And she did. She deserved that. Knowing she was in control of this.

He pulled back just an inch—just enough to meet her gaze, to give her a second to breathe, to make sure she knew—

But before he could, her lips chased his, and Jesus—

Joel laughed softly, deep in his throat, warmth curling through his stomach, twisting through his ribs. Alright, sweetheart. Whatever you need.

So he kissed her again. More. Deeper. As long she wanted. Till his lips went blue, till his legs went dead, till his brain was fuzzy, till she was sure she'd mastered the art of kissing.

Her fingers trembled against his neck when she eventually fell back on her heels, realizing—like this was finally sinking in.

Joel exhaled against her lips, gruff. “Good?”

Leela nodded—too fast, too eager. “Mhm.”

It was barely a whisper, barely there at all, but her hands were still on him, still keeping close, still wanting.

His thumb brushed over her jaw, soft, reassuring. “You sure?”

She swallowed, eyes flickering over his face, searching—like she was waiting for something. And then, so quietly he almost didn’t hear it—

“I didn’t know it could be like this.”

Oh, that knocked the wind out of him. The next time she said shit like that, he'd put his fist through a wall.

His hand lifted, threading through her hair with a tenderness that nearly undid him, coarse fingers dragging through the strands before resting at the nape of her neck. His thumb traced the soft skin there, his other hand smoothing over the small of her back, pulling her a breath closer.

“S’alright, darlin',” he murmured, brushing his lips against her forehead, lingering just a little longer than necessary. “Ain’t gotta rush.”

And that—that was it.

That was the moment Joel knew. And Christ, maybe that was the thing he never let himself want—never let himself hope for.

This wasn’t about grief. This wasn’t about making promises in the shadow of something terrible.

This was about life. A chance to do this again, but with stability. With reassurance. With her.

Leela was standing in front of him, alive, wanting, present. All his.

And somehow, despite all the shit they’d lived through, despite all the ways he had shut himself off over the years—somehow, he was too.

X

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[theeroins]

If I say that I'm not used to people misinterpreting my favorite characters, I'd be lying. But the way they get so many things wrong about Inho's character is kinda pissing me off because you KNOW that most of them do it to cancel out the possibility of InHun being *something* more than what's shown so far. You don't ship them, that's fair, frankly I don't care. Everyone's entitled to their own opinion UNTIL your opinion is wrong.

Let's talk about a couple of things I've seen being talked about on tiktok (🙄)

“Inho joined the games because ilnam said that it'd basically be more fun to play than to watch so he followed his example." loud incorrect buzzer ! Inho has joined the games before, and not only that, he's also a previous winner, so therefore he's very much aware of what it's like to be a part of it, he's experienced them first hand, just like he's experienced the atrocities of it. they've changed him for the worst and possibly caused him a huge trauma —they're the reason he's lost faith in humanity after all— so, why would he crave to relive it just for the thrill of it? i, personally doubt he even enjoys watching the game.

“Inho didn't look at Gihun with love, he likes to watch him suffer” Short answer is no. He doesn't like to watch him suffer, neither he looked at him with love, not the pure kind of love at least. Two things can be true at once. Inho spent half the season staring at Gihun because everything about the man intrigued him; His determination, his stubbornness, his kindness, his hope, his heart that's full of love despite the pain he suffered, even the pain in his eyes every time someone got eliminated in front of him as if it was the first time it had happened, as if the cruelty of it all surprised him every damn time. How can someone, who's been through the same things Inho has been through, be the polar opposite of him?

now, the reason(s) that I think Inho actually joined the games for..

(yes I am an Inhun shipper, does that make my opinion a little biased? maybe. do i still believe I'm right? absofuckinglutely.)

Let me clarify this: Inho is NOT a good man, no matter the redemption arc he might get in s3, he'll continue to be a terrible person because nothing will ever erase the blood he's spilled and the evil men he's worked for. BUT at the same time, he's not ALL bad, not like the VIPS and ilnam. See, Inhun are the average "yin-yang" trope in fictional romance, (which I eat up every time and I find it very interesting when it's done the right way, don't get me wrong) Inho is bad but there's some goodness somewhere deep inside him. And the only person who's brought it to the surface is Gihun. Sure, he does think Gihun is naive, but he's also the only person who's actually challenged him, who's "forced" him to get his stupid head out of the dirt and look around him, even for a short while and Inho definitely liked what he saw. Honestly, it wasn't even that hard for Gihun to do so because the goodness in Inho wanted and waited for someone to pull him out of the dirt, he wished for someone, something to give him hope for humanity or.. anything. Anything that'll help him escape from his misery.

You can definitely argue that he joined the games to befriend Gihun, to gain his trust and stop his plans when the time comes, which is half true. But keep in mind that he needed to justify his choice to join the games. He's not a VIP nor the mastermind to simply get to do that without consequences. He's the frontman, the one who controls and manages everything. He's needed for the games to work and go by smoothly and successfully without unnecessary losses and problems. Gihun would only cause problems, Inho knew that very well and yet he chose to put him in it once again. He recklessly made that choice, risking pretty much everything because of his inner conflict. A part of him wanted Gihun to prove himself to him, that there's indeed good that'll save the world and the rest of him wanted to prove to Gihun that everything he so strongly believes in is merely a fantasy.

Joining the games and befriending Gihun was the only way for Inho to see the real him, without the heroic mask he puts on every time he faces the frontman. I think he believed that someone as extraordinary as Gihun will either break in front of him and he will end up disappointed by the human kind once again, or Gihun will change everything about the way he thinks for the better. But the problem is that Inho hopes for both of those things at the same time.

And that was Inho's arc in season 2. His inner conflict and how it will affect him, the game and Gihun later on.

[evie-sturns]

turn around - Chris Sturniolo

🎶 baby show me what you're doing c'mon turn around. 🎶

summary: where your best friend chris accidentally walks in on you touching yourself, he doesn't instantly leave, instead he is desperate to see more, to feel more.

contains: smut, caught masturbating, bestfriend!chris.

------------------------------------------------------------

7:39am

i lay against the sheets of chris's spare bed, i stay round at the sturniolo's house often, i practically live here now.

i've slept over last night, like usual. i assume chris is dead asleep due to the fact he usually sleeps in until 2 in the afternoon, so i decide to let a weight off my shoulders..

my hand snakes round to the smooth skin of my lower stomach, tracing the outline of my small brandy melville shorts.

i haven't had the oppurtunity to masturbate for the past month, i've been so busy with various meetings plus always been with the sturniolos that it’s been practically impossible, which has been.. painful.

with a small sigh i pull my shorts off, discarding them across the room, leaving me bare on the mattress.

my fingers find their way to my clit, i rub it lightly. a small moan falls from my lips as i apply more pressure.

i reach my spare hand down and dip one of my fingers inside of me, my mouth falls open as i throw my head back.

i press my ring middle finger inside of me as well, curling them.

“oh god- fuck” i breathe, feeling the warmth of myself around my fingers.

suddenly the door to my room swings open, chris walks in and his head snaps round to look at me.

i panic and pull my fingers out of me before tugging up the sheets aggressively.

“oh my god chris- get out!” my voice trembles, my face flushing red from embarrassment.

chris doesn’t move, instead he shuts the door and walks over to me.

“baby show me what you’re doing.” chris whispers, reaching for the sheets and tugging them down slightly.

i feel humiliated, why is chris up so early and why didn’t i lock the door.

i let him tug the covers the rest of the way, revealing my bare lower half, my hand still resting lazily on my clit.

“touching yourself in my spare bed hm?” chris mumbles,

i feel my cheeks blush with a small nod of my head.

“you’re so pretty, you know that.” chris says, i squeeze my legs together.

i reach for chris’s sweatpants, gripping the waistband.

“no, use your words. tell me what you’re thinking.” chris looks down at me,

“i need you.” i mutter,

chris tugs his sweatpants down, letting his erection spring out.

he reaches for my tank top and tugs it off my body. “wanna see you undressed now.” chris grins, his top teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he tugs me to the edge of the bed.

“fuck chris- i’ve wanted this for so long.” i say in between heavy breathes,

“is that so?” chris teases, his hands exploring my body desperately.

i nod my head eagerly,

"you ready sweetheart?" chris asks, tracing mindless shapes on my clit lightly.

"yeah-" i reply

chris lines himself up with me before pressing his tip inside of me,

he lets out a sigh of relief as soon as he enters me, i sink my top teeth into my bottom lip with a small moan.

chris presses further of his length inside of me, stretching my walls around him, "you feeling okay?" chris whispers, grabbing my waist lightly.

"feels.. really good" i breathe.

chris finally bottoms out, i feel his tip lightly press against my cervix before he almost pulls out again, then presses back inside of me.

he leans down and presses a soft kiss to my lips, i moan into his mouth as his thrusts continue.

chris pulls away from the kiss and presses his forehead to mine, his brunette hair resting on my bare forehead.

chris uses his free hand to move some of my hair away from my eyes, i feel his tip repeatedly brush against my g-spot.

with every thrust he hits that spot, earning louder groans from me, "oh chris!" i whine, arching my back off the bed as his pace picks up a little bit.

"you're taking me so well, feel so good around my dick." chris praises me, knowing i love it when he praises me.

chris reaches his hand down between where our body meets and presses his hand onto my lower stomach.

"feel me right there?" chris asks,

he pushes deep inside of me causing a obvious stomach bulge, my mouth falls open as i feel my mind tog

"fuck chris- oh my god im so close" i babble out,

"keep doing that- please"

chris lets out a low laugh, "im close aswell pretty girl" chris reaches further down and rubs my clit, applying just the right amount of pleasure.

and thats enough to send me over the edge. i feel an intense amount of pleasure wash over me,

"chris!" i call out, clenching around his length as i release.

chris pulls out of me and strokes himself a couple of times before finishing on my stomach "oh god.." chris groans, throwing his head back.

he flops down on the bed before pulling me onto his lap.

i breathe heavily against chris’s chest as the morning sun beams through the window down onto me.

after a couple minutes of comfortable silence chris opens his mouth,

“was that okay?” he asks

“unexpected, but it was definitely okay.” i laugh, “it was really good chris.”

“you should do that more often.” chris sighs with a grin

“do what?” i reply

“you know.. touch yourself with the door unlocked.” he smiles,

i scoff “hey, to be fair you usually wake up at like 3pm, i was thinking that you were knocked out so i had time.”

“i’m just teasing you.” chris laughs, flicking my arm.

i flick him back “you’re stupid.” i giggle.

———

@sturnsdoll @obvisturns @stupid4sturniolo @meerkatzthings @witchofthehour @similartokayyz @rosalierenee43 @idekman1231

@gabrielle-brun1 @ilovemymannnnnnnn @sturnioloxlver @buckys-goodgirl @sturniol0s @mattybsgf @stupid4sturniolo @lydi2718 @chrisstopherfilmed2 @flosslikeabosss @zturndq @skysturniolo @jetaimevous @sturniolo04 @luxy-nyx @aliceloveschris @livvy4realll @chrissturnsss @ilovemymannnnnnnn @chr1sgirl4life @luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle @h3arts4harry @sonicmacks @jamiesturniolo @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @sturniolo-simp4life @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees @lovergirl4387 @certifiednatelover @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @ecilphttlunar @bitchydragonparadise @thematthewlover @sturni0l0 @ratatioulle @sturnsfav @chrisgetsmewetterxo @mattsonly @justalittle47 @mattsturnioloisbae@sunsetsturniolos @sturniolo04 @similartokayyz @pkfferoo

@sturnsintrouble @ilovemattsturn @raysmayhem-72 @75sturn @sturniol0s @secret-sturniolo @hfkeclnendmwodne @sturniolosass @gxldenlush @stonermattsgf @101sara @beccaluvschris @oliviasturniolo21 @imwetforyourmom @tylerstacobell @sunsetsturniolos @aliceloveschris @jayz4dayz4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover @nathandoesgf @starsturns234 @chrissturnsss s @joemamaaa42069 @sturnthepot @zayyluvz @realuvrrr @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs @riowritesitall @raysmayhem-72

[jinwoosbabyboo]

"Safe and sound....Kinda" pt. 2

You went M.I.A. and the LADS Men are stressed!

Xavier

"It's been almost a week Jeremiah we need to check places the hunter association won't look" Xavier was already on the move heading towards the first No-hunt Zone of many. Jeremiah trailed behind him almost jogging trying to keep up.

"I understand that Xavier, but you're not in the right head space to-" Jeremiah swallows his words when Xavier whipped around abruptly getting in his face. "to what? Find the love of my life? I'm done waiting around twiddling my thumbs she could be out there dying for all we know"

Xavier turned on his heels and continued on his path "If your way of helping is planting seeds of doubt then don't follow me"

After two days of non-stop searching he did it. In the deepest parts of the forest Xavier found himself at the tip of your Hunters sword nearly taking his head off. His eyes widened in shock just as yours did when you realized who you were looking at "Xav......?" Your words faded as you dropped your sword and fell into his chest almost knocking him over.

"Where have you been? What are you doing in this zone its dangerous"

"I got pulled into a rift I've been fighting alone for five days" Your breathing was labored before you began to cough. Xavier flinched from the death grip you had on his arm as you tried to keep yourself upright. That's when he noticed your ripped clothes. Since when was your uniform so short and revealing?

It wasn't.

You'd been tearing your clothes to bandage your wounds, but they weren't doing so well considering they were soaked through in old and fresh blood. Your shoes were missing along with your socks. "I kept fighting because I knew...." A cough tore from your chest making your throat burn as you coughed up blood. "....I knew you'd find me" Your grip loosened as you went slack in his arms.

"Of course I'd find you" Xavier managed you wrangle you onto his back as he sent his coordinates to Jeremiah to come and pick the two of you up. "Just hang on a little longer"

Sylus

You dragged your shoulder along the wall of a back alleyway before dropping falling flat on the ground. You don't know how many days it's been since you told Sylus you'd be back in less than a day. Your vision blurred as your head swam from exhaustion and dehydration.

"I see her!" That voice sounds familiar....

You feel two sets of hands on you pulling you into a sitting position, but your head is so heavy. "Just let me sleep for a while"

"No you have to stay up Boss is almost here" Luke?

"Stay with us" Kieran?

You felt that comforting red and black mist engulf you and soon you were cradled in Sylus' arms. If you didn't know any better you'd say Sylus looked as if he'd been crying. His eyes seemed bloodshot, but what do you know you can barely keep your eyes open. You're probably seeing things.

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I dropped my phone & a wanderer shattered my watch .... along with my wrist .... I figured if I got close enough to the N109 Zone .... you would find me" A weak smile graced your lips. "Looks like I was right"

"Let's get you home" He whispered and it was the last thing you heard before your head bobbed one last time and darkness consumed you.

Sylus made sure you had the best medical care money can buy while staying in the comfort of his king sized bed. He wouldn't leave your side as you slowly recovered. "Were you crying over me?"

"Shut up and take your pain meds"

Sylus is hard to write because that man got Mephisto on our ass 24/7

Zayne & Rafayel here ♡

[captain-bubble-wrap]

Reader is late getting home???? Worried huggy bear????

I myself, was half-asleep when I wrote this! I hope it isn't a complete mess! 🫣

Quinn: It's after midnight, baby. Are you okay? (12:19am)

Quinn: Hello? (12:43am)

Quinn: Missed call. (12:46am)

Quinn: Missed call. (12:52am)

Quinn: Baby, you're worrying me. Please, text me. (12:54am)

Quinn: Missed call. (12:55am)

Quinn: Baby, please, call me. (12:58am)

Pacing the living room floor, Quinn kept checking his phone, the screen never turning off as he walked back and forth, endlessly. You had gone out with some girlfriends hours ago, and had told Quinn that you would be back before midnight. However, it was nearing one o'clock in the morning and there hadn't been word from you since slightly after eleven. Always one to keep your word, he never had reason to worry until now. Quinn hated messaging you repeatedly, and even worse, all of the missed calls. He never wanted you to feel smothered or like he was keeping tabs on you. Quinn trusted you fully, and he hoped that it would still remain that way after you saw everything. 

Unsure of what to do, other than remain pacing his apartment, Quinn decided to return to where you and your friends had gone for the evening, in hopes that maybe you were still there. Outside, it had been storming, pouring rain since dawn. He'd put on a hat and jacket before grabbing his keys from the bowl by the door. His palms were damp and his fingers trembled out of worry of what could have happened to you. 

It was so late, no one in the building was about and it was eerily quiet. He'd enter the elevator and select the wrong floor either due to nerves or exhaustion. The parking garage would be what he had wanted, but instead, Quinn would press the ground floor button. Each floor that ticked by, another scenario would cross his mind about where you could be, and each time it would pain his heart. The doors would open, and blindly, Quinn would walk out, his mind clouded. It would take several steps before he'd realize he wasn't on the right floor. That's when he noticed something, 

There, in one of the lobby's chairs, you were coiled up, asleep. He could have fallen to his knees in relief at the sight of you. 

"Oh, thank god," he muttered to himself, before exhaling the deepest breath. Making short work of the gap, Quinn rushed to your side while you remained asleep. There on the floor in front of you, was your phone. Had you still been holding it, it was possible all of his phone calls could have stirred you, however, that clearly hadn't been the case. 

"Wake up, sweetheart," he whispered, gently caressing your cheek, hoping to wake you without scaring you, "Sweetheart?"

"Hmm?" You were completely out of it when you finally came to. Blinking several times in quick succession, you'd finally realize it was Quinn who was talking to you. "Quinn? What-- what's going..on?"

He couldn't help but chuckle, "Yes, it's me. I've been wondering where you've been!"

"Wh-what do you mean?" Dropping your legs down from their tightly tucked position, you winced from the pain. "Oh, ow--!"

Quinn put his hand to your back, giving soft touches while you struggled to unfold yourself. "Take your time, you're okay," he smiled. "I was just about to come see if I could find you."

"Where's-- where's my, phone?"

"I have it, baby. It was on the floor."

You looked up at him so confused. "I fell asleep down here?"

Quinn would step in front of you and kneel down, putting his hands on your legs. His expression was so loving and caring, and trying to convey that everything was okay. He was just happy that he had found you. "Let's go home. Let's get you upstairs."

You nodded, taking his hand after he rose back to his feet. Quinn carried your clutch and phone as he wrapped his other arm around your waist, helping you steady yourself. He knew you had had a few drinks and just didn't want anything to happen to you while in his care or otherwise.

"I'm so sorry, baby," you apologized, laying your head on his shoulder once in the elevator. "I remember them dropping me off, then sitting down to fix the strap of my shoe... I guess I just somehow fell asleep. Your tone was that was shame and embarrassment, but Quinn harbored none of those feelings. 

"I'm just glad you're safe. That's all that matters to me, alright?" He reassured, placing his lips to your temple for a long kiss. 

"What time is it?"

"After one by now."

"One?" You whined. "Oh my gosh, Quinny! I'm sorry!"

"Shh, you're alright."

You wanted to cry! You remembered telling him you would have been home around eleven. Quinn tightened his grip on your waist slightly. His touch was warm, sending a wave of goosebumps cascading over your skin. He loved you so much; you were the most important thing in his life and he wanted nothing more than to protect you. You, however, in that moment, felt so ashamed at what you had done. You would stay quiet until he got you back inside his apartment. 

"Safe and sound," he whispered in your ear, standing directly behind you. "Time for bed?"

Staggering slightly, you turned around to face him, your eyelids so heavy with exhaustion. "Yes, please."

Quinn smiled, "Good, I've been ready."

In one quick movement, he'd pick you up and carry you to his bedroom, your head falling against his chest. He was your white knight. He'd sit you down on the bed and you would slump forward slightly, not having him to support you. 

"Here, let me help you," he said, kneeling again, but this time to remove your shoes. His touch was so soft and delicate, caressing every curve your body had to offer. "Can you stand for me, sweetheart?"

With his hands extended, Quinn would help get you to your feet one more time and you'd fall into him slightly. With his arms around you, he'd find the zipper of your dress and drag it down to expose your back. Every time he touched you, it was so gentle and careful. Quinn was the only guy you had been with, who treated you with such compassion and tenderness. It seemed a lost art these days. 

From your shoulders, your dress would drop from your body and come to rest around your bare feet. You pulled him closer to you, more cold than exposed, and he was so warm. 

"Let me go get you something to sleep in, okay?" Quinn spoke softly, nose buried in your perfumed hair. 

"May I have one of your hoodies, please?"

He smiled, knowing just how much you loved to steal them. "Of course, baby, hold on one second okay?"

When he stepped away, you'd cross your arms across your chest to stay as warm as you could, standing there in only your underwear. The light in the room was dim and you'd kick the dress from your feet nearly tripping yourself up in the process, wobbly from the alcohol still lingering in your system. 

"Careful, careful," he cooed, making sure you didn't fall. "Here, how about this one?"

He'd help you get the hoodie on and down over your body, his hands lingering at the hem, just below the curve of your ass. With your face in the curve of your neck, the two of you would share a laugh as Quinn wasn't always the most...handsy...type. When he was, he got embarrassed and flustered, but you thought it was always adorable. 

"I need to take my makeup off," you mumbled, unwilling to part with him though you needed to. 

"Do you need any help?"

"No, I'll be okay. Thank you."

"You go do that, and then we'll go to bed," he hummed, sending chills through your body. Eventually, you'd find the strength to wander off to the bathroom and remove your makeup, but after sometime, Quinn joined you, already changed out of his street clothes.

"You're beautiful," he said, coming up behind you and after you had a clean face. "You don't need all of that stuff."

His arms snaked around your waist, his lips near your ear. "I love you."

"I love you, too," you replied, hand reaching up to touch his cheek. "You're too sweet."

"Come on, beautiful, time for bed?"

"Mhm."

After one more kiss, you'd follow him back to the bedroom where he had already pulled the covers back. You'd climb across his side of the bed to clumsily snuggle down into the covers.  

"Comfy?" He'd ask after you were settled, joining you shortly after. 

"I have the spins," you whined, feeling the room spin now that you were laying down. 

"Come here, baby. You'll be okay once you relax." 

Scooting over to Quinn, you'd put your hands against his chest and try to focus on his heartbeat rather than how your head was feeling. His warmth was so comforting and his touch addictive. Quinn's fingers trailed through your hair as your eyes finally fell closed. 

"I'm sorry about making you worry, Quinny," you whispered, fingers coiled in his shirt. 

"None of that matters now," he said, lips nearly touching your forehead. "I'm just glad I found you. I hate to sleep alone."

[buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger]

Bucky and Touch Headcanons

Bucky x GN!Reader

Description: Just some Headcanons about Bucky and learning to trust human contact again

Warnings: fluff, a little angst, Bucky’s trauma, abuse at the hands of HYDRA, insecurities, self conscious Bucky, pet names, no y/n used, no pronouns used beyond "you"

A/N: if you haven't noticed I definitely have a type when it comes to fic and that fic is hurt/comfort with Bucky. I kinda feel like everything I've written is like the same thing in different fonts, but oh well 😅 anyways, Bucky re-learning that hands on his body doesn’t inherently mean pain and becoming super cuddly and touchy with someone he loves is my SHIT inject that into my VEINS man

((18+ only below the cut please and thank you!!))

It takes Bucky a really long time to get accustomed to human contact again, after you two got together it took him a while to even do something so innocent as hold your hand.

It’s not that Bucky hates it

He loves being close to you, he wants it so badly

And he’s touch-starved

He’s so touch-starved

But he went so long without positive human contact, and now that he’s free he wanted it so badly he could feel his chest aching for it

But it made him so nervous to want to try

After one night where you mindlessly reached up to casually touch his face and he flinched away hard, after all open hand coming towards his face had meant pain for so long, you two had a long conversation about his comfort levels

You two took things slow initially

You would sit on the couch together, watching a movie and talking with your fingers intertwined, your thumb stroking his knuckles.

Sometimes you’ll fall asleep on his shoulder, something he’s slowly started to accept

At the very least he’s stopped freezing when he feels your head droop to his arm

But now that he’s grown used to it and learned to love it? He wants to be touching you all the time

Bucky almost always has his arm around you, or a hand on your back, holding your hand, etc.

He would never admit it to anyone but you, but he’s SUCH a little spoon.

Bucky loves when you hold him, resting his head on your chest while you rub his back brings him a level of calm that he’s never felt before

Or when you hold him from behind and he curls into your body

You slip your hand under his shirt and run your hands along his tummy, gently stroking your fingers along his skin

You know he’s a lot larger than you, being a wall of muscle that has at least a head of height on you

But seeing him sleeping peacefully, wrapped in your arms with a little smile on his face he looks so small

He loves when you play with his hair.

It took him a long time to be okay with it (too many memories of handlers grabbing and/or dragging him by the hair), but now?

If he had it his way your hands would never leave it

Whenever you two are holding each other your hands always seem to find their way to his dark locks, brushing them out of his eyes or carding your fingers through it

You learned that the quickest way to get him to fall asleep is to stroke his hair, and put him to sleep like that every night

When it was long, Bucky loved when you combed it for him after a shower, or braided and unbraided it while he laid in your lap during a movie

Now that it’s cut short (thanks to you, he didn’t trust anyone else to do it) you’re pretty much always playing with it in some way

As much as you loved his long hair, his shorter cut is nice because it’s a bit more manageable and still just as soft

Bucky loves when you massage his scalp, feeling your nails gently scratching against his head makes him melt every time

He also loves when you bathe him or bathe with him

Bucky had a lot of anxiety around being naked in front of you, too many bad memories of being stripped and hosed down after missions or beaten within an inch of his life

But with lots of time and comfort and assurances he eventually opened up and got more comfortable

Long baths with you are his favorite thing.

Whether you get in with him or not, he loves how gentle you are with washing his body, massaging sore muscles and peppering his chest and back with little kisses

He especially loves when you wash his hair (I know, shocking).

Usually when you’re done washing him you’ll guide his head to lay in your lap while you stroke his hair.

When it’s time for him to get out you usually have to wake him up, it makes you smile

Peace looks so good on him, you just want to let him bask in it forever

And oh GOD he loves skin-on-skin contact so much

It took so long for Bucky to learn that he was allowed to want things

When he first started opening up with touch, he would wait until the aching in his chest got unbearable before asking if you would do some skin-on-skin with him

You never wanted to push him, but you tried to teach him that he was allowed to ask for things he didn't need immediately.

He didn't have to wait until he absolutely needed something to ask for it.

He was allowed to just want things.

Once he finally gets used to asking for things he wants skin-on-skin all the time.

Most every night you end up cuddled up in bed, sans clothing, Bucky pretty much on top of you, his head on your chest while you play with his hair.

He'll press little kisses to your chest, making you smile when his stubble tickles against your skin

“I love you,” he whispers into your neck, “how did I get so lucky, hm?”

You smile softly and kiss his forehead

“Believe me Buck, I'm the lucky one.”

[burning-omen]

Happy (Belated) Halloween!

Jason Todd x Demon!male!reader

(A/n: I'm tired, I've been getting argued at and pulled into fights that have nothing to do with me from the time I woke up- had a bunch of chores and shit to do and the fucking grocery store was packed and people keep bumping into me and all the fucking prices went way up since the last time I was there less than a month ago- I'm thoroughly overstimulated and getting home to edit and rewrite certain parts of this shitty little fic was a probably the best part of my day.)

Warning: crack fic kinda, blood, Demon!reader, murder, mutilation, and gore, summoning gone right technically, reader has TWO dicks, size difference, overstimulation, masochism, probably misspellings idk I'm not reading it again that's your job, dom/sub, ownership marking, sacrifice (rip that guy, ive been calling him marvin in my head), going missing for a lil while (consensually), OOC jason todd but this is literally porn who cares

word count: 1981 (short, i know, shut up/j)

Halloween parties were the worst. If the loud, drunk, half-naked crowd wasn’t enough to convince Jason, walking in on an honest to god seance was.

Being dragged to a party by Dick, only to lose him in the crowd of people within the first few minutes. He just wanted some quiet- and under the guise of looking for how brother he managed to avoid nearly every conversation that came his way- except for some incomprehensible drunk girl who insisted on holding a conversation with his even though she sounded like she was under water every time she opened her mouth.

He eventually managed to escape from her, finding the nearest room to recuperate in, only to be greeted by a room of chanting, drunk party-goers, kneeling around a shakily drawn yet intricate summoning circle. The chant was Latin- super old Latin- and Jason really wanted no part in this. He knew that demons were real, he knew a lot of shit that was supposedly fake was real- he had Batman to thank for that. So, after standing in the room for about 30 seconds, he decided to leave.

Turning on his heel, not saying a word to whatever party cult he just walked in on- deadset on leaving when he heard choking, and gasps from the mini cult as they clamored around the chanter who had suddenly collapsed.

Taking in a deep breath, cursing Bruce and the unwavering need to help he instilled in all of his children, before turning back to the group.

Laying, choking in the middle of the circle was a young man-

‘He’s drunk,’ Jason thought, pushing through the group surrounding him, their concern was nice- but unhelpful ‘probably choked on his tongue.’

Tilting his head back, the choking became louder- tears streamed down his face, his mouth agape as he clawed at his throat- his eyes desperate and afraid.

“It’s okay,” Jason tried, but he wasn’t exactly known for his bedside manner. “Just let me look.”

He peered down the man's throat- his tongue was wear it was supposed to be, but blood still filled the man’s mouth. Clearly whatever was happening here was internal, there's nothing Jason could do for him. Before he could ask anyone to call an ambulance- he saw something move at the very back of his throat. Even through the pooling blood, he could tell something wasn’t right- what the hell did he swallow?

His neck bulged as something made its way up- that was good- maybe. Slowly pushing up- whatever it was- caused the man to cry out in pain. He coughed and sputtered as it moved up and up until it pushed past the muscles of his throat and out of his mouth. A hand, clawed- drenched in blood, moving with so much force that a crack sounded through the room as more and more of the form inside him- whatever it was- came out. Breaking his jaw to finally reach out and grab his face- he cried out as pain and panic filled him- he turned to Jason for help as his friends fled but there wasn’t anything Jason could do but sit there in horror as an arm lifted from his broken and mutilated face- he cheeks tearing in as his mouth opened to unnatural length.

The bloody arm clawed at the floor, sharp talon like nails leaving deep wounds in the wood. Jason backed away- fear as well as guilt taking over. The basic instinct that anyone who had even taken the moniker “Robin” knew took over soon after, he needs to call batman- he couldn’t handle whatever this is, not on his own. He reached for his phone right as the candle lit room suddenly went dark. Jason, usually so strong and sure, didn’t know what to do. His communicator clattered to the floor as he stood.

He swore quietly- backing up until he was pressed against the wall- the sound of flesh tearing filled the room- still hot blood splattered across his face.

A soft growl came from the dark, deep and steady and growing closer by the second. Then,as if they had never been out, the candles were re-lit.

A massive beastly thing stood above him, horned and winged- a long tail trailing behind it. Soaked in the blood of the man that was scattered in chunks around the room. Despite knowing that he should definitely be afraid, a man had been ripped from the inside out right in front of him, something somewhere in his mind was saying, “would”. The thought immediately made him cringe at himself- he could not survive that- not only were you massive, you were also very naked. With not one but two just as massive, heavy cocks resting between your legs. He’d die, simply put, torn in half Terrifier style.

“Scared, human?” You asked, voice just as inhuman as your form.

Suddenly unable to find his words, Jason shook his head.

The action made you purr- something was so wrong with this man, not running or screaming, but instead sitting before you, his eyes wandering over your body, face reddened as his heart pounded in his chest.

He didn’t even attempt to move when you reached for him, his breath caught in his throat, but he remained perfectly still as you stroked his hair, then ran the backside of your claws down his cheek. All the way down to his chest, pressing just the tip of your claw in, watching as his shirt quickly became stained with blood.

“Not scared? How brave of you, human. “ You mused, “I require sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice?” he barely managed.

Trailing your claw lower and lower until the point of it rested over the growing bulge in his pants.

“A sacrifice of life is usually offered.” You pressed down, “But, another kind of offering will suffice.”

Jason breathed out- he can’t. Mentally, he could- he’s done all kinds of weird shit, fucking a demon wouldn’t even come close to the worse things he done- it doesn’t even reach top ten with the rest of his family’s track record for weird shit. But physically, that would kill him. One alone would shatter his pelvis and probably paralyze him- two would just straight up kill him. And you really didn’t seem like the kind of demon to go half way- you did come all the way from hell after all.

The obvious thing to do was to say no and call a fucking exorcist- but Jason didn’t do that, instead he speaks, so sure and steady as he spoke-

“Can you shrink?”

The entirety of your form became, your horns no longer scraped the ceiling, but you were still massive above Jason. You didn’t make it easy for him- pressing him into the floor with one clawed hand gripping his hair tightly, knees pressed into the hard wood and legs spread wide open, his cock- which you decided needed to remain untouched for the “sacrifice” to be valid.

Labored breathing, gasping and all encompassing sobs filled the room as both of your cock stretched him to the limit every time you thrusted into him- his nearly blunt nails leaving marks in the wooden floor below him.

With his mouth hanging wide open- he begged- muttering a broken “Please-’’ between moans-

You leaned down, pulling him up by his hair- resting inside him before speaking.

“You want more, human?”

Eyes brimmed with tears, feeling far fuller than felt natural- but so good and warm at the exact same time- deep in his stomach all the down to the very tips of his toes, every nerve so very alive.

He nods, shortly and without hesitation.

You grip on his hair loosens, and he sighs in relief as the burning pain in his scalp stops.

Only to flair up in his hips as you dig your claws into them, literally. Piercing through skin and drawing blood that slid over his skin and pooled beneath him on the floor. Jason, ever the masochist, only gets louder. With the party outside still raging on, you're sure the sound blended into the background- and any attendee lucky enough to have heard the high, whiny moans was listening far too hard.

Thrusting became painful, hard slamming- both cocks abusing his prostate with unnatural accuracy. Pulling out until the tips of your cock were just barely inside of him- then pressing back in so hard his entire body was pushed forward.

Jason’s mind was loud and incoherent - incomplete thoughts running through his head, cut short by either pain or pleasure every single time.

His body spammed unwillingly, muscles tightening and releasing, his hole tightened around you in an attempt to suck you in more- even if more would cause so so many problems for the man.

“So greedy,” you hummed in his ear, and you take cock so well.”

He didn’t respond, he couldn’t, overwhelmed and obsessed with the feeling. His orgasm- the first of many snuck up on him, his body overstimulated and oversensitive as hot, white cum shot straight onto the floor.

He gasped for air as though he’d been held under water- his body burned as he clenched around you- pleasure gone- replaced by what could only be described as fire destroying him from the inside out. He cried out in pain, his body writhes and contorts- and yet he never asks you to stop.

You grinned, “so cute, I might just have to keep you, human.”

You weren’t far behind him, cum seeping from both of your tips as you buried yourself deep inside him- it only added to the burning. Filling him so much until his hole, still plugged with your cock, leaks it back out. Down his legs and onto the floor, mixing with his own puddle of cum. You watched him for a long moment, letting him grit his teeth and cry at the pain, before showing your newest pet a bit of mercy and pulling out.

His body slouched onto the floor the moment you leg go. Jason was on the verge of passing out, eyes barely open, covered in blood, sweat, and cum. He has a high pain tolerance and his stamina was through the roof- but fucking hell he was so tired, and everything hurt, from his over used knees, to his damn near broken hole, and the small wounds your claws had made- coupled with an over bearing overstimulation making everything ten times worse- Jason, without question, was never doing this again.

—--- A couple weeks later—---

Dick realized that Jason wasn’t a party person, but for him to just disappear (and possibly kill someone at the party??? What the hell Jay???) for weeks seemed to be a bit of an overreaction.

But when he walked into the manor, happy as can be, after just being gone for three weeks, Dick knew something was very wrong- or very unusual- was happening.

“I had a date.” Was Jason’s only response, as he leaned heavily against the back of a chair, but never actually sat down in it.

“A date?!” Dick is so glad he questioned him in private. “With who?”

Jason shrugged, “met a guy at the party.”

“Jason you just dropped off of the face of the Earth with some guy for nearly a month?!”

Dick didn’t realize how literal that was- Hell has some pretty nice residential areas, it turns out.

“I was having fun.”

Jason, of course, was never going to tell Dick what he has really been doing- or what he will continue to be doing for the foreseeable future- but it was fun watching him freak out at every vague answer he gave.

The mark (brand?? Tattoo??) on his back still felt weird, sensitive from its spot hidden under his clothes, but how else would other demon, humans, and every other sentient being know that he was yours.

(a/n 2: AND I KNOW ITS LATE BUT I STILL FINISHED IT WITHIN A REASONABLE TIME SO EVERYBODY SHUT UP/j)

[bellaxgiornata]

What Did You Expect?

Pairing: Matt Murdock x nurse!fem!Reader Word Count: 2.2k [Matt Murdock Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; mentions of sex, injured and snarky Matt, little jealousy, exes after a breakup, angst, hopeful ending

Summary: In need of medical assistance, Matt interrupts your evening–but you hadn't been alone.

Prompt: "Are you jealous?"

a/n: This is a short one shot for @mattmurdocksscars 2.5k Follower Celebration Writing Challenge event! I've never written Matt as an ex before (quite like this), so this was a lot of fun! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

A sharp hiss of pain flew from between Matt’s lips, the noise harsh as it broke through the silence of your apartment. Eyes shifting up from the bloody, six inch gash along his left bicep, you briefly paused your stitching to glance at his face. Matt’s mouth was twisted up in discomfort, his features pinched tight in a grimace as you worked. He hated getting stitches, you’d always known that, but tonight he seemed determined to bear the pain as quietly as possible.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” he bit out dryly.

Rolling your eyes at his comment, you returned your attention to your fingers as you resumed your work. He really did not have room to talk when he'd shown up unannounced on your fire escape asking for a favor at such an absurd hour. Especially after everything that had happened between you both only a few months ago. 

“Considering it’s almost one in the morning and you interrupted my evening?” you replied tersely. “I think I’m enjoying your discomfort the proper amount, Matthew.”

A bitter huff of air fell from him, his head turning over his other shoulder as you continued to work. Out of the corner of your eye, you knew where his attention had focused right now–towards your bedroom. Again. You’d caught him repeatedly shifting his head just slightly in the direction of it as you’d been stitching him for the past few minutes. As you pulled the needle through his skin once more, you could see the way he tensed in your dining chair. Except this time you could tell the tension in his body had nothing to do with the needle.

“Yeah, well,” he added quietly, a bitter edge to his words, “it seemed like your evening had already come to its conclusion by the time I'd shown up.”

“And what a satisfying conclusion it was,” you shot back.

Matt shook his head at you, his attention shifting away from your bedroom as he focused on a spot straight in front of himself. His lips were drawn into a thin line as he sat there shirtless, still drenched in sweat and blood from his time running around the city tonight. 

“Wasn't that satisfying,” he remarked.

Your hands stopped what they were doing, your gloved fingers resting against his bare and bloodied arm. Slowly, your eyes traveled from his injury upwards to his face. Matt was sitting there, the faintest hint of a pleased smirk on his mouth as if he was satisfied with himself for that jab. 

“Were you listening that closely, Matthew?” you chastised. “Finding new hobbies while you're out there surfing rooftops now? Is eavesdropping on women having sex the new thing for The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?”

Matt's smirk faltered before slipping off of his face entirely. A frown took its place instead, his hazel eyes narrowing at the blank screen of your television across the room. He'd long since discarded the black mask on your kitchen table, pulling it off after he'd stepped inside your apartment–just like he used to do when he stopped over during patrols in the past–making it impossible for him to hide his expression. It wasn't like he needed the mask around you anymore, though. You'd known all about the Devil when the pair of you had been dating.

“I wasn't intentionally listening,” he countered bitterly. “I came here looking for help. It's not that easy for me to stitch something one-handed while also blind.” His lips twitched in distaste as his voice lowered. “Not my fault you weren't alone when I stopped by.”

Pursing your lips as you worked, you felt a flash of frustration run through you. You didn't like that he'd come by tonight of all nights. You had just finally started to move forward after the breakup, trying to at least let guys into your bed even if you weren’t ready to let them into your heart. But you liked it even less that he'd overheard something so personal on top of it. Especially because it wasn't that he'd just overheard you having sex, it was that Matt’s heightened senses could invade your privacy enough to know the truth–that the guy you'd been with tonight couldn't play your body the same way Matt could.

“And it's not my fault that you did stop by. You could have gone to Claire,” you pointed out, trying to finish the last few stitches.

Matt scoffed at the comment. “Yeah, alright. Next time I'm bleeding from a deep laceration, I'll go the extra few blocks to Claire's place instead,” he shot back. “I wasn't exactly expecting you to be entertaining company quite so late, sweetheart.”

Your teeth grit together at the way he'd called you that again. It used to be spoken with such soft tenderness when you two had been together. Tonight? The condescension and anger was clear each time. 

“What did you expect, Matt?” you asked, finishing the final stitch. “It's been over four months since we broke up–since you ended things and shoved me away. I'm not a damn nun.”

He huffed out a sharp breath at your nun comment, a sarcastic smile on his lips. “Hilarious.”

You turned and set your supplies back on the dining table, digging around in your medical bag for a bandage to cover his stitches with. Pulling one out, you began to open the packaging before focusing back on Matt.

“What?” you asked, arching a brow at him as he sat in front of you. “Are you jealous? Is that it, Matthew?”

A loud scoff fell out of him before he pulled an exaggerated face.“Of course I’m not jealous,” he snapped. 

As you began covering his stitches with the bandage in your hands, you once again rolled your eyes. “You certainly sound jealous to me, Matt,” you argued. “You haven’t stopped focusing on my bedroom since you’ve been here. I can tell what you’re doing, I’ve known you long enough.”

“It’s not jealousy,” he countered. “I just figured you'd at least pick a guy who doesn't douse himself in cologne. Someone with a less irritating voice and who actually knew how to get you to properly finish when he’s–ahh!”

Eyes narrowed, you dropped your gloved hands away from his arm where you'd purposefully pressed a bit rougher than necessary against his wound while applying the bandage. He was far too comfortable discussing what he’d overheard considering the breakup and his four month long silence with you. 

“Not everyone has the same unfair advantages you have,” you retorted. “You probably wouldn't be quite so successful at cunninglingus yourself if it wasn't for your heightened senses, Matthew.” You paused, shooting him a glare that you hoped he could at least feel the heat from. “Not that my sex life is any of your damn business, nor is it up for discussion. You should be sitting here thanking me for even helping you right now instead of intentionally irritating me.” 

Matt's lips twitched again at the corners as you rose to your feet, beginning to clean up the mess you'd made trying to help him. Peeling off your gloves that were coated in his blood–not an unfamiliar sight to you in the past–you stepped into your kitchen and tossed them in the garbage.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, voice still tight.

“Don't tear those open on your way home, either,” you muttered, referring to the stitches. “I'm not staying up until three in the morning doing them over again.”

Stepping back around where he sat in your dining chair, you focused on putting the rest of your medical supplies back into your bag. Next to you, Matt leaned over towards your table with a grunt and grabbed his torn and bloodied black shirt from off of it. Out of the corner of your eye, you were aware of him pulling it carefully back on.

“I can hear your heart, you know,” he pointed out.

Your jaw tensed at the unexpected softness laced with something else. Something like satisfaction.

“And maybe you should stop listening to it,” you warned him.

A heavy silence filled your apartment as he continued to slip his shirt on over his head, slowly putting his arms through the torn sleeves. Finished putting the supplies back into your bag, you began to zip it up, but now you were far too aware of your traitorous body after his comment. Of course Matt could still hear the way you reacted around him even if you didn’t want to feel that way. It wasn’t as if you had any control over your body when it came to him.

Matt rose to his feet beside you, leaning past you to grab his mask from your kitchen table next. As he did, you caught the face he made. His nose scrunched up and his eyes narrowed, the corner of his lips curling back in disgust, just as it had done when he’d focused on your bedroom. 

“What?” you asked.

With a deep frown on his face, he straightened beside you. “You smell like him. Awful cologne and…”

His voice trailed off, not finishing his sentence. You could guess what else you smelled like from the guy you’d had over to Matt’s senses. Sweat, pheromones, and the aftermath of sex. You'd have felt bad for him if it wasn't for the fact that he'd been nothing but a jerk since he showed up asking you for help in the middle of the night.

“I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to shower before I gave you free medical treatment,” you replied stiffly.

Picking up your bag, you turned and began heading down the hall towards your bathroom. But as you walked, your hand tightened around the bag in outward anger. Despite that anger, your heart ached at this painful, unexpected interaction tonight. It was the last thing you’d wanted to deal with when you’d been trying to move forward.

You’d just barely gotten halfway down the hall when Matt spoke up again. He’d spoken so quietly that you’d had to strain to be able to hear him.

“A shower wouldn't have done enough,” he murmured, pain coating his words. “The smell goes…deeper than that.”

Stopping in the doorway of your little bathroom, you glanced down the short hallway back towards him. He was pulling the black mask over his face, but you caught the expression on it before half of it was obscured by the fabric. Hurt. But not the physical kind from the knife wound you'd just helped him with, a different sort of hurt. The kind you knew he hid behind with the physical pain he endured when he went out on nights like this.

Which had been the main problem between you both. Matt often struggled to communicate his feelings with you, but he also never took care of himself. He preferred to run around the city at night instead, even after you'd just brought him back from what felt like the brink of death some nights. Sometimes it felt like he was doing it to punish himself and not the criminals of Hell’s Kitchen. While you respected what he did, you hated how he pushed himself without a care for his own well-being over and over. It had been hard to watch, eventually becoming the topic of far too many fights–until it led to Matt taking the easy route and ending things. 

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. 

Expression falling as you stood just outside your bathroom, you felt that ache in your chest grow. Those two words carried so much weight as they hung heavy in your apartment, the distance between you both incredibly palpable. That apology was meant for more than just his attitude tonight. 

“Yeah,” you said just as quietly. “Me too.”

Matt hesitated for a moment, his focus still on you before he nodded slowly, acknowledging your words. Turning, he easily navigated his way around your living room despite the four months since he'd last been in it. Taking a step back into the hallway and away from your bathroom, you turned towards him and watched his retreating form. He looked so worn now that he wasn't throwing biting comments at you–his shoulders were slightly hunched and his head hanging. 

“I'm glad you're alright,” you called after him, catching the way your voice had caused him to stop. “And I'd rather you come here for help than bleed out on the streets. Just for…future reference.”

Matt paused by your window, one gloved hand on the bottom of it. His masked head shifted over his shoulder in your direction again, and you saw the small, sad smile on his lips. 

“I appreciate that, sweetheart,” he replied.

Matt turned back to your window, pushing it up and slipping back out onto your fire escape. As he closed it after himself, you noticed how he'd called you that without the condescension he'd been using most of the night. Rather, the sound of it felt like it carried a different meaning now. 

One that said ‘I miss you.’ 

Matt Murdock One Shot/Shorts Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwlff @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @ladywholikesreading @millennial-birkin @tartbeanpuzzles @harleycao @sunflower-tia @gamingfeline @juskonutoh @kezibear @ninacotte @withyoutilltheendoftheline @justanerd1 @scriptedmoon @ardent-crow @lucienofthelakes @sarahskywalker-amidala @flowher @loves0phelia @a-half-empty-girl @zomtart @justvalkyrie @steve-chandler @valhallavalkyrie9 @let-it-go-and-live-again @thetorturedpoetcalleddez @steviebbboi

[pomefioredove]

hello dovee! I saw the "I'd look good on you." and immediately thought of vil! if I could please request for that? THANK YOU SO MUCH🍰stay creative!

thank you everyone for feeding me vil requests. I got a little crazy with this one

summary: "I'd look good on you." type of post: short fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, a little suggestive a part of this event

"No, no, no, no. Wrong, dreadful,"

You dodge another designer handbag as it goes flying across Vil's room, joining the growing pile of clothes behind you.

"Why is this so difficult?" he groans, storming out of his closet. "I have not a SINGLE decent thing to wear for this interview."

You look over your shoulder, watching him as he begrudgingly begins to clean up the mess he'd made.

"I think you're stressed,"

Vil pauses midway through sliding a silken shirt back on its hanger to glare at you.

"Another excellent observation," he says dryly. Then, a sigh.

"Sorry. I've been wanting to work with this director for years... I don't care for this role, but if the film does well, he'll likely want to work with me again... How's this?"

He holds up a glittery purple dress in front of him. You blink.

"...Good,"

"Ugh," he scoffs, tossing it aside. You don't know how many more times you can tell him he looks good in everything before he kicks you out.

"What is the role, anyway?"

Vil rolls his eyes, catching onto your attempt to distract him. He indulges, anyway.

"Another villain, although this film is more of a..." he pauses, gesturing vaguely. You stare. "...A young adult movie."

"So it's bait for teenage girls?"

"...Essentially,"

He sighs again, cleaning up the last of his temper tantrum and sorting it in his massive closet.

"Thus my role is more... provocative, we'll say. Which is fine, if not for the fact that I feel I did horribly,"

"I'm sure you didn't,"

"I'll be a laughing stock, this director will never work with me again, and I'll become one of those pathetic, washed up former child stars by age twenty-one,"

That feels... a tad overdramatic, but you don't mention it.

"That's not going to happen," you insist. "I'm sure you make a great... provocative... villain!"

Vil sighs, returning to the bedside to sit with you. For a brief moment, you can feel him staring, but you say nothing of it.

"You haven't even seen it," he mumbles, finally looking away. "I only have half an hour... I feel completely unassured."

You can't help but feel pity. Before knowing Vil, you had stupidly assumed that most celebrities are confident by nature, exuding grace and certainty.

Now...

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Vil quiets, seeming to consider the offer. "...May I use a line on you?"

You're not exactly sure what he means by that, but it can't be anything too painful. He only has half an hour, after all.

You nod.

Vil smiles, then turns away. He takes a deep breath... you've seen this before. He's getting into character.

It's very effective.

When he turns back, his expression is completely different. And his body language. Even his very presence has shifted.

You've seen this before, you remind yourself. The dangerous, menacing facade that he's known for, that makes his roles so iconic...

But he's also smiling, his eyes lowered, a pleasantly amused look about him.

His hand finds its way to the bed on your other side, effectively caging you between his arms. And then he moves in, guiding you down onto the mattress and leaning over your body.

This is your friend. You're just helping him. There's nothing to be nervous about.

Despite what you tell yourself, you can feel the effect he's having on you.

He can tell, too.

Vil tuts, his free hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Scared?" he asks. His voice is gentle, though there's a lingering danger behind it.

"Poor thing... I won't bite,"

He leans closer, his other hand intertwining with yours and keeping it pinned to the mattress, hot breath pressing against your ear.

"I'd look good on you," he whispers.

You know you shouldn't interrupt him, but you can't stop the nervous, flustered whine that comes out of your throat.

Vil breaks character, beaming, and gets off of you.

"Oh, my..." he grins, studying your expression. "You were right. I was worried over nothing."

He stands, smoothing out his clothes, and strides towards the closet to change, leaving you flustered senseless on the bed until he returns.

"How do I look?" he asks.

Of course, perfect. He always looks perfect. And now that he's confident again, gorgeous.

He smirks. "I'll take your silence as a compliment, potato. Thank you for the boost... I'll be back to pick up where we left off in a few hours,"

[beomiracles]

𝓐 𝓑𝐀𝐑𝐆𝓐𝐈𝐍 𝓞𝐅 𝓓𝓔𝐀𝐓𝐇

DREAM ENTRY ⸝⸝ The dead speak to you. Through tears and through desperate pleas. When they aren't begging of you to release them from their personal hell, they warn you, they warn you of them. You are no fool, and you heed the spirit's fearful words. But when the single person whose life you value above your own is put at risk, you turn to find solace within the very beings who may take it — the cloaked. ⸝⸝

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ wc, 13k(?) ་༘࿐

𝓹airing vampire!beomgyu x psychic!reader (f) [ featuring — coven!txt ] 𝔀arnings death, ghosts/spirits, sleep paralysis, terminal diseases, malnourishment, blood & blood sacrifices + drinking, coercion, eventual smut (probably), 1300s au — more tba..

✎𓂃 I've been itching to get back to this fic for over a month now ! I think I've finally worked up both the time and motivation for it as well and I'm super duper excited ! so far I'm 3k in and I really love how it's looking — my regular taglist applies as always (dark cont.) but if you're not on it and want to be tagged for this specifically let me know !

RELEASE DATE (spoiler, im terrible at these) -> 15th April

teaser under the cut <3

A desperate father stumbles down the empty street. He’s crying, tears streaming down his dirty face. He carries a child in his arms. His son. The child is weak, undoubtedly another victim of the plague. His face is a yellowish hue, his eyes drooping and his head lulled back as he lays limp in his father’s grasp. 

The father screams, he shouts, almost overpowering the sorrowful cries in your head. Everyone is watching, some peeking through their windows, others peering out between the crack of their doors. No one offers him help. It is strange how selfish the human becomes when reduced to nothing. How blind they act toward the same pain they themselves are suffering. 

You regard the man as he makes his way down the street, and only when you realize that he’s heading for the house atop the hill do your eyes widen. His legs tremble as he fights his way up, his arms looking as though they are about to give in any second now. Yet he persists. — His fist slams against the door, his desperate plea echoing over rooftops. 

No one would answer. Who would want to take on a sick child, who would want to watch such a pitiful death? — But the old door glides open, and you watch in bewilderment as the father stumbles inside. 

Tension hangs in the air, one so thick that a hot knife would be needed to cut through it. You wait, pacing your small living room with short and quick steps. Hours pass, you wonder if the boy had died already. It could take a night, sometimes two. The plague forced a slow death upon its victims, making them suffer for as long as their body could take it. 

You glance toward the house in search of him, wishing and hoping for his return. You barely knew the man, yet you worried for him, you worried for his life. That feeling of death, it had yet to leave. Those cloaked men, they carried something stronger than the plague, something deadlier, and that father had been a fool not to see it sooner. 

Alas, he returns that evening. And your jaw plummets to the floor when you see him exit the house. He holds his son by the hand as they walk down the hill. The boy is skipping forward on two healthy legs, a wide smile on his face. He was no longer yellow, his eyes no longer drooped. He looked… perfectly fine. 

It was a miracle. 

Soon after that, people dared emerge from the prison they called home. One by one they ventured to the house on the hill, and all came back cured. Still, the queasy feeling in your stomach lingers as all the more seek out the cloaked men. — Had you been the only one to notice the father’s pale condition as he returned with his son? 

[mymindcreatedthis]

Enemies to more than friends? 18+

Reader x Alexia Putellas

Warning: Smut, make up sex, unprotected sex, daddy kink, multiple Creampies, blowjob, throat pie, anal, cum shot, got job, spanking, hair pulling, dirty talk, leg trapping, reader doming Alexia, Alexia receiving, positions: Missionary, Doggy and on side

Word count: 2.8k

*Alexia's pov*

9 months ago

Barca vs Arsenal, the game was 1-1, I had scored our goal until Y/n scored the equalizer for Arsenal. I get the ball and run with it up field, I wind up my leg ready to take the shot for our next goal. I feel a boot go into my leg, I immediately scream in pain and drop to the ground. I grabbed my knee in pain, pain is never felt before.

"I'm so sorry, Alexia I slipped." I heard a voice, it was Y/n.

*Y/n's Pov*

Before I knew it I had slipped trying to get the ball from Alexia. My foot rolling through and making contact with her leg.

"I'm so sorry, Alexia I slipped." I said immediately.

I watched Alexia drop to the ground in pain and gripping her leg. The feeling I felt knowing I did that, I was the one who made Alexia feel the pain she was feeling. The feeling of guilt running through me.

*9 months later* Alexia's Pov*

I wrack my weights after I finish my rep. My phone pings letting me know I had a new text message, I was working out in my gym at home. I was working out in just my sports bra and shorts, I grab my phone and check it and see that I have a new text message from my best friend Aitana Bonmati.

Aitana: Hey did you hear that we are getting a new player?

Me: No who is it?

Aitana: you're the captain and haven't been told that we are getting a new player.

Me: I'm the last person to find out about shit.

Aitana: It's a new player from Arsenal... her name is Y/n L/n.

My heart drops as she tells me this. Y/n and I have history, she injured me and fucked up my leg the last game we Played them so I've been in rehab and getting stronger and doing therapy. Finally after 9 months I was getting ready to get back on the field and now she wants to ruin it by joining the club.

Me: You serious? Aitana that's the girl that injured my leg the last time we played Arsenal.

Aitana: I know, I'm just as annoyed as you are. But there's nothing we can do about it, it's done and it's happened.

Aitana was right. The news had broken everywhere, Y/n was no part of Barca. I now had to face the person who caused the pain I've had to carry around everyday for the last 9 months.

*Next Day*

Arriving into camp, my only thought was avoiding Y/n that was until I spotted her making her way over to me from the corner of my eye.

"Alexia I just wanted to sa-"

I cut her off. "Save it Y/n. Just leave me alone." I spat out immediately walking away not wanting to hear anything else she had to say.

We get our assigned rooms, we grab our things and go up to our rooms. Thankfully we lucked out and didn't have roommates this camp so we had a whole room to ourselves for this camp.

It was around 10 pm, I didn't run into Y/n again after she tried to talk to me. I'm interrupted as there's a sudden knock on my door. I open the door to the last person I wanted to see.

"There's been a leak in some of the rooms. Mine had a leak as well. Coach told me that I'm bunking with you the rest of camp, the other rooms are full." Y/n says with her belongings and bag in her hands.

"No, I don't share my room. I only have one bed." I spat out.

"Mhm I'm more annoyed as you. But I've got no choice." Y/n says.

"Don't talk to me or look at me." I say as I move to the side and let her in.

"Trust me, I don't give a fuck. Keep it club related." Y/n says walking past me.

Y/n gets settled in, without another word Y/n lays on the ground on her make shift bed she created as I lay in bed and turn off the light.

*Y/n's Pov*

I lay on the floor, my back hurting not being able to get comfy. "Get in the bed." I hear Alexia say.

"Thought you said there's only one bed? I'm good on the floor." I say as I lay there staring at the ceiling.

"There is only one bed you idiot, get in the bed before you fuck up your back and before I change my mind." Alexia says.

I sigh and give in, I get up and join Alexia in the bed. I lay facing her looking at her body. I could feel myself getting hard as I check out her ass in her panties, her ass slightly swallowing her panties.

"What are you moving around for?" Alexia whispers.

"Sorry just struggling to get comfortable." I say.

Little did I know that Alexia could see the tent in my boxers. "Go to the bathroom." Alexia says.

"Yeah." I huff. "I'll sort it out." I get up and go to the bathroom. 10 minutes passed and nothing was working I was still hard and throbbing even more, I really needed to cum. 10 minutes of jerking off and still nothing.

I groan to myself. "Y/n come here." I hear Alexia say.

I come out of the bathroom and come back into the room. "I'll help you but after that don't talk to me." Alexia says.

"O-Okay." I stutter a bit as I get back in bed. "You know Alexia..." she cuts me off.

"Y/n I don't want to hear it, We're going to do this and then we're not gonna speak again, got it?" Alexia says.

I nod in response, as Alexia slowly pulled down my shorts and boxers. My massive boner springs out, Alexia bites her lip as she checks out my 11 inch boner.

"Shit baby you're huge." Alexia whispered in slight shock as she spits on my dick taking it in her mouth.

She begins to bob her head slowly looking into my eyes. I moan and place my hand on the back of her head as she kept sucking going a bit faster.

"Fuck Alexia your mouth feels so good." I moaned as I lean my head back onto the head board.

She swirls her tongue around my tip as she kept sucking, playing with my balls with her other hand.

"Alexia... baby I really am sorry." I moan as she sped up bobbing her head faster than before.

She let my dick pop out of her mouth as she kissed my inner tight thigh with a smile.

"I know." She whispered as she takes my dick back in her mouth immediately deep throating me, causing me to become a moaning mess.

She looked into my eyes as she hums against my dick seeing the reaction she was getting from me.

"I'm going to cum buckets if you keep doing that baby." I moan and close my eyes.

I gripped the sheets with one hand. The other hand on the back of Alexia's head as she was making me closer and closer to cumming. My balls tighten as my dick hits the back of her throat.

"Fuck Alexia I...."

Throatpie:

I moan gripping Alexia's hair pushing her head further down on my cock as I explode inside her mouth. Sweat dripping down my forehead' my legs buckle and begin to shake. Alexia lifts her head up, swallowing my load.

"I'll forgive you, only on one condition." Alexia says.

"What's that?" I ask.

"You fuck me right now." Alexia says.

"Yes Ma'am." I smile. "I don't have a condom." I added.

"I don't care, I'm on a pill." She says as she climbs on top of me removing her shirt, red bra and panties.

Without saying anything else Alexia lines her entrance up with my dick as she dripping wet. I place my hands on her hips as I guide her down bottoming out inside her. She begins to pick up the pace sliding up and down on my dick. I move my hands from her hips down to her ass, gripping it tightly as I spank it.

"Fuck Alexia, you're gonna make me cum." I moaned as she sped up her tits bouncing up and down.

"Cum inside me daddy." Alexia moans.

Alexia sped up even more, her ass rippling against my thighs. Sweat dripping down her forehead, I couldn't take it anymore.

Creampie #1:

"Fuck Alexia." I shouted as cum begins oozing out of my dick filling her up to the brim.

"I feel so full." She moaned, she climbs off me and Bends over licking up the cum that had dripped onto my stomach.

"Are you still hard?" Alexia whispers.

"Yes, Yes I am. It's getting worse." I huffed.

Alexia lays in her back and lays In missionary, I bite my lip and rub my tip through her folds. Alexia bites her lip and quietly moans as I do this.

"Mmm stop teasing and just put it in." Alexia moans. "Mm I wanna feel you deep inside me."

Fuck Alexia was super wet, I bite my lip and slowly slide my dick inside her. I moan as her walls immediately clench around me, Alexia moans as she takes my length deep inside her.

"Mmm fuck Y/n... Y-You're really deep in there." Alexia moans.

Alexia moans and takes a moment to adjust to my size. "M-Move." She moans in pleasure. "Mmm fuck I thought you were big in my mouth but you feel even bigger inside me."

I smirk, and look at her. Our noses touching, Alexia leans in and kisses me deeply, I'm shocked at first but kiss back. We both moan in the kiss as I thrust in and out of her a bit faster.

We break the kiss when air becomes a problem. I rest my head against hers and look deep into her eyes as I thrust in and out of her faster.

My dick was throbbing, fuck I really needed a release. I moan and bite my lip as my precum leaks inside her letting her know that I'm close.

Alexia giggles. "Close to cumming daddy?" She smirks. "Good cause I'm bet letting you pull out." She wraps her legs around me and leg traps me so I can't pull out.

Alexia moans and watch my dick slide in and out of her. I moan and bite my lip as I feel her walls clench around me letting me know that she was close to cumming.

"Mmm someone close?" I ask seductively.

"I'm close baby, I'm gonna cum." Alexia moans.

"Let go baby, cum for daddy." I say.

Alexia moans in pleasure as I kiss her neck. I moan as I feel myself getting close to cumming. “Mmm I’m gonna squirt.” Alexia moans.

Alexia Moan and squirts all over my abs, my thighs and all over my dick and on the sheets. I smirk and keep going, I go at an angle and start hitting her g spot.

“Mmm fuck so tight and wet.” I moan, fuck her pussy felt like heaven.

My breathing gets heavier letting Alexia know that I was close to cumming. Alexia moans, and bites her lip and locks eyes with me.

“Yes, yes cum in me. Cum in me.” Alexia moans.

Creampie #2:

“Mmm F-Fuck.” I moan in pleasure.

Cum oozes and spurts inside her filling her to the brim. Alexia moans as I unload my massive seed inside her and paint her walls white.

We both moan, I kiss her deeply and slowly pull out of her. Alexia moans and bites her lip as come cum oozes out and onto the sheets.

“Mmm please baby I need more.” Alexia cutely moans.

I giggle and kiss her again. “Get in doggy baby.”

Alexia does as I say, she moves the middle of the bed and gets on all fours. I bite my lip and admire her ass and pussy and smirk as my cum continue to ooze out of her pussy, and drips down her thigh and onto the sheets.

I bite my lip and check out her ass as she shakes it. I smirk, I get up and get behind her. I slap her ass, Alexia moans and jumps as I slap her ass.

I smirk, she moans as I spank her ass again. I rub my dick through her cum glazed folds. We both moan as I slide my dick back inside her.

I place my hand on her hip and pull her hair with my other hand, I slowly thrust in and out of her and pull her hair.

“Mmmm F-Fuck.” Alexia moans.

“Like that baby? Me balls deep inside you stretching you out?” I ask teasing her.

“Mmm I l-love it.” Alexia moans.

Alexia moans and throws her ass back against me as I continue to fuck her going faster. “S-Shit I don’t think I’ll last much longer… f-fuck you have amazing grip.” I moan.

Alexia giggles and moans as she throws her ass back against me sliding back and forth on my dick faster and faster.

I moan as I feel myself getting closer and closer to cumming. “Mmm I’m close.” I moan in pleasure.

“Mmm fuck…. Me too.” Alexia moans.

I moan loudly in pleasure, my balls slap against her skin as our moans fill the room. Alexia screams in pleasure and squirts again, she squirts all over my dick, abs, thighs and all over the sheets.

“ Alexia…Baby I’m really close.” I moan as my pre cum leaks inside her letting her know that I was about to explode and fill her up.

I moan in pleasure as I feel that familiar feeling in my balls.

Creampie #3:

I squeeze her ass and moan, we both moan as I slam my dick inside her, Alexia moans and cums all over my dick. We both moan as cum oozes and spurts inside her painting her walls white and filling her to the brim.

Alexia takes a moment to catch her breath. I smile and told her head back and smash my lips against hers. Once we catch our breaths I slowly pull out of her. Cum immediately oozes out of her and drips down her thighs and onto the sheets.

Alexia lays down on her side. "Put it in my ass." She moaned.

"Are you sure?" I question making sure that she was really okay with this.

"Yes, do it Y/n." Alexia says.

Without another word I slowly lift her leg up and insert my dick inside of her. Letting her get used to it for a second, I slowly thrust in and out of her.

"Fuck your so tight baby." I moan as I start kissing her neck.

"You're so big." Alexia moaned in response.

I sped up my thrusts as I began to spank her ass, gripping it tightly with one hand and began to play with her tits with my other hand.

"You like that baby? My tight ass Around your dick." Alexia moaned as she turns her head kissing me deeply.

I moan in the kiss, we break the kiss when air becomes a problem. "Yes baby, you feel so tight. I'm going to cum soon, I'm close." I moan resting my head on her shoulder.

My thrusts begin to slow down as I felt my balls tighten, getting ready to cum.

"Where should I cum?" I ask.

"On my tits." Alexia moans.

I quickly got up off the bed, picking Alexia up as she gets onto her knees. She wraps her tits around my dick, she spits on my dick the help rub her tits up and down on my dick.

"Fuck this is amazing." I whispered looking into her eyes rubbing my thumb over her lips.

She takes my thumb in her mouth and strokes my dick a bit faster. I moan, after 5 mintues of an amazing tit job. The urge to cum gets stronger and stronger.

"Fuck baby I'm going to cum." I moan.

Cumshot:

I moan as ropes of thick sticky cum shoot all over her lips, face, mouth and tits.

"Fuck baby, you've covered me." Alexia moans as she licks up what she could.

"Painted my baby girl white." I moan looking at the sticky mess I had left all over Alexia's face and chest.

"Your personal coloring book." Alexia Cutely giggles.

Alexia gets off her knees and starts cleaning up, finally my problem was fixed.

"If you're really sorry for what you did." She trails off and smirks. "We're gonna carry on with this since you're here permanently." Alexia bites her lip.

Alexia straddles my knee and plants a long kiss on my lips. She breaks the kiss, I laugh.

"Deal." I smile and reciprocate the kiss.

[theelvishfiddler]

AN ARTIST'S GUIDE TO HANDS

No, sorry it's actually not an artist's guide to drawing hands. Those are just warmup studies (which I'll talk about in this post.)

This is a guide to Your Hands and how to take care of them when making art.

No one ever sits down and teaches artists how to take care of their hands. They didn’t even teach me this while I was in art college. This is just what I've learned myself through years of pain and scouring the internet for advice.

This is going to be a long one and geared towards illustrative traditional/digital/pen/pencil artists specifically, but artists of other mediums and crafts should take care of their hands too! Well, we all should take care of our bodies in general, but this is about hands.

(advice is below the read more)

First off I'm not a professional or anyone with actual medical advice. I'm just some guy with chronic hand pain who makes art. This advice is free for you to use or discard.

WARMUPS!

Ever sit down in the morning to draw and wonder why your art is so stiff and looks so much worse than what you were drawing last night? It's because you didn't warm up!

You know how for physical sports they all warmup and do stretches before getting into the actual sport. To prevent injuries and all that? Yeah, it's good to do that for art too.

One way to warmup is to just draw lines. Try to keep them as straight as you can. Going up and down and diagonal. Draw squares. Big squares. Small squares. Circles! You are warming up, keep it loose and relaxed! Basically just scribble away.

(examples. I usually keep going until there is no paper white left. This can double as practice for drawing straight lines without a ruler, which is a great skill to have when freehand city drawing.)

Before hopping right into drawing people you can try doing some quick gesture drawings. Line of Action has timed sessions with a large variety of clothed or nude models. I usually do the 30 min class as it has a nice balance of short and long timed poses. The point isn't to draw nice art, but to warm up. Try to get the basic form down, not the details. I find that doing a full class session can really help my drawings feel more loose and grounded in reality for the rest of the day.

Some examples I found in my folders. I suggest looking into what a line of action (not the site) is and giving it a try with some of the studies!

COOLDOWNS!

For sports it's to return your body back to your everyday baseline after a workout.

Example; you are working on a big project! A masterpiece! It's detailed and cool! You have been focusing on this for hours and drawing so intensely. But you need to stop working for the day.

A cooldown is for winding down out of the go go go mindset. Put away the big project and do a couple small doodles and sketches. You are relaxing your hand and letting it stretch out. Keep the sketches loose. Let the art happen slowly. Don't polish anything, that can happen another day. Just ease yourself out of drawing.

...

Cool! Now we get into the meat of this thing.

HAND PAIN

How to avoid it and how to manage it if you already have it.

I love you artists and creatives, I am begging you to please take care of your most important creative tools. I really don't want this to sound like scare tactics like "oooh you better do this or blah blah!" Nope. I just had to learn all this the hard way and I'm extremely passionate about it.

Take this advice or don’t ╮(ﾟ～ﾟ;)╭ I can't tell you what to do, I'm not your dad

Adjustments and Small Solutions

If you are feeling physical discomfort while drawing there are many different solutions to try! Here are some suggestions that may or may not work for you.

Hold your pencil more loosely. Stop gripping that thang so tightly!!! Relax that hand! They make these… squishy pen grip things... I think they are called Adaptive Pencil Grips or Adaptive Writing/Drawing Aids? They stop your hand from being all cramped up by making your drawing tool wider. It's going to take a bit of time to adjust to drawing with it, but it's worth it for those who hold pencils too tightly.

Don't press as heavily. For traditional art, if you find yourself pressing really hard to get darker lines try moving to a softer pencil. Most standard pencils are HB, the B pencils have softer graphite. Experiment until you find the right one for you. For Digital, adjust your pressure settings so you don't have to press as hard to get thicker lines. You should not be pressing so hard all the time, it wears out both your hand and your tablet! It takes a bit of time to adapt to pencil or pressure changes. Try doing some unimportant sketches, they don't have to be good. You are just training your hand and mind to adjust using less pressure.

Draw with your arm and not your wrist! It's small repetitive motions that cause the most strain. You probably hear this one a lot, what does it even mean? It means moving your arm with the motions of your line, and trying not to make too many tiny movements with your just your fingers or wrist. This one is hard! It takes time and conscious thought to change the habit. Tips? Work bigger. Zoom in more. Use bigger sheets of paper.

(Motions exaggerated for a clearer example)

Change the angle of your drawing surface. They make angled tablet holders, angled desks, angled desktop raisers. Experiment, find and angle that is comfortable and the one that causes the least pain. (It's also good to make sure you don't have to hold your head at an uncomfortable angle when drawing. Staring straight down or hunching over a paper flat on the table can cause pain!)

Compression Glove? Wrist brace/tensioners? Some folks use them and I've been thinking of getting one for years now. I can't give advice on this one, because I don't have experience with it. Look into it if you want!

Managing Pain

First things first.

IF YOUR HANDS START TO HURT WHILE YOU ARE DRAWING. STOP! Put the pencil/pen/paintbrush/whatever down. The art will still be there for you to continue tomorrow.

I know from experience that it's extremely hard to pull away when you are hyper focused on an art piece. It's hard to remember all sorts of basic needs like food or bathroom when hyper focused. But you Need to stop when you feel that pain. (Preferably even before the pain…)

Take Breaks! Let your hands rest when you can. Just like a machine, if you don't schedule maintenance, the machine will schedule maintenance for you. Often that means having to wait a few days for it to return to functional. Best to take a day off from heavy usage or take an occasional 30 min break throughout the day to let your hands rest.

Stretching is important! Full body stretches are good; your arms, shoulders, neck, and spine are all connected, but I'm specifically talking about HAND and wrist stretching. There are a lot of stretches and massages for carpal tunnel and arthritis out there. I find they work for hand pain in general. Move into and out of each stretch slowly. Do not push a stretch if it hurts!! Be gentle!!

I am not a qualified professional and I will not be giving out specific stretches (that is beyond my personal comfort level). There are other artists out there who have made helpful stretching info-graphics which are cool, but I will not be because i don't want to be responsible for someone accidentally hurting themself. Ask your doctor for stretches & advice or look some up on your own.

Don't feel bad about forgetting to stretch frequently! Of course it is good to do it regularly and frequently, but I would be a hypocrite if I said that I remember to stretch daily. Setting timers for stop and stretch sessions can work for some people, but also doing stretches whenever you remember is fine! If you are sitting on the toilet you can idly do some hand stretches. On the bus? Laying in bed? At the beach? Do a couple stretches! Even just once a week is better than… nonce a week.

Using Cold or Heat to treat pain. If you really overdid it, put your hands in some cold water or wrap a cloth around an ice pack and apply it to your hand. Cold works best for me, but warmth works for others. This is just pain reduction and reducing inflammation from overuse! This is not a permanent solution.

If your hand hurts a lot! Frequently! Talk to your doctor? Idk mine has never given real advice. Just gently poked my hand and told me there isn't much to be done about it :/ but there are really good doctors out there who will care and give helpful advice!

Again. IF IT HURTS TO CONTINUE DRAWING. STOP DRAWING! This is not a "no pain no gain" type situation. Drawing so much that you hurt yourself isn't noble, it's just… limiting yourself. You only get one set of hands. These things are very handy to have.

Other Advice

Things I couldn't figure out how to fit into the earlier sections.

Your other hand can't handle the strain! Lets say you hurt your drawing hand... the other hand is right there free to use for art. Right? Wrong. Your other hand can't keep up with the demand, it hasn't been trained to the same extent as your dominant hand, it does not have the built up muscle. If you want to use that hand for drawing you are going to have to use it s l o w l y and train it bit by bit over a long period of time. When I tore a tendon in my right hand I decided to just keep drawing with my left and I got Really Good at it. It only took like two months before my left hand hurt too much to move. Then I had 0 functioning hands to pull up my pants. Not fun!!

People who draw on phones. That is extremely impressive! I'm amazed by the things people can create on such a small space. But phone artists are the ones I see most frequently mentioning hand pain. please please please make sure you are taking breaks. Would a stylus work instead of using a finger?

Outside of Drawing. Sometimes it's things outside of drawing that are causing the pain. For me there are multiple sources, but I also have tiny baby hands. Holding a phone too long causes pain. The handheld mode for my Switch causes A Lot of pain. The way my hand rests while typing on my laptop hurts! Playing tense videogames for too long hurts! Find the source of your pain and make some changes. The same things will apply to most; take regular breaks, do some stretches, and find soft things to prop up or rest your arms on.

Change your Artstyle. This one is more of a last resort. You might have to change your art style if you are getting sharp pains every time you draw. I loved drawing tight clean lines and many small fancy details, but drawing like that left me in so much pain at the end of the day. In 2023 I had to take the better part of year off from illustrations just to learn how to sketch and draw more loosely. I had to learn how to be gentle. To stop gripping my pencil so tightly. Learn! Adapt! You might discover a new style that you love even more!

A lot of this stuff gets more complicated in a work setting where you have to draw fast and long in order to get paid. Things like reducing your workload can help, but that can be... financially rough. But outside of that, it’s ok to be a slow artist. Going full steam and hurting yourself is not worth it.

Aaaaaanyway, thats all folks. Today's rant brought to you by me! The guy with chronic hand pain who always forgets to stretch! The guy who got frustrated with a sketch yesterday and decided to push to keep drawing for just one more hour! The guy who woke up this morning and had to spend 2 hours massaging and stretching their hands. The guy who probably shouldn't have typed all of this out because ooww ow ouch

If your hands do hurt, it's going to be ok! You don't need to be a speed demon who draws all the time. It's ok to take your time and take frequent breaks. You are going to do great things! Just be gentle with yourself...