#- risk (it/he/she/caution)

[lloydfrontera]

ok so you know how in china 'cut sleeve' was used as an euphemism for homosexuality. that but in lorasia they use 'lullaby singer'. or 'angel fighter'. lately 'knightly escort' is making the rounds. there's a lot of euphemisms for gay people actually.

[starry-kaleidoscope-sys]

i cant decide if i wanna vibe to music or watch movies. also doesn't help that whoever is in co wants to listen to depresso sad ass music. i just made my own playlist and i'd like to use it

[cipheramnesia]

The Dungeon Meshi character I think about the most, not love the most but think about most, is Chilchuck. He is much more Some Guy than anyone else, he's got a wife and kids and he's gonna open a store. He's a little dude with sharp senses who knows about locks and traps, and it's all very straightforward compared to like, really anyone else in the manga.

But why I'm fascinated is that his whole core essence revolves around organization and function, around safety not in the sense of cowardice or excess caution, but in the sense of a deeply rooted belief that everyone deserves to live and everything has a place. One day he'll open a shop and retire but right now his people are being exploited and he needs to plan for his future, so he's unionizing half foots and reducing risk and that functions for society because it's dumb using the guy watching your back as bait. It's a broken system he has to fix.

And it's like that with Laios and Senshi and Marcille and Falin. Falin dies, it's a broken system, she was a vital component that kept the group healthy. Eating monsters departs from the system, it's wrong to him, but then he figures out how Senshi has created a new system with better survivability. Senshi interrupts his trap hunting and he goes ballistic because that's not how the system survives. Itzutsumi drives him bonkers because she refuses to be a part of his system. Laios' lack of people skills frustrates him because Laios' charisma has made him a leader. A leader needs to know how to see how people feel, and Laios can't do that.

I think a lot about how his approach and personality are so nicely interwoven with his skill at traps and exploration. Everyone else has big weird personalities, but Chilchuck, well he's not a cool head per se, but his weirdness is less grandiose. He's a puzzle guy, a problem solver, and everyone around him is a moving part he's trying figure out. People ditch the party early on and he's not bothered because that's mechanically sound. Laios and Marcille go back and he has to come too because they're more than friends, they're a part of something that works and survives and even missing a part, he knows he can keep this little machine running. But they won't thrive without him, and he won't work as well alone.

[starry-kaleidoscope-sys]

im not an introject but can confirm that this is us and also i appeared yesterday and went "yuh my name's risk and i have green hair" and then went to bed

Tbh part of me feels like we can have an introject of literally anything show up if we just think about it too long.

Our brain cranks these guys out wayyyy too much lol

[aurumalatus]

BRIGHELLA, THE HELLRAISER

pairing. kinich x fem!reader wc. 1.9k genre/warnings. harbinger!kinich, reader is tied up, generally unsettling lol, yan!kinich vibes summary. after a failed infiltration, you fall into the clutches of the tenth harbinger, brighella, otherwise known as kinich. unluckily for you, he's interested in you. author's note. this was supposed to be smaller but i couldn't stop. maybe i'll write a longer fic ab this in the future bc i'm kind of obsessed with the idea lol. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

The watchful moon hanging outside has become a familiar companion.

You can’t remember how many days you’ve sat here, wrists bound to your chair. The Snezhnayan winter does not come gentle, or so you have learned over the past few weeks—a deep chill has already set into your bones, and you fear that the frostbite has already crawled over your extremities. Outside, snow is piled waist-deep, threatening to swallow any passersby whole, never to return.

These winters kill, and so do their inhabitants.

With that in mind, you know better than to let your guard down in this land, especially with this man in front of you.

The Tenth Harbinger, Brighella. The Hellraiser.

There’s a chilling sort of beauty to him. His features are sharp and sculpted, with dark hair and thick lashes. His eyes seem to be the highlight, an exploding star of gold and green—it stands out against the white of his cloak.

You silently admit to yourself that he’s quite handsome.

“Lord Brighella, sir,” one of the agents greets quickly, stumbling through his words. The appearance of the man has a thread of fear running down your spine. He enters without so much as a ‘hello’, but each of his footsteps seems to increase the pressure in the room—you can feel the density gathering in your throat.

The skirmishers form a tight line against the wall, saluting to their superior. He doesn’t even spare them a glance as he passes.

“We found her sneaking around here, we were just about to bring her to your judgment—”

“Leave her to me,” the man interrupts, seemingly bored. The moon slips away from the window, leaving you in darkness—in this gloom, all you can see is the glittering gold of his eyes, cold. He flicks a wrist at his subordinates. “You’re dismissed.”

The skirmishers hesitate at the order, much to your surprise. If it were you in their shoes, the chilling aura of the man would have you fleeing without delay. One of them—the one with the Pyro vision—steps forward, bowing.

“My Lord, I would never doubt your strength, but do take caution. She was able to take down quite a few of our fellow soldiers before being apprehended.”

If he has any lingering irritation about his order being ignored, he doesn’t show it—instead, he circles you slowly, his cloak a whisper against the floor. Each languid step seems to leave a growing shadow in its wake, his presence haunting over your quivering shoulders.

“Don’t worry,” he soothes, though his words are absent of warmth. “If she raises a finger against me, I’ll kill her on the spot.”

It’s a thinly-veiled promise.

You swallow down the lump in your throat. He watches, a dim smile playing on the edges of his lips.

Sensing the unrest, his subordinates slowly filter out of the room, the door clicking shut with a tone of finality. You almost miss their presence—the air seems to flush out of the room with them, and you find yourself struggling to fill your lungs.

For a while, the Harbinger doesn’t speak. He merely circles you with an assessing eye. Each movement is nearly robotic, not betraying a single thought. You don’t dare risk any motion, fearing retaliation—with your hands bound, you wouldn’t stand a chance in a fight.

Something swirls in the darkness, something sinister and encroaching in the space—a predator in the shadows. The Harbinger notices your wandering stare, and, to your surprise, chuckles.

“Ajaw can get a bit antsy,” he explains, unnaturally calm. “Don’t mind him for right now.”

Grimly, you reassess your own strength. Even without your hands bound, you doubt that you would be able to stand against this man at all.

You gather your courage in your hands, holding it steadfast—even if you die here, you should not die quietly.

“Lord Brighella—”

“You can call me Kinich,” he cuts in, shrugging. His cloak brushes the floor, ghostly in its movements. “I have no care for those titles.”

He seems genuine, but you don’t chance at using his name, fearing a bluff. 

“Are you going to kill me?” you ask instead, voice tinny and thin.

The question seems to amuse him. 

Slowly, the man leans forward, until his eyes are level with yours. There’s something lurking in his irises, something dark and writhing. You note the uniqueness of his pupils, the draconic nature of them. They seem to pierce your very soul.

“Do you want me to kill you?” he asks. It’s not playful, or even mocking—he’s entirely serious, and that is scarier. 

His honesty forces your own. You break eye contact, humiliated by your own cowardice.

“...No,” you admit quietly, “please don’t kill me.”

The Hellraiser—no, Kinich—leans away from you, satisfied with your answer. Even the presence behind him seems placated, shrinking further into the dark.

“I like you,” he declares simply. “I like people who say what they mean.”

You don’t know what to make of the Harbinger’s supposed informality. It all feels like a trick, like a means to lower your defenses. But you’re smarter, you reason, so you keep your mouth firmly shut. Kinich tilts his head at your inaction.

“You don’t like me.”

The statement leaves you spluttering, taken aback. Though you don’t exactly hold him in good favor, you know better than to offend the Harbinger with your life in his hands. Luckily, he doesn’t seem upset by that fact—he shrugs, resigned.

“I’m a Harbinger. You don’t know anything about me, so of course you’re being cautious. I suspect you don’t like Fatui very much.”

That much would be an understatement, you think absently. But revealing more of yourself gives the Harbinger more to work with, so you merely nod. He hums in reply.

“I understand that. They keep me on quite a short leash,” he sighs, brushing dust from the thick fur lining his cloak. You wonder how the cloth remains such a pristine white, even when the wearer’s hands are so steeped in blood. “Things can get a bit…messy when Ajaw comes to play.”

He says it as easily as one recounts a grocery list, like it’s no big deal that he’s carrying a murderous beast within him. 

You know the rumors. On accident, you’d seen pictures of the last incident that The Hellraiser was involved in. The sight had you running to vomit, unable to stomach the gore and brutality of it all. They whisper that even the Harbinger himself cannot control the draconic beast past a certain point, resulting in his lowered rank.

The thought that the same man is standing in the room with you right now has the hair raising on the back of your neck.

If this monster—Ajaw—decides to kill you after all, you would be powerless against him. The thought has you wrestling with your mortality, facing a terror you’ve never truly felt in your life. You’d known the dangers when you walked into that Fatui stronghold, but you never imagined it would lead you into the jaws of the beast.

A cold sweat freezes over the back of your neck.

Kinich eyes you curiously, then glances out the window. The landscape is blanketed with freezing snow outside, resting in the solitude of night. You know the sight well, having become quite acquainted in your time locked up here. If asked, you could probably recreate the entire view from memory.

“It’s cold,” he states quietly. There’s a far away look in his eyes. “Not anything like Natlan.”

The admission leaves you surprised. You’d be lying if you said you knew that the Harbinger hailed from your own home country. Then again, not many people know anything about the Harbingers at all.

“Yeah,” you reply, tentative. “I hate it.”

Kinich outstretches a hand, fingers brushing over the frosted window. The ice flees at his touch, melting away from the contact, dripping down the glass. The movement pushes a bit of his cloak aside, revealing his clothes underneath—a Dendro vision hangs at his belt, alongside a Pyro delusion. The sight has you gasping quietly, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“I used to hate it too, at first,” he murmurs, absently tracing shapes in the window. “It’s always cold, and it’s so much worse in the winter. It’s so cold it feels like you could die.”

Each word is laced with nostalgia, memories of a time long past. You wonder what led him here, to the land of ice, what led him to abandon the nation of Pyro and its archon. He’s surprisingly calm, so much so that you ponder what led him to this life of bloodshed, of strife.

He draws more mindless swirls in the frost, his fingertips wet with condensation.

“But there’s purpose here, at least for me. So I endure the ice.” 

You’ve heard stories of the Tsaritsa’s enduring love, a powerful force that draws so many formidable characters to her side. For so many of them to join in extending her will, she must have some sort of unshakeable charisma to her.

Kinich’s gaze hardens, touch lifting away from the glass. “And, well, nothing feels worse than being unwanted and…discarded.”

His words drip with spite, with malice.

It feels entirely too personal—you wonder if he meant to be so vulnerable in front of you, or maybe he sees you as so beneath him that he doesn’t care. After all, dead men tell no tales. 

You fear that the latter is true when he suddenly turns back to you, striding forward. You flinch back into your seat, nowhere to run, even as he draws close. He doesn’t stop until he’s mere inches away from you, so close that his breath brushes your lips.

“So tell me,” he says, softly bracing one hand on the arm of your chair, “how would you like to join the Fatui?”

No thoughts come to mind initially—the proximity and the shock of the offer has your brain in a frenzy, unable to focus on anything in particular.

“What?” 

It’s all that you can manage in reply, a whisper.

Kinich tilts his head, regarding each feature of your face. His gaze seems to tear skin from bone, leaving you vulnerable and raw. Each movement of his eye is sharp, sweeping over you with a brush of heat.

“I find you interesting,” he remarks, honest. “So I’ll make you mine. You can work under me.”

Though you have limited knowledge of the inner workings of the Fatui, you find it hard to believe that the process to be inducted is so simple. After all, it had been your attempt to infiltrate their stronghold that had landed you here—there’s no way they would trust you to be one of their own.

“I…”

You hesitate, reeling, unable to find the words to say. The proposition seems so ridiculous that you can’t manage a genuine response. Kinich watches you through his lashes with a potent fascination, like you’re a caged animal.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he soothes. You find yourself sinking into the deep velvet of his promise, a haunting spell. “Just be mine, and I’ll take care of it.”

Gently, his fingers brush against your chin, tilting your head up to face him more clearly. You pick out the gleaming jade in his irises, the beauty of it. He thumbs over your bottom lip, tantalizing and slow. 

“Okay?”

Absently, you nod, lost in the mystique of him.

“Okay,” you murmur back.

Kinich smiles, and the razor sharpness of his teeth flashes in the dark.

[theonottsbxtch]

THE PRINCESS AND THE DRIVER PT.2| MV1

an: ahh i'm really enjoying writing this dynamic, although this isn't set in the victorian era. i am a SUCKER for historial romance so this feels very similiar.

wc: 5.5k

part one

Two nights later, under the cover of darkness, the princess found herself slipping through the quiet halls of the palace again. She knew Lukas had warned her not to sneak out, but the pull to return to the track was stronger than the caution in her mind. She missed the feeling of freedom, the wind against her face, and—though she hadn’t admitted it to herself fully yet—Max’s easy company. The memory of the last race, of his smile, of the way she’d felt like a completely different person, made her restless.

She had to go back.

The stable yard was silent, the smell of hay and leather heavy in the air. The familiar path to the hidden exit was just ahead, tucked behind the horses’ stalls. Her heart raced with excitement, and she moved quickly, eager to feel that surge of adrenaline again.

But as she reached the spot, her steps faltered.

The small gap in the stable wall—her secret exit—was blocked. Heavy wooden planks had been nailed across the opening, crisscrossing over the stones, sealing it shut.

Her stomach dropped. She stared at it in disbelief, her pulse quickening for all the wrong reasons now. She hadn’t been gone long—only two days—but someone had found out. Someone had noticed.

No... not someone.

As if summoned by her very thoughts, she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind her.

“Princess,” came a familiar, deep voice.

She turned slowly, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. The head of the royal guard, Commander Alfred, stood just a few feet away. His tall, imposing figure seemed to fill the space around them, his grey uniform stark against the soft, moonlit stable. His expression was calm, but there was a hardness in his eyes that made her stomach twist.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t try this again,” Alfred said, his voice low but firm.

Her mouth went dry. Her mind scrambled for something to say, an excuse, anything, but nothing came. Instead, she just stood there, frozen, caught like a child sneaking out past curfew. The thrill of the night evaporated, replaced by a cold dread settling into her bones.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on this exit for a few days now,” Alfred continued, stepping forward with measured, deliberate steps. “I saw you the other night. I didn’t say anything, hoping you wouldn’t make it a habit. But here you are.”

Her throat tightened. “I just... I needed some air,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Alfred studied her for a moment, his stern gaze softening ever so slightly. He let out a slow breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re a princess,” he said, his tone gentler now, but still unyielding. “The world outside these walls isn’t safe for you. There are risks you can’t see—people who would take advantage of you, who wouldn’t think twice about using your title against you. You can’t just... sneak out and pretend none of that matters.”

The weight of his words pressed down on her, heavier than her own guilt. She knew he was right. But that didn’t make it easier to swallow. All she had wanted was a few moments where she didn’t have to be the princess, where she could just be... herself. Not the heir, not the symbol of royal duty. Just a girl who liked racing karts and laughing with a stranger who didn’t know her name.

But now, even that small slice of freedom was being taken away.

“I’m sorry, Commander,” she murmured, her voice cracking slightly.

Alfred nodded once, his face unreadable. “Go back to your room, Your Highness,” he said, his tone final. “It’s late.”

She opened her mouth to protest, to say something, but the words stuck in her throat. There was no arguing with Alfred, not when he was right. Slowly, defeated, she turned and walked back toward the palace, her heart heavy with disappointment.

As she crossed the yard and disappeared into the dim halls of the palace, she felt the sting of tears building behind her eyes. She blinked them back, forcing herself to hold it together until she reached her room.

Once inside, the silence of her chambers was deafening. The weight of everything—the closed exit, Alfred’s disapproving words, the suffocating sense of responsibility—pressed down on her all at once.

She sank onto the edge of her bed, burying her face in her hands as the tears finally came.

She hadn’t realised just how much she needed that escape until it was taken away from her. The walls of the palace suddenly felt smaller, closing in on her, trapping her in a life she wasn’t sure she could keep living. The image of the boarded-up exit flashed in her mind, a cruel reminder that her freedom, however small, had been ripped away.

She curled up on her bed, pulling her knees to her chest as the sobs wracked through her. The palace, her family, the expectations—it all felt too heavy, too impossible to carry. She thought about Max, the thrill of the track, the brief joy she’d found in being someone else, and how, for a few short hours, it had made her feel alive again.

But now, that world seemed farther away than ever. Untouchable.

The tears kept coming, long after the moon had risen high in the sky. And when she finally stopped crying, the exhaustion weighed her down like a blanket, pulling her into a restless sleep.

For the next few days, she didn’t leave her room. She couldn’t bring herself to face anyone, not even Lukas, who she knew had done everything he could to protect her secret. She felt numb, lost in the overwhelming sense of disappointment that she couldn’t shake.

No one came to question her absence from meals or the usual royal duties. Maybe they thought she was unwell—sick with some quiet illness that kept her hidden away. In a way, she was.

Because now, more than ever, she felt like a prisoner in her own life.

Days had turned into a week, and she still hadn't left her room.

At first, her absence had gone unnoticed. It wasn’t uncommon for her to retreat after the long banquets, charity events, and royal meetings that often took up her time. The palace staff had simply assumed she was taking a break, maybe indulging in some much-needed rest.

But as the days dragged on, it became clear that something wasn’t right.

She barely ate. Meals delivered to her chambers sat untouched on the tray by her door. The curtains remained drawn tight, shutting out the warm autumn sunlight, and her once neat and orderly space had become a mess of discarded clothes and rumpled sheets. The sparkle that usually lit up her presence had dimmed, buried under a weight that no one could see but everyone felt.

Her ladies-in-waiting whispered among themselves, their voices low as they passed in the corridors. They traded worried glances, unsure of what to do. Should they call the Queen? Inform the King? She had never stayed hidden away like this before—not like this. Even when she needed space, she always re-emerged, ready to face her responsibilities. But now, the princess seemed... lost.

Her mother was the first to express concern openly.

One afternoon, as the palace staff hurried about preparing for a royal dinner, the Queen stopped one of her ladies-in-waiting in the hall. The Queen had always been poised and composed, but there was an unmistakable hint of worry in her sharp green eyes.

“How is she?” she asked, her voice tight, betraying more emotion than she intended.

The young woman fidgeted under the Queen’s gaze, lowering her head. “She’s been... resting, Your Majesty. But she hasn’t left her room in days. I don’t think she’s well.”

The Queen’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Has she spoken to anyone?”

“No, Your Majesty. She’s refused visitors.”

The Queen’s worry deepened. She had always been headstrong, independent. But this felt different. Something was wrong. And it wasn’t just the physical withdrawal—it was the silence. She had never shut herself off like this before, and the Queen couldn’t shake the sense that her daughter was sinking into something far deeper than exhaustion.

The next day the King himself stepped into her chambers, expecting to find his daughter reading or quietly working through whatever troubled her. But when he saw her lying on the bed, her back turned to the door, still wearing the same clothes from days ago, the sight struck him harder than he’d expected.

“Darling,” he said gently, stepping into the room.

She didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge his presence.

The King’s brow furrowed. His daughter had always been the stronger one, the one who pushed through no matter the burden placed on her. But the stillness in the room, the absence of life in her usually vibrant eyes—it unsettled him.

He walked to her side, sitting down on the edge of her bed. For a long moment, he simply watched her, unsure of what to say. As King, he was used to fixing things, solving problems, and making decisions. But this... this felt like something he couldn’t fix with words or power.

“What’s wrong, my dear?” he asked softly. “Talk to me.”

She remained silent, her gaze fixed on the wall, eyes red-rimmed and empty. She didn’t trust herself to speak. If she opened her mouth, she was afraid she might fall apart completely, and that scared her more than anything.

The King sighed, reaching out to gently touch her hand. “You don’t have to do this alone, darling. Whatever it is, you can tell us. We’ll help.”

But she didn’t respond, her body tense under his touch. She didn’t know how to explain what she was feeling—the pressure, the emptiness, the suffocating weight of her title, her future, and everything in between. And the only escape she had found—the one place where she could breathe—had been taken from her.

The King remained by her side for a few more minutes, but eventually, he rose, his expression more worried than when he’d entered. He had hoped she would open up, give him some clue as to what was going on, but her silence spoke louder than any words could.

As he left the room, he quietly summoned Commander Alfred. The head of the royal guard appeared swiftly, his usual stoic expression in place. But even he couldn’t hide the concern that flickered in his eyes when the King spoke.

“Have you noticed anything unusual about the princess lately?” The King asked, his tone quiet but filled with authority.

Alfred’s jaw tightened. He knew precisely what was troubling her. He had been the one to stop her the night she tried to sneak out again. And though he had done his duty, he regretted the way it had crushed her. But now, standing before the King, he couldn’t very well admit he had allowed her escapades to go on unnoticed for so long.

“Your Majesty,” Alfred began carefully, “I believe the princess has been under a great deal of stress. It’s possible she’s... struggling with the weight of her responsibilities.”

The King frowned, frustration creeping into his expression. “We all have responsibilities, Alfred. But she has never shut down like this before. This is different.”

Alfred hesitated, his mind racing. Should he tell the King about the racing, about the brief moments of rebellion that had clearly meant so much to her? It wasn’t his place to reveal such things, especially when the princess had already been punished for it in her own way.

Instead, he simply nodded. “I will keep an eye on her, Your Majesty. But I believe she needs time.”

The King gave a short nod, though his unease was palpable. “Time. Yes. But not too much time. If this goes on any longer, we’ll have to intervene.”

That night the moon hung high in the sky, casting a soft glow over the palace grounds. Inside her room, the shadows loomed larger than life, stretching across the walls like silent sentinels. She lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, thoughts swirling like the dust motes dancing in the moonlight. She had tried to find solace in sleep, but each time she closed her eyes, her mind spiralled back to the karting track—the laughter, the thrill, the fleeting moments of freedom that now felt like a distant memory.

As the clock struck midnight, a soft creak broke the stillness of her room. She turned her head, heart racing. The door slowly opened, and Lukas slipped inside, his silhouette cutting through the darkness.

“Your Highness,” he whispered, urgency lacing his tone. “I know you’re awake.”

“What are you doing here?” she gasped, sitting up quickly. “You can’t be in here!”

Lukas held a finger to his lips, a mischievous grin breaking through the concern etched on his face. “Shhh! Just trust me. I need you to change. I brought something for you.”

He reached into the bag slung over his shoulder, pulling out a pair of dark jeans, a fitted black t-shirt, and a lightweight jacket. “You need to get out of here.”

Her heart pounded as she processed his words. “What? But Lukas, I can’t just—”

“Please, princess. You’ve been stuck in this room for too long. You need to breathe. Change quickly!” He urged, his tone more serious now.

Despite her hesitation, a flicker of hope ignited in her chest. She nodded, her resolve strengthening. “Alright,” she murmured, taking the clothes from him. “But you have to promise this is safe.”

“I promise,” he replied, his eyes gleaming with determination. “I’ll be right here.”

She hurried to the bathroom to change, her heart racing with anticipation and fear. The soft fabric felt foreign against her skin after days of wearing nothing but the same loungewear. She took a deep breath, catching her reflection in the mirror—her eyes still heavy with sleepless nights, but the spark of rebellion ignited within her once more.

When she emerged, Lukas was waiting, a grin on his face as he took in her new look. “You look ready for an adventure.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she breathed, feeling exhilarated yet terrified.

“Don’t worry. Just follow me.” He took her hand, leading her through the darkened corridors of the palace, down the stairs and into the depths of the guard quarters.

After what felt like an eternity of cautious footsteps and whispered exchanges, they reached a door that she had never noticed before. It was tucked away at the far end of the guard barracks, partially concealed by a thick tapestry.

Lukas turned to her, his expression serious. “This is a guard exit. It’ll take you out to the stables, but you need to move quickly. Once you’re outside, make your way to the track.”

Her heart raced at the thought of being outside the palace walls, free once again. “And you?”

“I’ll be keeping an eye on things from a distance. If you need anything, just call. But you have to promise me you’ll be careful. I can’t afford to let anyone know you’re gone.”

As he spoke, he reached into his bag and pulled out the helmet she had been gifted the last time she was at the track. “Here. Take this. It’s yours now.”

She stared at the helmet, a mixture of gratitude and exhilaration washing over her. “Thank you, Lukas. I can’t believe you’re doing this for me.”

He smiled softly, but there was an intensity in his gaze. “You deserve to feel free, princess. You deserve more than what this palace offers. Now go. Run.”

She stepped forward, her heart swelling with gratitude. “Thank you,” she whispered, pulling him into a tight hug. The embrace was warm and reassuring, a promise of friendship and loyalty in a world where she often felt so alone.

Lukas held her for a moment longer, then gently pulled away. “I’ll be right here, watching you,” he promised.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped back and nodded. The door creaked open, revealing the moonlit stables beyond. She could feel the cool night air beckoning her, the thrill of adventure coursing through her veins.

With a final glance back at Lukas, she stepped through the door and into the night. The world outside felt alive, electric with possibilities. She sprinted toward the stables, adrenaline surging as she imagined the karting track waiting for her, the laughter of her new friends echoing in her mind.

As she reached the edge of the stables, she turned to look back one last time, seeing Lukas standing by the door, watching her with a proud smile.

Then she turned and ran, feeling like she was breaking free for the first time in ages. The track awaited, and with it, the promise of freedom.

Her heart raced as she sprinted down the familiar path leading to the karting track. The thrill of freedom surged through her with each stride, the cool night air whipping around her. She had longed for this moment, to feel the exhilaration of the track beneath her feet, the adrenaline that coursed through her veins as she raced.

But as she burst through the gates, her excitement faltered. The track felt eerily quiet, devoid of the laughter and energy that had once filled the air. The karts sat silently in their spots, the pit area dark and still, the bleachers looming like forgotten memories. Disappointment washed over her as she realised she might have come back to an empty space, a place that had felt so alive just days ago.

“Pity” she muttered, her voice echoing into the void.

Feeling the weight of solitude, she hesitated at the edge of the track. She had envisioned this moment—the thrill of the race, the rush of speed—but now it felt as though the universe had conspired to leave her alone once again.

Just as she turned to leave, something caught her eye. A figure sat cross-legged on the ground near the barrier, partially obscured by shadows. Curiosity piqued, she squinted, and her heart leapt when she recognized the silhouette.

“Max?” she called, the name tumbling from her lips as a rush of hope surged within her.

He looked up, surprise washing over his face, and in an instant, he stood up, a wide smile spreading across his features. “Angel!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of excitement and disbelief.

Without thinking, she rushed toward him, her heart pounding in rhythm with her footsteps. The distance between them vanished in an instant as she barreled into him, relief and joy overwhelming her senses.

Max caught her in a warm embrace, and the world around them faded. “I can’t believe you came back! I thought maybe you weren’t going to,” he said, his voice warm and sincere as he held her tight.

“I missed it too much,” she admitted, pulling back to look into his eyes. “And I missed you.”

He stepped back slightly, his gaze searching hers, and there was a moment of stillness between them. The excitement of their connection lingered in the air, an unspoken understanding that made her heart flutter.

“I was here the whole time, waiting for you to show up again,” he said, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “You really know how to make an entrance.”

She laughed, feeling lighter than she had in days. “I almost didn’t make it. I was worried I’d be the only one here.”

Max shook his head, chuckling. “Nah, I couldn’t stay away either. This place is too good to abandon. Plus, I was hoping you’d come back. I wanted to see how you were doing after our last race.”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” she replied, her heart swelling at the thought of their last adventure together. “It was one of the best nights of my life.”

“Same here,” he said, his expression softening. “It felt real, you know? Just us, no pressures, no expectations. I’ve missed having that, it’s been a long time.”

She felt her cheeks warm at his words. “I’ve missed that too. It’s hard to explain why. Everything in my life feels… complicated.”

He nodded, understanding glimmering in his eyes. “I get it. Sometimes you just want to escape from everything. That’s why I love coming here. It’s my little slice of freedom. I came here once a year with my mother and I come back each year.”

“It feels like no one cares who you are or what you’re supposed to be here.”

Max stepped back, his eyes playful. “So, you ready for another round? I’ve been practising, and I’m pretty sure I can beat you this time.”

“Is that a challenge?” she teased, feeling her competitive spirit ignite.

“Absolutely,” he replied, his smile wide. “But you’d better keep up.”

As they walked toward the karts, she couldn’t shake the feeling of exhilaration that buzzed through her. The emptiness she had felt moments ago faded, replaced by the warmth of their connection. Here, with Max, she was just a girl—not a princess, not a royal burdened by expectations.

They reached the karts, and Max gestured for her to take the lead. “You go first. I’ll watch you and see if I can learn a thing or two.”

Shr grinned, her nerves dissipating as she settled into the familiar seat of the kart. “Okay, but don’t blame me if I leave you in the dust!”

As she tightened the helmet over her head, Max’s laughter filled the air, and for the first time in what felt like ages, she felt free. The night stretched ahead of them, full of possibilities, and with a deep breath, she fired up the engine.

The engines fell silent as she and Max brought their karts to a stop, both panting from the thrill of the race. The air was thick with the scent of gasoline and the excitement that still hummed between them. As they climbed out of their karts, a shared laughter lingered in the air, buoyed by the adrenaline that coursed through their veins.

Max leaned against his kart, catching his breath, his eyes sparkling with exhilaration. “You really held your own out there,” he said, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “I thought I was going to lose for a moment.”

She smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. “Well, don’t get too used to it. I’ll get better every time,” she replied playfully, wiping the sweat from her brow.

But as their laughter faded, the atmosphere shifted. The thrill of competition transformed into something deeper. Max’s gaze lingered on her, his expression softening as the playful banter shifted into a moment filled with unspoken understanding. They stepped closer, the warmth between them drawing them together, filling the space with a tension that felt electric.

Max brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek, and her breath hitched in her throat. In that moment, the world around them faded away—the empty track, the quiet night—everything became a distant blur. The only thing that mattered was the connection they shared, the desire that surged like wildfire between them.

“Schjate,” Max said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

Her heart raced at his words, and she felt a rush of emotions bubbling to the surface. “Me too,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “I couldn’t stop thinking about our last race.”

As their eyes locked, the air around them crackled with intensity. Without thinking, they moved closer together, their breaths mingling as Max leaned in, capturing her lips with his in a kiss that ignited the night.

It started softly, a gentle brush of lips that deepened as the world melted away around them. Her heart soared as she kissed him back, savouring the sweetness of the moment. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer, as if he were afraid she might slip away. She melted against him, losing herself in the warmth of his embrace.

Their kiss was filled with a mix of exhilaration and longing, each moment stretching into eternity. Time seemed to pause as they lost themselves in each other, the warmth of his body grounding her in a way she had never experienced before. Every doubt, every fear faded into the background, leaving only the two of them in that electrifying moment.

But as they finally broke apart, a rush of reality crashed down on her. She stepped back, her heart racing, panic rising in her chest. “I shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Why?” Max asked, confusion clouding his eyes as he searched her face. “It felt right, didn’t it?”

She turned away, trying to catch her breath as her thoughts raced. “I can’t offer you anything,” she admitted, the weight of the words heavy on her tongue.

“Why not?” he pressed, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. “What do you mean?”

“Because I can’t just… be with you like this,” she said, her chest tightening. “It’s complicated.”

His brow furrowed as he stepped closer, determination shining in his eyes. “What’s complicated about it? It’s just us here.”

“No, it’s not just us!” She exclaimed, her voice rising. “You don’t understand what I’m giving up.”

“What are you giving up?” he asked, his voice laced with hurt. “What do you think this is? I’m not just some guy to you.”

“No, you’re not,” she replied, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “But I can’t pretend that this is simple. I have responsibilities—things I can’t just ignore.”

Max’s expression shifted, disbelief etched on his face. “Responsibilities? What does that even mean?”

“It means I’m the princess of this country!” she blurted out, her heart racing as she revealed the truth she had kept hidden.

Silence fell between them, the weight of her confession hanging in the air. Max’s eyes widened, shock replacing the warmth that had just been there. “Wait… what?”

“I have a life I can’t escape from,” she said, her voice trembling. “I can’t be with someone when everything I do has consequences.”

Max took a step back, the hurt in his eyes cutting deeper than any blade. “So that’s it? You’re just going to run away because of some title?”

“No!” she cried, tears threatening to spill over. “I wish it were that easy. But I can’t risk everything for something that might not even be real!”

The tension crackled between them, pain and frustration hanging thick in the air. He shook his head, disbelief etched on his features. “So what that kiss was fake? An act of pity?”

“I don’t know what that was,” she admitted, her heart aching. “But I can’t let myself get lost in it. I have too much at stake.”

Max’s expression softened for a moment, but the hurt lingered. “And what if this is your chance to find something real?”

“I can’t take that chance!” she replied, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry, Max.”

With that, she watched as he turned away, the distance between them feeling insurmountable. Her heart shattered as she took in the sight of him walking away, the warmth of their moment fading into the night. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she realised the weight of her choice, the finality of what she had just done.

“Max,” she whispered, but the words were lost in the night.

As he disappeared into the shadows, she felt an unbearable ache in her chest, the reality of her world crashing down on her like a tidal wave. She turned away, her heart heavy, and made her way back to the palace, each step feeling like a loss.

The thrill of racing, the taste of freedom, and the warmth of connection had been swept away, leaving only a hollow ache where joy once resided. As she walked through the familiar halls of the palace, the burden of her title felt heavier than ever, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had lost something precious.

As she made her way back to the palace, the cool night air felt sharp against her skin, mirroring the ache in her chest. Each step felt heavier than the last, the thrill of her escape now replaced by a deep sense of loss. The weight of her reality bore down on her, and she could hardly breathe as tears streamed down her cheeks, each drop a cruel reminder of what had just happened.

The familiar silhouette of the palace loomed ahead, its grand façade illuminated softly in the moonlight. It had always felt like a sanctuary, but tonight it felt more like a prison, trapping her within its walls of expectation and duty. She quickened her pace, desperate to escape the memories of her time with Max, yet somehow knowing that they would haunt her no matter where she went.

As she approached the entrance, she spotted Lukas standing near the guard post, his usual stoic demeanour replaced by an expression of concern. The moment he saw her, his brow furrowed, and he stepped forward, instinctively sensing that something was terribly wrong.

“Princess?” he called, his voice low but urgent. “What happened? You look—”

Before he could finish, she crumpled, the weight of her emotions crashing over her like a wave. Without a word, she rushed into his arms, burying her face against his chest as sobs wracked her body. The warmth of his embrace felt like a lifeline, and she clung to him, desperately seeking solace.

Lukas stiffened for a moment, clearly taken aback, but then his arms encircled her, holding her close as she cried. “Princess, what’s wrong?” he murmured, his voice soothing as he stroked her hair gently. “Talk to me.”

She pulled back slightly, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she looked up at him. “I—I can’t,” she stammered, struggling to catch her breath. “I messed everything up, Lukas.”

“Take your time,” he encouraged, his voice steady and calming. “Just breathe. You’re safe here.”

With a shuddering breath, she began to pour out the words that had been trapped inside her, the turmoil spilling forth like a dam breaking. “I went back to the track, and I saw Max,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “We raced again, and it was incredible. I felt so free, so alive. But then… we kissed, and it was everything I wanted, but I can’t have it. I can’t be with him.”

Lukas’s expression softened, and he held her tighter as she continued. “He thinks it’s real, but I can’t offer him anything, not with who I am. I’m a princess, and I have responsibilities. I can’t just run away and live a normal life.”

Lukas remained silent for a moment, absorbing her words. “Princess,” he finally said, his voice low and earnest, “you deserve to be happy. It’s okay to want something for yourself.”

“But what I want isn’t an option,” she replied, shaking her head, her tears still flowing. “I can’t put him in danger because of my title. I can’t risk my responsibilities for a fleeting moment of happiness. It’s not fair to him.”

“I understand that it feels complicated,” Lukas said, his tone gentle yet firm, “but you can’t sacrifice your own happiness for the sake of your duty. You deserve to feel loved and to have someone who cares about you.”

“I know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “But it’s all too much. I thought I could be someone else, even just for a little while, but I can’t escape who I am.”

He pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his expression earnest. “Princess, running away from your responsibilities won’t change who you are, but it doesn’t mean you can’t find moments of joy. You have the right to seek happiness, even in a world that tries to dictate how you should live.”

She met his gaze, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. “But what if it all falls apart? What if I lose everything?”

“You won’t lose everything,” he reassured her, his grip tightening around her shoulders. “You have to take risks sometimes. You won’t know what could happen unless you allow yourself to find out.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for the first time that night, she felt a flicker of hope ignite within her, a small voice whispering that maybe there was a way to reconcile her desires with her duties.

“But what if I mess it up again?” she asked, her voice still shaky.

“Then you try again,” Lukas replied softly, a small smile breaking through the concern etched on his face. “You’re not alone in this. I’ll be here to help you navigate it. You can’t let fear dictate your life.”

As she looked into his eyes, she felt the bond of their years deepen. He had always been there, her steadfast protector, and tonight he was more than just a guard—he was a confidant.

“Thank you, Lukas,” she whispered, gratitude swelling in her heart. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he assured her, his tone lightening. “Now, let’s get you inside before anyone else sees you like this. You deserve a moment to breathe, away from everything.”

[somereaderinblue]

Warrior!Penelope God Games

After writing Odysseus's Challenge, I was still on a creative high & decided to do this too. NOTE: The swaps between gods were taken from @too-much-flynnolium’s art.

[ARES]

Mother, God Queen, rarely do I ask for favours

Now, I'm kneeling on your floor

With hopes to save a friendship

With one who's a prisoner far from home

Penelope

[HERA]

Divine intervention, so that is your wish?

To untie apprehensions that were placed on that Greek?

You are braving such dangers for a girl full of shame

But if she's worth the risk of going under

Why not make it a game?

Convince each of them that she ought to be released

And I'll release her

[ARES]

Who's them?

[HERA]

Artemis! Hestia!

Dionysus! Athena!

Demeter! Or me

What do you say?

[ARTEMIS]

Sure.

[HESTIA]

Very well.

[DIONYSUS]

Hic!

[ATHENA]

Alright.

[DEMETER]

Interesting.

[ARES]

Bring it.

[ARTEMIS]

You all know I'm a fan of nature and all

So with so many sirens gone

I think Penny's in the wrong

[ARES]

They had planned to do their worst

All she did was reimburse them

Now they'll tread with caution first

To live another day and sing even more verse!

[ARTEMIS]

Good point, release her.

[HESTIA]

Trust is not wasted, it’s forged

Why should I give her my support?

She turned her back on her cohort

[ARES]

Did you forget they failed to listen?

She was betrayed and now imprisoned

But if you make the right decision

She can still have a future with those who miss her!

[HESTIA]

Fine, release her.

[DIONYSUS]

Your little high and mighty Penelope

Claims to love another, but keeps him chained to a broken heart

[ARES]

She was busy fighting

[DIONYSUS]

More like busy spiting the cyclops

Let her feel the pain that the others feel and rot

[ARES]

Wait!

You must reconsider this!

[ATHENA]

Really now, Ares, no new tricks?

[ARES]

Athena!

[ATHENA]

What kind of so-called fighter holds back her power

Just lets her friends get devoured?

She couldn’t fight Scylla, but didn’t even try to outwit her

Hides with naught but a sword to get the job done

Tries to handle things upfront

Dim-witted and weak like her son

[ARES]

Hold your tongue now, her son's my friend!

And tell that drunkard that all kinds of hurts can mend

You want more mind games? Then set her free

To get back to her homestead, she'll make everyone’s brains bleed!

[ATHENA & DIONYSUS]

Then release her.

[DEMETER]

So many talents, so many tales

Give me one good reason why yours should prevail

[ARES]

She's got the hands of a weaver!

[DEMETER]

Dig deeper

[ARES]

She's pretty skilled with words!

[DEMETER]

You can do better than that!

[ARES]

She's very sassy…?

[DEMETER]

Eh

[ARES]

Never once does she give up on her child.

[DEMETER]

Release her.

[ARES]

I’ve played your game and won! Release her.

[HERA]

You dare to defy me? To give me more shame?

No one beats me, no one wins my game!

Marriage, bring her through the wringer

Show her I'm the judgement call

The one who makes the final call!

.

.

.

.

[ATHENA]

Is he dead?

.

.

.

Penelope had told Ares that for mothers, childbirth in itself was a difficult battle and the parenthood that came after a race with no finish line in sight. Personally, Ares would’ve likened it to war. If family had truly been something as linear as a race then surely Hermes would be on their father’s throne by now.

She placed her spawn in his arms. Said spawn miraculously didn’t squirm or squall against his battle-hardened muscles and cold gauntlets. 

“His name is Telemachus.” Far from battle. The irony wasn’t lost on anyone. Then again, considering how eerily squishy the infant was, perhaps the name was fitting.

Ares blinked as tiny fingers gripped his, the pudgy digits unable to full wrap around it. Yet, the grip was strong. No, it was simply alive. He’s bathed in blood so often that he’s forgotten even the tiniest of hearts can still beat.

“Telemachus.”  Penelope and Odysseus smiled. Smiled at him, smiled because of him. They were happy. He was happy.

.

.

.

[ARES]

Let her go…..please

Let her go……

[dadsbongos]

dog and rabbit

9.5 k words / summary - When your party is locked into a stuck trap, you and Laios are the only ones who can bare each other. You both want to be consumed, one literally, and know that only the other can fulfill your desire.

warnings - reader with she/her pronouns, cannibalism as a metaphor for love/cannibalistic thoughts and imagery, fully romantic but no upfront confession, allusions to spoilers but everyone should be safe to read, reader has ego issues and parental issues, laios and reader are both FREAKS, starvation as a plot device

~~~

pt 1 - dog eat rabbit

Mama’s hands are crusted with drying mud, dirt flakes up her bare arms as she smooths a lumpy plot. She’s knelt down, across from her is Papa, and beside Papa is his dog -- tail wagging and mouth dangling open to pant, pant, pant. Between them all is the small rectangular grave Mama just finished pampering. A thin stick sits up straight from the head of the filled hole. You stand at the other end, staring at Papa’s dog with ambivalence.

You wanted to sanitize her vibrant scratches and swelling bite marks, and you wanted her scrapes to get infected. You hoped she would recover to her yippy self soon, and you prayed the mounting limp from her front right paw was permanent. You’d be devastated if she died of her injuries, and you’d find the death to be just.

She’s terrible.

You mock up a world where she was the one eaten instead.

She’s your sole best friend now.

You hope she’s full, no longer at risk of starving to illness.

“Sit, girl,” Papa beckons, a calloused, wrinkled finger directed towards the gaping spot by your mother’s side, “Be respectful. You wanted this memorial, now be part of it.”

“I didn’t want- !“

As if sensing your following words, Mama hisses a sharp shush, then pats the ground beside her. Papa raises a brow at you, testing. Sunlight burns your back, and you spontaneously decide the shaded spot by your mother is more appealing (entirely unrelated to your parents’ demands).

Now, you are face to face with your new best friend because she is your real best friend’s murderer. You hate her. You love her. You want her to feel every shred and tear and pierce she inflicted upon your bunny.

“Darling,” Mama coos, fingers dancing up your shoulder and through your hair, uncaring for how she ruins the strands, “be realistic. A simple marsh rabbit was never going to survive out here.”

“He followed the river out for a reason,” you murmur, now looking down from the big, remorseful, wet eyes of Papa’s dog, “We were meant to be best friends.”

“You’re not a baby anymore,” Papa snaps, rising onto his feet, he glares at you. He glares at you with deep lines retracing their places in his forehead, and his hands clench so hard they shake, until they suddenly go lax. He waves both hands out, shaking them free of all tension as he sighs and turns and prattles down towards the ocean.

His dog follows, slower than she used to with a pause and caution fresh to her gait, licking his hand as he pulls free his fishing pole from the sand. Mama pats down your back and mutters apologies.

You rise shortly after and whistle the dog back into your small shelter, knowing how her wounds will burn should she follow your father into the lapping sea water. She licks your face and you pet around the open scratches from this morning.

You dream that night of what would happen if you let her wander into the ocean.

You wake up with an incredible sense of guilt.

…

“I’m so tired,” Marcille dregs her weight onto your back, causing you to stumble under the sudden hefty addition, “We should stop soon!”

“Agreed,” Chilchuck huffs, stretching his arms out in front of him.

“How about you?” Laois coils at the waist to glance back at you, brows raised high, “Packs wearing you down?”

“No!” you howl defensively, hands wriggling deeper into the leather of Chilchuck’s waterskin when Marcille moans in protest to your denial, “But! If everyone is tired then we should settle down, probably. I think.”

“I think so, too,” Laios nods, deferring to Senshi -- the pair murmuring about which of the dark archways lining the dungeon hall leads to a safe rest stop.

Your party finally piles into an off-room, Marcille still slouched against your back to send you both careening towards the far left end of the cellar.

“Hmm,” Chilchuck points up towards a series of holes in the cobbled archway, “It looks like this room’s rigged to lock us inside. So be careful to not step on this tile, it’ll activate the- !”

Senshi grunts over the sudden sinking in his left side, foot slid over the edge of the stone Chilchuck’s index finger is aimed at, “Whoops.”

A scream escapes the half-foot, Chilchuck narrowly rolling out of the way of downcoming spears. Pointed ends stab towards the cobblestone floor, tips scraping rock, effectively trapping your lot into the cellar.

“Eek!” you scream, both hands pawing at Laios’ arm, “We’re gonna die in here!”

“Shut up, we’re not gonna die in here,” Chilchuck groaned, rising to his knee to inspect the lock attached to the middlemost bar, “I’ll get it open in the morning. If anything, it might help keep us secured overnight, so I can’t be mad.”

“Are you sure that’s okay?” you ask, Marcille nodding in backup to your question.

“It’s a pretty simple lock, so it shouldn’t cause me too much grief in the morning.”

Laios nods, stepping back carefully to avoid jangling you off his arm as he sets out his sleeping bag. You stand over him now, hands splayed gently across his back as he flattens his mat, “If you’re gonna stay by me, could you help me get my armor off?”

If anyone except Laios were to ask, you’d probably take offense to the wording -- but it was Laios, and you know Laios well enough to know he’d never want to hurt your feelings.

So you nod, despite the fact he cannot see you, “Of course!”

Neither you or Laios is certain when physical contact became so normal between you, only that now it's strange for Laios to remove his heavy plating without you. So he tries to suck up every opportunity he can now, requesting your assistance whenever the party stocks into a room with a door to keep out ambushers.

“Hey,” Marcille beckons from across the room, already having set out both your mats, “I thought you’d be by me tonight.”

“I will be! Just… helping…” you return focus to Laios, giddily undoing the leather straps of your leader’s grieves before rushing off his pauldrons.

“Thanks again,” he works off the clasps on his arms, slinking free from each piece with a noisy series of clunks and thuds.

“I love helping,” you rationalize quickly, face alight with glee as you wait for Laios to set aside his gorget. Once given a go-ahead nod, you eagerly grasp the lip of his cuirass by the waist and tip upwards. While you’re not lying about your natural proclivity to be helpful, you’re also not terribly against feeling the broadness of Laios’ body up close.

You blame it on admiration.

You admire how he can move so smoothly in such heavy pieces. You admire how despite the both of you being tall-men, he’s managed to occupy the stature to a fuller extent than you. He’s not just big because of his race, but he’s got real discipline to continuously train and hone his combat skills. His muscles are as aesthetically pleasing as they are a sign of his dedication.

In a weird way, you think every monster to be eaten by him should be honored.

Ironically, that night you dream of the party’s first encounter with monsters you couldn’t eat: Orcs.

…

“First ones to die are the ones with the weapons!”

“Aah!” you shriek, immediately releasing your daggers so the blades crash by your knees with a faint tink, tink, tink, “I’m unarmed! Please don’t kill me!”

“Have a backbone!” Chilchuck shouts at you, though beads of sweat are pouring down his face as well.

“I don’t wanna die, Chilchuck!” you cry, sniffling.

“I don’t either, you know?” he hisses in your ear.

Your eyes are too clogged by waterworks to make out the following dispute between Senshi and the Orcs. Now hugging a pair of onions to your chest for support rather than your teensy needlepoint daggers.

“Them veggies be something you grew, I guess?” despite the lilt in his tone, you don’t take the Orc Chief’s tone as a question, “We’re on a supply run lookin’ for food. ‘Preciate if you’d share them with us.”

“Sure, be happy to. What you got to trade for them?” Senshi must be crazy to expect a trade with big, hungry Orcs with big, shiny weapons surrounding you all.

“No trade. Tribe’s desperate, we barely got up to this floor alive. You’ve been a good friend and I hate to do this, but… hand over everything you got. Right now.”

You fumble the onions between your arms, then shirking off the carrots tangled in your bag’s side pockets. Senshi glares at you through his peripherals, grumbling quietly for you to pick the crops back up before returning to his parley with the Orcs.

Unfortunately, your obvious compliance earns you no favor compared to your comrades.

“Coward,” Marcille thunks her head against the cabbage in her hands, “Coward!”

“I was scared!” you wish you had your forfeited onions back, even if only to provide something to cling to. The space between your arms feels so glaringly empty it makes your racing heart swerve to overdrive.

“Everyone was!” Chilchuck glares up at you, then toward Senshi, “Except that idiot.”

“Be nice,” you knot your fingers together, only to watch them unravel again as your group is herded towards the Orcs’ makeshift camp. Then, you look to Senshi for backup, “Besides, they were getting thrown out if we couldn’t trade, right? What’s the harm?”

Senshi shakes his head at you disapprovingly, and it oddly cuts deeper than when your father would do the same, “You need to stand your ground, that’s the difference.”

“Don’t antagonize her,” Laios jumps in, voice level in spite of the agitated pinch in his brow, “You all know she hates pain.”

“Who doesn’t, dumbass?!” Chilchuck grits, quickly hushing himself, “None of us want to suffer.”

With admittedly no comeback, even with all your prayers that he’d clunk one together, Laios shrugs, and -- as if sensing your dilemma -- sticks out his bicep for you to hug to your chest.

…

You woke up feeling despondent, gloomily rolling up your area and preparing for the day’s adventure while Senshi made breakfast. And as much as you wish Laios’ curiosity could inspire any excitement within yourself to try the lumpy larvae porridge from cellar-dwelling insects, you’re really not craving any.

“Hey!” but there the blonde is, calling to you and restlessly patting the floor beside him, “Come on, it’s almost ready!”

With weak, frizzly resolve, you conceded in an instant. Just as instantly, you regret it.

Faint, tangy iron clings to the gum of your mouth. A sourness washing over your palette soon after. Your lips press tightly before your tongue lolls out and you’re scraping the harsh edge of your spoon down your flesh, “Blehhh…!”

“Seriously?” Chilchuck sighs, though not withholding his own scrunched face, “You’re acting like a kid.”

“It’s gross!” you whine, bowl clattering between your legs, “It hurts my mouth!”

“Really?” Laios leans in from your left, his chest, while still unguarded, crushes against your shoulder, pointing down into your bowl with his own spoon, “Mind if I have yours?”

“Be my guest,” you slide the bowl his way, then squishing the tip of your tongue into your top gums, “I think it burnt a dent in my mouth.”

Chilchuck groans this time, loud and abrasive, eyes narrowed at you, “It’s not even that bad.”

“You’ve been brainwashed! Monster guts are monster guts, and this time their stomach acid burned my mouth!” you look to your right, at the elf contently munching on Senshi’s cooking, “Right, Marcille?!”

(Senshi’s rebuttal of, “Ain’t no guts in this.” goes unnoticed)

“Hm?” she withers under your pointed stare, shoulders shriveling towards her chest, “I mean, yeah, it is weird…” then she lifts her bowl level to her face, dodging your gaze, “But I don’t think it's burned my mouth.”

“Maybe I’m allergic,” you drivel, focus flitting to Laios’s hands as he grabs your serving to dig in -- even licking the excess off your abandoned utensil, “If I’m allergic I might die…”

“Or you’re just crazy,” Chilchuck intervenes.

“Be nice to me!” you cry, raising a fist as if to strike the man over your fire. You’d never, you don’t have the courage.

Laios nods, “Be nice.”

“You’ll be hungry later,” Senshi chastises, “Eating is the privilege of the living. You’re squanderin’ it.”

“We’ll have lunch later,” you curl your knees to your chest, binding them with both arms tight around your thighs, “I can wait.”

“Who says we’ll find anything worth eating?” you doubt Chilchuck cares about either your stomach or Senshi’s cooking, you instead boldly assume he just wants to keep lecturing you.

“We will!” you lay your head against Laios’ shoulder, peeking up at the man through your lashes, “Right, Laios? We’ll find food again today.”

“I mean, yeah,” he blinks down at you cluelessly, “Deeper we go down, the more we’re bound to find!”

“See! We’ll find food!”

“It’s too early to be fighting…” Marcille frowns, eyes flicking from you to Chilchuck, and back to you.

Chilchuck retires his own bowl and grossly wipes his mouth off with his arm before scooching to the door, waving off whatever retort could follow.

Senshi takes both yours and Laios’ bowls once both are emptied before turning to you, “You may want to dig into the spare snacks in your bag anyway. Ain’t good to start the day on an empty stomach.”

His sudden warmth inspires a molten ooze in your own chest, you shyly nod before muttering, “Sorry for calling your cooking gross… it isn’t, actually. I liked- !”

“Larvae pods can’t be for everyone,” he cuts you off with a speedy recovery, “More for the people that do enjoy it.”

“Thanks for sharing!” Laios claps your back, trying to be friendly and only rattling your balance.

Senshi and Laios begin packing up as you spindle onto your hands and knees to crawl the couple of paces towards your bag. Creeping a hand under the flap to dig for treats, your whole body spiking with goosebumps and raised hairs when you distinctly miss any indentation of rations in your palm. You prattle forward another two knees-worth and unlatch the golden clasp to dig through your bag.

“Oh, no…” you mutter, movements growing more agitated the longer you go without finding food, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…”

“You okay?”

You jump back, clenching both hands over your heart and nodding rapidly, “Yeah, fine! No worries here, Laios!”

“Sounds good!” he backs away to continue assisting Senshi.

“No!” suddenly, Chilchuck’s voice stabs through the room, “No, no, no, no, no!”

“What’s wrong?” Marcille rushes over, clutching Ambrosia between unsteady palms.

Thankfully the party’s attention pivots to the screaming lockpick and you get the grace of pretending there’s absolutely more food left for your group. No problems here!

“It’s jammed!” Chilchuck wrangles the silver bars, then latching onto the boxy lock itself as if to choke all life from the metal, “How am I supposed to pick a lock if the lock isn’t sufficient quality?!”

Or, apparently, you cannot pretend. At least not for long because a problem arose on the opposite side of the cell.

“You can get us out though, right?” Marcille’s grip on Ambrosia loosens, even calm enough to lay the staff against a wall.

“Of course, I can. Who do I look like?” Chilchuck scoffs.

Silently, you beseech Chilchuck’s expertise surpasses this lock’s apparent lack thereof.

“So, how’s the door?”

.

.

.

“Still not open!”

“I thought you were a specialist on these things, Chilchuck.”

All fiddling and knocking ceases in an instant, Chilchuck now staring dead-eyed at Laios for his unwelcomed quip.

“So scary,” Laios whispers beneath his breath, then turning towards you with a subtle downturn of his lips, “What’d I do?”

Hugging yours and Chilchuck’s bags closer to your chest with a stilted shrug, you reply, “I guess he didn’t appreciate the input.”

“I thought- “

Chilchuck’s icy stare kills your leader’s words in his throat.

“Well, we still have leftovers, so we aren’t in trouble of starving for awhile,” you fabricate, digging a hand through your bag to aid your illusion of ease, “When we do run out, I have a plan! So don’t worry about going hungry.”

“Hm?” Laios quirks a brow at your uneven grin.

Before he can prod for more direction, Marcille’s popping back and relieved groan creak through the room. She arches up from her recline on the ground, gold tresses fluttering out around her head. With more huffing and moaning, she flips onto her stomach and stablizing onto her elbows to stare at Chilchuck’s twiddling. Poking and striking various chords and rods within the lock’s bottom hole, you can hear Chilchuck’s frustrated swears in both common and native tongue (though the longer he goes without success, the more obscure and foreign his curses sound).

You’d hate to see Chilchuck face more defeat than he’s already bore. Few hours have passed since waking to find yourselves locked in the dungeon cellar. Chilchuck will soon be considering blood sacrifices made from all four of you, you fear.

“You know, it’s been awhile since I could wash my hair… would be nice if we were out so I could take care of that,” Marcille grins, already knowing the response she’ll pull talking like that.

“Marci, be quiet…!” you whine anxiously, eyes narrowing on Chilchuck’s back.

The man slowly turns his head to narrow his eyes at Marcille, “Huh?” she shrugs coyly, curling a finger into framing strands of her long hair, Chilchuck laughs. Rage thinly veiled by (obviously forced) lightheartedness, “Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Guys!” you wail, “Please!”

Senshi sighs through his nose, murmuring about kids bickering as he polishes the knife you only see used for cooking.

Tense silence descends upon your group once again.

Turning to the blonde at your side, you murmur, “I’m more worried about how to keep from getting bored. I feel like boredom is when everyone starts hating each other…”

Laios straightens up at your concern, twisting noisily through his personal bag to drag out a leather bound journal, “I could show you my notes about monsters! They’re pretty long so it’ll take awhile, perfect way to kill time while Chil’ gets us out!”

Nodding, you lean into his side, watching intently as he recites each tidbit and offbeat scribble as if by heart. You notice that none of the writing is as softened by print or recognizable as what’s scrawled in his guide on edible monsters. You don’t think this book has been exposed to the party yet, and that thought is patently delightful. That you are so dependable to Laios he’s willing to show off something born from his raw passion.

“It was something I teased when I was by myself,” he confesses, cheeks glowing rosy at the vulnerability of it all, “When I started wondering about the integrity of the Gourmet Guide, it inspired me to make a real guide. So, even though I’m sad the author probably never ate the monsters they wrote about, I can still honor the passion it gave me.”

“Wow,” you turn onto your hip and cradle his arm against yours. Perhaps overly casually, you sling a leg over one of his and rest your head against his shoulder, his chill shirt icing the heat on your own cheek (his simmering skin beneath quickly reheats it), “You’re really cool, Laios.”

Marcille’s side-eye goes unacknowledged when you say that.

“Seriously?” you’re easily distracted from everyone else when Laios is grinning so brightly at you, “You think so?”

“Mhm!”

“You’re really cool, too,” he wishes he could say more, but your pretty face so close to his is strangling his bravery.

That night, you have the strangest dream.

…

A lion of gold fur and pearly wings looms over you, globs of His drool hanging and dribbling onto your forehead. Temptation to reach up and comb your fingers through His mane rushes through you -- but you cannot move. Limbs bogged by a weight unseen, and then there is a dog.

Big black eyes pour down on you, front paws plastered at each side of your waist to hold himself up. Pointed teeth peek through its panting snout -- bloodthirsty growls verberating low through its body. You blink and the dog is different. Yipping like a friend, tail wagging at the sight of you, it licks your cheek. You blink and the dog is gone, replaced with a fellow tall-man. Armor removed and shirt hanging low, you can make out his collarbones and the dip down towards his chest -- if you dare to stare straight down then you could make out the handles of his hips.

Blood stains the seams between his teeth, chin glistening with crimson gush. Faintly, you can make out the sensation of lips puckered around your fingers; sucking and nibbling at your nail beds. Chilchuck, Marcille, Senshi. They all seem so at ease, faces completely lax similar to those of nursing kittens.

Laios’ lips press into your neck, hot and cold clashing when he introduces teeth. You can’t even feel the pain as he digs in -- instead, you feel just as calm as your friends look.

You feel serene.

Marcille snaps a finger bone like it's a carrot between her molars. Chilchuck and Senshi lave the spilling blood from her cheeks. They can’t get enough of you. Laios burrows his arms beneath your waist, pressing your body closer into his as he desperately tongues your flesh down his throat.

Hungrily and contently, they swallow you down. Every morsel.

You feel most loved.

…

You woke up feeling grateful.

Chilchuck has not yet gotten your party free. As the day progresses, you feel that gratitude leaking over the floor. It curdles in the open air and soaks into the bottom of Marcille and Laios’ shoes as they ask you to unlock your food pouch.

Cheerful, expectant faces haunt you from above. Marcille, of course, has nothing but patience for you, but the killer is Laios. Obviously. Laios, who so, so fervently and imperatively trusts you so, so wholeheartedly is your biggest problem in this fiasco. He always looks at you like you could never do anything wrong, and you’ve never hated it until now.

Wide, twinkly amber eyes drill into you, “It’s been awhile since we’ve had to dig into the rations, I don’t even remember what’s all in there.”

Marcille nods in agreement, excitement at the prospect of eating obvious in the drool pooling in the corners of her mouth, “Right? It’ll be nice to have something non-monster related, at least.”

“You think so?” Laios pouts, “I thought you were warming up to eating monsters.”

“It's still not my first choice!”

In the midst of their spat, your attention is split between trying to conjure a plausible reason to deny them; and manifesting a destiny where they forgot why they approached you.

By the time Marcille’s tummy croaks through the cramped room, neither has come to fruition. She cups the pouch of her stomach, embarrassed at its echoing rumble.

“Jeez, thought I was hungry…” Chilchuck teases from his post at the door.

“Hey! That was a totally reasonable sound for how long it's been since we ate. And who’s to say that was even me? It could’ve been Laios!”

“It wasn’t,” Senshi adds.

“Definitely wasn’t,” Chilchuck’s sly grin cracks upon the sound of his own gut joining the conversation.

“Ha!” Marcille’s joy is usually able to cleanse your dreary moods, but usually you’re not keeping such a destructive secret.

Usually, you don’t freeze yourself in place like it’ll prevent your party from noticing you’re still alive -- all to avoid them asking the same question from minutes ago,

“So, can you open up the food pack?”

You are not so lucky.

Laios has asked you again.

Rare is it for you to refuse him, because rarer it is for him to ask something outrageous or impossible (or impossibly outrageous) of you. This is the one in a billion chance that you must turn him down. But how can you when he’s looking at you so kindly?

A frazzled, puny No trapped in the back of your desiccate throat when suddenly Senshi says it for you.

“Best to save our rations so we can eat right before we leave.”

Senshi’s trust in you makes you somehow more nauseous. Marcille’s downtrodden agreement makes that stacked nausea triple. Laios curling up beside you to keep you company makes you so electrified you’re certain to be hiccuping bile soon.

(you don’t end up puking, thankfully)

That night, you dreamt of the time you and Laios met.

…

He’s really beautiful, it's the first thing you notice about him. Too beautiful to be a dungeon crawler, Laios’ face is more befitting of royalty. To be praised and swooned over and kissed.

“It’ll be less pay than, well, our swordsman or mage.”

You think his thoughtfulness makes him more beautiful.

Strangely, you feel the need to comfort him. Overcompensate the mediocrity of such a position simply so he doesn’t feel guilty hiring you (because in the back of your head is the fear that if he feels guilty, he simply won’t take you on).

“That’s fine! I don’t mind at all, as long as I get any money I couldn’t care less.”

You just want a house. You just don’t want to suffer.

“Alright, then, looks like we have a carrier,” Laios looked to Falin, the girl nodding with a cheery smile.

You just want to be as close to the beautiful, shining, gnashing sun as possible.

…

You woke up feeling thirsty.

You’d twisted over to dig out your watersack when you found that your entire pack was missing. Ice spilled across your entire body at the sight, a swelling, obnoxious anxiety aching through your nervous system. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, and you could hear the blood pumping through your ears.

Slowly, your head swivels around the room, until you find your pack in the arms of another -- who is now settled across the room rather than beside you.

Peculiarly close to Senshi’s pseudo-camp, Marcille is scratching your bag tightly to her chest.

“Marci,” you call, dredging the boys’ curiosity towards you. You don’t know if she’s taken the liberty of looking inside, “Give that back…”

She does not, merely hugging the leather tighter. Such desperation clues you that she’s most likely just as oblivious about the bag’s contents as everyone else is. Her stomach rumbles loudly, you swallow dryly and wet your lips to beg.

“Marci, please!”

The elf hisses back, not unlike a pestered kitty, and clutches your pack tighter to her chest. She glares through her lashes, kicking her legs out when Laios reaches to take your bag back.

Senshi shakes his head and rises from his own spot in the corner. Marcille’s gaze hones in on the dwarf instantly, and she whirls around to face the wall -- now caging your bag to her chest.

“Marci,” you retry weakly, “please, hoarding isn’t- !”

She silences you with another shortburst glare over her shoulder, “Who said I was hoarding?” she ‘hmph’s and shakes her head, “How do I know you won’t just eat it all as soon as I’m not looking?! Huh?! You’ve gone the longest without food after all!”

You gasp at the accusation, then sparing a glance up at Laios to see if he’s buying her tale, “How could you say that? I always share! It’s everyone’s food!”

“Marcille,” Senshi commands cooly, standing at your side, “you should know that isn’t like her. We all share our food so nobody goes hungry. To intentionally starve others is just cruel.”

“Exactly!” you plea, shakily reaching out only to yank your hands back to your chest when she snaps at your fingers with full teeth, “Just give it back, please?!”

Laios frowns, visibly uncertain how to bring you and Marcille back to the giddy lounging gals you were mere days ago, “Marcille, you two are friends -- if you know she’s never stolen before, why would she start now?”

Marcille sharply redirects her stare into the corner, shrugging and clutching the pouch tighter.

Chilchuck bangs his forehead into the door, “Children.”

“Marcille…” you whimper, hot in the face and barely believing you’re even telling the truth right now. You’re delirious with dehydration and hunger and skepticism that you’re being honest, making it hard to see straight. Elf and tall-man faces blur together, Senshi is blotted out by the black dots in the corners of your vision, and Chilchuck is a mere speck. Far, far away. You feel far, far away. Like you could die, like you’re dreaming, and oh as the words come out of your mouth you’re actually hoping that you are dreaming, “it’s empty.”

Every head snaps to you. All dizziness snaps into hyperawareness. At minimum it's two degrees colder than it used to be, you can hear the sound of your own breathing, and the smell of mold rots away every other scent in the room.

You shrink into yourself and barely scrounge the courage to keep from curling into a rocking ball of apologies. Your disbelief doubles when you realize you’re still looking Marcille in the face -- eye to devastated eye.

“It’s empty?”

“It’s empty…”

Senshi steps back from your side, you want to dig your nails into his ankles and drag him back. You don’t. Laios retreats as well and you selfishly wish he’d just pierce you with his sword, if only to end this humiliation and regret. Now that everyone’s staring at you, you realize you probably should’ve said something from the start.

“I thought maybe Chilchuck would’ve gotten us out by now… I didn’t think we’d still be here…” you try to reason.

The harsh clatter and clang of Chilchuck’s picks against the ground draws your attention, he’s got both hands knotted into fists. His face drawn in a slant, as if he’s silently asking you to repeat yourself. As if he didn’t quite catch that.

“Then it's my fault?” he swiftly dodges the arm Senshi puts out as a blockade, now in your face and far more threatening than usual, “You’re saying it’s my fault your pack is empty?”

“No! Just- !”

“So why even mention that?!” he huffs, “Why even say my name?”

“I just thought that once we were out we’d find more food and then it wouldn’t be a problem!”

“So you still wanted to lie to us?”

“I never said that! You’re putting words in my mouth! Stop putting words in my mouth!”

“Your plan was to intentionally hide the truth -- that’s lying!”

“No! It’s just hiding!”

Chilchuck screams, raw with frustration and unbridled by cumbersome words. He covers his face with both hands as if he’s in pain just to look upon you.

“I’m sorry!” you plea, now turning to Laios with weak sobs bubbling right beneath your skin. Your face feels as though it's been scorched with dragon’s fire, though your eyes are flooded wet, “I just didn’t want everyone to be scared. I would’ve told you once we were out! Promise!”

Laios always liked being close to you the best, including Falin. In the wake of her disappearance, his inclination towards your presence has only magnified. You engage his interest in monsters, you’re forward and blatant with your compassion, and your skin on his is always so soothing. Laios doesn’t guess if you’re genuine, he knows you are. He imagines that’s why when you touch him it’s so warm and calming whereas others’ makes him itch.

Your soul itself must be as sweet as the bottom innard of an ivy tentacle.

“I know,” Laios nods, smiling thinly, “I know you would’ve.”

If you say you thought it was for the best, then you really must have, and he can’t berate you for having a heart.

You return his grin threefold, overtly thrilled he’s believed in you, yet again.

“You’re kidding!” Chilchuck shouts, now tugging sharply at his hair in frustration, his face red, “Laios, how can you let her get away with this?!”

Marcille shoves your pack into your face, standing over your toppled form. She looks like she hates you.

Now you’re the one cradling a food-barren bag to your chest. Laios assists you to your feet, prying your bag from your arms with gentle fingers to settle it along the wall. It sags, giving way to its empty stomach and collapsing over itself, folding into halves.

Marcille inhales deeply, mouth popping open to speak, but it's your resident half-foot’s voice that cuts through the air.

“Why are you here?” Chilchuck grumbles, glaring up at you.

His sudden venom stuns you into silence. Chilchuck’s face round with a specifically unfamiliar malice. Through his wired irritation at mimics and tentacles, he has never looked so particularly irked. So vexed. He looks like he detests your very face.

“I need money…” you murmur, curling into yourself the longer his terrible stare goes, “Just like you…”

“No. You’re not just like me, we’re not alike,” he’s unnecessarily defensive at your claim, “I’m useful. I work. You don’t do anything. Why are you here?” he lowers his voice, but you can’t mistake the change for any sense of relief, “There’s lots of things you could do for money.”

“Chilchuck!” Marcille wails, eyes wide -- snapped from their previous disdain and now fraught with shock and dread, her hands hover at her chest as if she could physically slice, rearrange, and mend the tension, “Don’t say that!”

“Be nice,” you wring your hands, “Be nice to me,” you frown, “I didn’t want to work a hard job, and being a carrier pays well enough. Then, uh, then I thought maybe I could be useful if I died… I could be like a meat shield, and then when I die you could eat me. You know, if you ever got stuck down here… like now.”

Chilchuck guffaws, jaw dropping and brows furrowing in distraught, “Eat you?! You thought we would eat you?!”

“I wouldn’t be offended,” shrugging, you crane your head down before subtly ticking sideways towards Laios, “You’ve never eaten human, right? I’m sure it’d be interesting.”

“How could you say that?!” Marcille buds in, once again on the offense. Senshi lingers in the back of your party, beneath the shaded hood of his helmet his gaze is steely. Determinately opposed to your very ideals. He’s eerily quiet, as if complying with Chilchuck and Marcille’s side will mistakenly motivate your own. That, or he’s so horrified none of his nerve endings will respond to his brain.

Laios does not refute your claim.

He swallows roughly, eyes darting to the floor.

“Everyone,” still staring at the ground, Laios steps between your group’s semi-circle, “Enough fighting,” his voice is quiet, too, but not calm. Ragged and soft, exasperated, “Please, stop fighting.”

A sturdy markdown of your offer never escapes his lips, though.

You nod slowly, “I’m sorry for being so useless. I thought I was doing something good…”

“You do,” Laios takes you by the shoulder, spinning you the other way towards your lone mat. His voice grows quieter, by the echo you can tell he’s talking to the others now, “Don’t antagonize her.”

Your sleeping bag is cold, it ruffles stiffly everytime you move. The fluffed material beneath your head fares no better, frost biting your cheek and lapping your splayed, exposed eyeballs. Tears prick as both eyes crisp dry -- cooled droplets dripping across your cheeks. Sorrow mixes with the salt, you thought you were doing good.

Perhaps by volunteering yourself to be used to the very last shred of meat, you could be more treasured. Cowardice outweighed by willingly absorbing the worst of your party’s instincts. By this method, you are more desired.

So you thought, but you’ve been rejected.

Squealing with protest, your sleeping bag retches around shivery shoulders as you smush your quivering lips into the material of your mat.

“These past couple of days have been hard on you, huh?” Laios unrolls his own sleeping bag beside yours. You flinch at the unwelcomed rumble of his voice, unfortunately he continues, “I get it. Everyone’s on-edge,” his comforting words fail to reach you, he slips into his bag, staring at you, “I hope you’re not sleeping yet… That’d make this kind of pointless…”

“Laios.”

“There you are,” he sighs, relieved, and you cannot imagine why. You don’t think there’s anything to be relieved about as long as you’re around, sucking up space and precious resources.

“Laios,” you call, “We should just do it. Right here.”

“Huh?”

You twist your head to peek over your shoulder, chilled tears drying tracks into your cheeks, confirming each of your friends is tucked and slumbering on the other side of the room. Surely, none of them would hear so long as you didn’t fight back; and you’re certain you won’t. Laios isn’t the type to make you suffer. He knows you hate suffering. He isn’t sadistic, after all, the only pleasure he takes in killing is the follow-up: eating.

“You want to, right?” you usually wouldn’t be so daring as to make the suggestion on your own, but food supply has dwindled too drastically by now. Everyone else can maintain their delusion all they want, but you know Laios is not one to deny himself, “Laios, you want to?”

He inhales sharply, molten amber eyes blazing through your face -- faint candlelight shines against his irises and bounces back the lump of your silhouette. Stubbornly, he says nothing -- neither nodding or shaking his head. Instead, he lies still, as if bitten by a Cockatrice.

“We can do it right now. They’re all asleep.”

Laios sneaks a hand through the neckhole of his sleeping bag, arm slithering out to soothe the pad of his thumb over your cheek. Silently, he appreciates the roundness of your face, the slope of your neck.

He does want to sink his teeth in, but this feels stranger than consuming monsters. It stretches far past the walking mushrooms or slimes on the top level; the problematic nature of your proposal even surpasses Chilchuck’s humanoid debate. You’re not a mere humanoid -- you’re human. Another tall-man. Your muscle composition is just the same as his -- your skeletons indecipherable from one another.

It shouldn’t be difficult to decide, Laios knows that much. He shouldn’t have to think about it. He shouldn’t shut down every time you mention it.

Despite that, he does -- he considers how the flesh of another tall-man would roll between his molars. Would the meat be salty? Or savory? How much fat should he trim -- or should he boil it all down just to save?

But aside from that, the reason he wants to mark your neck is not those taboo urges. Completely unrelated, in fact.

Laios’ fingers trail from your pulse point, curving along your exposed shoulder and dipping beneath your bag to dig blunt nails into your arm.

“No,” he squeezes your shoulder in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture, “Not you,” his hand retracts, coiling back to his chest, “I don’t want to eat you.”

“We’ll all die…” you frown, eyes of an iridescent sunshine sheen maintain their hold on you, “It’s better for one to go rather than the rest of the party, right? I can be useful like that…”

“I don’t want to eat you.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah,” his eyes flutter shut, brows pinching towards the middle of his face. And he cares not for what that may say about him as a leader. He’d giddily offer up the entire party to be found by corpse retrievers before gobbling you down.

“But then why keep me around? I don’t do anything special like Chilchuck or Marcille. I can’t cook or fight like Senshi. And I’m nothing like you.”

“You don’t have to be,” he tucks his chin by his chest, still avoiding your stare, “I prefer you as you. I’m glad we know each other, I don’t care if you feel useless because you’re not. Just having you around makes me feel more alive. More excited to explore the dungeon, even before Falin got taken. I feel like I need you around more than before. Since Shuro said he hated me… I guess it’s been tougher to trust that I’m not annoying everyone. With you, though, I don’t even have to question it. Outside the dungeon, too, when we’re in town. It’s nice to be around you the most.”

His eyes are clenched tighter and tighter the longer his spiel goes on -- he cannot bear to look you in the eyes while guts and bile spew from his lips. His cheeks are red, raw from self-imposed exposure.

“Do you mean that?” you ask quietly, eyes so wide in shock he’s forced to meet them as he opens his own, “Am I useful to you, just because I’m me?”

He hums, nodding softly. Crude emotion overwhelms you at the admission; confusion and disbelief and desire tangle in your stomach, loose tendrils flapping up into your gullet and knotting around your uvula until you spit up a meek,

“Can I sleep with you?” as if he would refuse you, you tack on, “I don’t want to be alone.”

Wordlessly, Laios unzips his sleeping bag -- you crawl out from your own to invade his space. His body is soft yet firm against your back, and he makes a clear effort in keeping his breaths shallow. You can see the worsening red tint of his cheeks, even in the wavering candlelight.

Laios’ body goes limp once you’re settled beside him. Selfishly, you press into his lax form -- exhaustion and hunger making your head light. You’re not concretely sure you’re conscious right now. Maybe this is your final dream before you are culled by starvation.

Your stomach grumbles, and Laios pouts at the sound. Bringing one hand over his own abdomen, Laios edges his fingers around his ribcage. He can feel the bone’s impression. He hasn’t been able to feel the protrusion since splitting from the traveling caravan with Falin. He’s unaccustomed to starving himself, he’s unsure how much longer he can hold himself together. You, however, pay no mind to the sound.

You don’t so much as crimp into yourself.

“It’s kinda weird,” you muse suddenly, turning in Laios’ bag so your chest is pressed to his. Oddly, for all its intimate implications, the contact feels natural, “I hate suffering more than anything else, but I can’t bring myself to regret giving you my breakfast a couple days ago. Even though the suffering that nasty junk gave me was a lot better than how I feel right now.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Laios’ arms wrap around you, tucking you even closer to him and forcing your legs to mingle with his, “Eating is the best thing you could do for your body.”

“I’m happier you got to eat than I would’ve been after eating it. Besides,” you cant your head up, chin digging into the center of his thick chest -- looking up at Laios, “I prefer sleeping to nourish my body.”

“As soon as we’re out, you’ll have the most delicious meal we can make in the dungeon.”

He hugs you tighter.

You don’t dream that night. But Laios does.

pt 2 - rabbit eat dog

Laios’ cheeks sting in the frosty air, forearms and knees stubbornly tingling through the puffer of his red long-sleeve. Attempting to make out the space even five inches before his face is impossible through the thick, icy fog, but he knows the way. His feet pivot in perfect tune to each divot and roll of the plains.

He’s grown up here. Ran over these lands since he could lift one leg over the other, though now he is alone. Wandering with only the intent to find, and even then he is alone. Laios never feels more alone than when he is in a room full of people, at least in solitude he cannot be ridiculed or judged. Cowardly as it may seem to run from his problems, Laios chases relief -- where exactly that is, he’s unsure. His relief comes in forms that move, much more inconvenient than ale or tobacco but also much more divine. Moving sister, moving moon, moving monsters.

A cursory, confirming glance up gives sight to the real moon hanging above Laios -- a pale face beaming down to give light, only to be choked out by this unabating fog. Fond for night, Laios feels eased by the celestial. Nighttime, childishly, is something he’s always associated with terrible creatures in the bowls of dungeons. Besides that, is how quiet the house becomes past sundown, when the only conscious soul is his. Sometimes his sister stood up with him, too, and that was nice.

Nice, still, is the other moon’s presence. One less large and pale. One that walked at his side.

A soft glow scourges through the plumes of gray, encouraging Laios to quicken his pace. Warmth blooms across his frosted extremities, thawing stiff joints until suddenly he’s too hot beneath his puffer. Stripping the material, he’s left to sweat in a simple pullover shirt as he begins stumbling towards the glow.

Fog clears, drifting apart seamlessly.

Laios trips abruptly, seemingly over his own footing, before tumbling to his knees, hands scraping on hidden rocks and dirt clots. His eyes water from the intense sear of light painting the ground.

“Hey.”

Laios, against better intuition, feels a bizarre sense of calm wash over him at the voice’s intrusion. Perhaps specifically because of whose voice calls to him.

You loom over his huddled frame, just as bright and welcoming as the moon, and just as pretty too. Prettier, he corrects.

“Hi,” he returns your greeting lamely, rising slowly to a stand.

“You look hungry.”

Recently, Laios has discovered that even after a hearty meal his appetite is not quite satiated. During the brief moments where his mind can wander, he spends it contemplating what he could be eating in that moment. Well, that when he’s not thinking about you. While his stomach is not a bottomless pit ever unfilled, more often than not he’s adopting the attitude of well, i could eat. Not quite greed, not quite temperance. He’ll take what is offered and be gracious.

So, yes, in short, Laios supposes he is always hungry. Admitting that to you is particularly embarrassing, however, because you never seem hungry. Even when your stomach sings with starvation, your discomfort is completely invisible.

He used to assume it was your resilience -- a sign of your courage, to continue adventuring regardless of your terror.

(now, he’s starting to think differently, with your fresh disposition of raw nerves and desperation to be enjoyed)

“You’re hungrier, right?”

“Not really.”

“Oh…” he’s unsure how to respond. Trapped to stare at you while you stare back.

These parts of the fields are entirely unfamiliar to Laios.

“You should be hungry,” he tries to reason.

“Why?”

“Don’t know. Just a feeling, really.”

“What should I eat?” you frown, inching closer.

“Whatever you want,” he answers honestly. Laios believes in free will, but in some strange, completely unintelligible way, he thinks you deserve the most free will. He thinks you should do whatever you want, whenever you want, and he’s left confused how you don’t feel the same.

(feasibly in light of the night’s cannibal-themed fight) You suddenly suggest, “What about you?”

Laios freezes at that, all fire radiating from you icing over in an instant. Gaze sinking to his feet. Could he realistically agree to that? End his life to feed you? Does his devotion stretch so far?

Laios would hate to (permanently) die… but he would hate more for you to (permanently) die before him.

He dodges your question with one of his own, “Would you still like me if I was a monster?”

When he’s feeling distinctly indulgent, Laios flashes into long past fantasies of becoming a tri-headed beast.

And if he were to become one, would you gaze upon him just as kindly? Would Laios still be Laios to you?

His eyes follow each twinge in your face as you think, brows scrunching and bottom lip sucked between your teeth. Eventually you nod, slow and measured, “Yes. I would.”

Laios believes that, honestly. You would have to. You’re just that amazing. So, he should be amazing in equal measure -- or more, he should aim to impress you with his greatness.

So, yes. If you really wanted to. He could feed you with himself.

…

You wake up feeling unrefreshed.

Senshi, Marcille, and Chilchuck continue to bar themselves across the room from you. Laios freely travels from one end to the other despite your party’s annoyance with him. Grumbling stomachs echo from each person in the group now, and you wonder if maybe you should circumvent Laios’ rejection to feed your friends anyway. To make up for your various mistakes and blunders. It's only right.

You stare at Chilchuck’s back -- his arms no longer flailing with movement, hands instead paused around the box lock itself. He’s glaring at the mechanism, you think he’s hoping nobody notices his lack of effort. Marcille and Senshi are murmuring amongst themselves, casting wry glances your way every other sentence. Perhaps they’re discussing potential ways to make you suffer when they finally gut you.

You wouldn’t fight back, you know you wouldn’t. For the good of the pack’s survival, you’ll let them feast upon you.

(it does not once cross your mind that they could be talking about how to best convince you you’re wrong for writing your own consumption off so easily)

Laios sits at your back. Not moving. Not touching. Watching.

Your eyes drift from Chilchuck’s petrified frame to the floor, then to one cobbled block slightly lower than the others. About an inch below level, but not sunken in completely: the stone Senshi stepped on.

“Senshi?” you call.

No response.

“Hey, Senshi?”

He’s staring at you, but his eyes are hard to make out beneath his helmet. You shift upon your knees despite Laios’ soft bleat of disapproval. Marcille now stares as well, eyes much easier to spot when they’re wide with worry.

“I think this stone is…” you shove the step with your meager might and it budges a mere centimeter.

Laios’ hand overlaps yours, pushing down as well. The stone thuds loudly, and Chilchuck suddenly jumps back as the spears clink and shoot into the holed ground. He rockets back up to fuddle the lock, this time it clicks and pops open first try.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Chilchuck kicks up at the retreating bars in vain. He whirls around to see you and Laios hunched over the stone and sighs, silently passing you both to collect his bags and exit.

Senshi and Marcille follow example.

Laios unlatches from your back, and you miss his warmth more immediately than you thought you would.

“I think I should leave the party.”

“Why?” he frowns so genuinely, you’d be unable to buy his cluelessness if you hadn’t known him for so long.

“They don’t like me anymore,” you settle both hands in your lap, plucking at the skin around your nails, “They know I’m useless.”

“So?” his tone is soft, so opposite to his callous start, “I want you here more than anybody. I’m happy to have people I trust and who are good at their work, but I think if you didn’t come with us back into the dungeon, it’d be another thing I’m always thinking of instead of what’s in front of me. And nobody gets my fascination with monsters like you do.”

“Senshi does…”

“I like you more than I like Senshi.”

“Why?”

Laios opens his mouth, teeth white and glistening in the soft flicker glow of dancing orange candle flame. You await his bite. He closes his mouth. You wish you were so confident to pry it wide and press yourself into his cheeks. You wish he’d just eat you whole. Spare no mind to how the others thought of it. If they won’t accept you bones and all, then you’ll continue to long for Laios. You can do that easily. You’ve been an expert in the matter since you joined his group.

“Nobody else will take me, Laios,” you greedily grasp him by the shoulder, “I’m being so selfish, but I need you to- !”

He slaps your hand away, reaching over your offending hands to snag you by your own shoulders, “I don’t want to hear that, you shouldn’t talk like that! You deserve to live, and eat, just like everyone else! We’re friends as much as we are party members, right? They wouldn’t stick around if they weren’t. Your friends wouldn’t want you to be eaten either.”

You glance at the archway, none of the three others are visible, “Is that why they were mad?”

“I can’t speak for them, but you should be up front about how you feel. Talk to them before leaving,” he lowers his head, “If you’re planning to leave still, anyway. Though, I really hope you stay.”

Laios is too afraid to say he’ll beg, if it would enrich the offer. The mere idea of your face twisting angrily or an annoyed rejection slipping past your lips kills him. With both you and Falin gone, Laios would feel a sense of estrangement he hasn’t since his army days. Loneliness amplifying until it's unable to be ignored. The grief and confusion of your loss would muddy the remaining friendly faces in his party -- the taste of monsters would even be dulled. Humiliation would rattle his sense of self everytime he remembered that you’re not even dead, just drifted away.

He’d never survive without you, but he refuses to steal your entire life that mercilessly so he pretends he could.

“If we all just talk to each other, then nobody has to get hurt,” Laios’ hands lower to yours, he squeezes gently while avoiding your eyes, choosing to study the way you lean into his touch, “I don’t want you to go. And I don’t want them to be hurt.”

“Okay,” you rise onto unsteady feet.

Laios separates from you to begin stowing away both your belongings while you squirm into the hallway in front of your party. They shuffle awkwardly, with only Senshi capable of meeting your eyes. Yet he stands the furthest from you.

“I- “ the words dance over your tongue, you thought you were prepared to say them. You’ll leave. You’ll leave. You’ll leave. But you can’t. The words trip and fall and tumble back into your throat before you surrender, “I don’t want to leave the party, but I am sorry for lying. I know I don’t do much, but I love adventuring with everyone. Really, I only- !”

“We were stressed,” Marcille steps forward, releasing one hand from Ambrosia to lay on your hand, “I don’t think it’d be easy on anyone to say the leftovers were actually gone. Especially when you knew that’s what we were relying on to not starve.”

Senshi nods slowly, “We weren’t expectin’ you to run off as apology. You’re young, you make mistakes.”

Marcille elbows your party’s half-foot.

Chilchuck sighs, shaking his hands out at his sides in the way your father used to, “I’m sorry. For calling you useless. I get why you lied, I probably would’ve done the same thing in your position to keep the party from freaking out. But, please,” his usually (deceptively) friendly and pleasant face has morphed into one of weary, a grown man concerned for a child, “Never say anything like that again. We don’t want you dead, let alone to eat your body. You have to plan to stay alive with everyone else, otherwise what’s the point of even joining the party?”

“Right. Sorry,” you blurt, increasingly ashamed of your suggestion earlier.

Their rejection stems not from disgust, then, but love.

They don’t want to eat you because to them you shouldn’t even die.

What a strange conclusion to now be forced to draw. You’re not sure how to swallow it, every time you try it rushes back up. Your friends’ concerned faces give you the determination to keep trying, though.

Laios barrels through the doorway -- redressed in his armor with the remaining bags slung over his shoulders, grinning broadly, “Looks like we can start walking again.”

Much to everyone’s chagrin, the trek towards the next floor begins on an empty stomach. When you reach up for the packs you usually carry, Laios jerks them from your grasp, you whine quietly, “Hey, that’s my job!”

“I know,” he shrugs the bags around his broad frame to fit them more comfortably, “but you haven’t eaten longer than me, and you didn’t sleep very well last night. So let me.”

His strides quicken until he’s by Senshi, you watch him point towards you and Senshi hums thoughtfully.

Your stomach rolls with hunger, and the sting makes you reach out for Laios. You slip your arms around one of his and cradle his elbow into your gut, reducing the ache with a different digging sensation. Laios leans towards you to make the work easier, all while continuing his conversation with Senshi about what the most delicious dungeon meal they could make you would be.

~~~

i like relationships where they dont understand each other but want to try anyway :3

i also love writing readers that are insane and fundamentally insufferable, but still loved

[callsigns-haze]

The Chase

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: Y/N and Tyler's storm-chasing adventure takes an intimate turn as Y/N teases and overstimulates him during a high-stakes tornado chase, creating an intense moment of passion and connection amidst the chaos.

Chapter Warnings: Explicit sexual content, including oral sex and overstimulation, during a dangerous storm chase.

WC: 1.5k

The night sky was an inky black canvas, streaked with flashes of lightning as the storm raged in the distance. The air crackled with anticipation and electricity, and the thrill of the chase was palpable. Tyler gripped the steering wheel tightly, his eyes focused on the road ahead as he drove through the winding backroads, chasing the storm.

Y/N sat beside him, the adrenaline coursing through her veins matching his own. She had always been a part of his storm-chasing adventures, but tonight felt different. There was a charged energy between them, an unspoken understanding that they were in this together, no matter the risks.

Tyler glanced at her, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth despite the seriousness of their mission. "You ready for this?"

Y/N nodded, her excitement mirroring his own. "Always."

As they drove deeper into the heart of the storm, the wind howled around them, and the rain lashed against the windshield. The roar of the approaching tornado was a distant, ominous sound, growing louder with each passing moment. Tyler's concentration was unwavering, his eyes flicking between the road and the radar on the dashboard.

Y/N watched him, her heart swelling with pride and love. He was in his element, a master of his craft, and she couldn't help but be mesmerized by his intensity. She reached over, her hand resting on his thigh, offering a silent gesture of support and affection.

Tyler's hand covered hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We're getting close," he said, his voice a mix of excitement and caution.

Y/N could see the funnel cloud in the distance, a dark, swirling mass of destruction. It was both terrifying and awe-inspiring, a reminder of the raw power of nature. She trusted Tyler implicitly, knowing that he would keep them safe even as they flirted with danger.

As the tension in the car mounted, an idea sparked in Y/N's mind. She wanted to remind Tyler of the connection they shared, to bring a moment of intimacy and grounding amidst the chaos. She leaned over, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "I want to make you feel good."

Tyler's breath hitched, his eyes widening in surprise. "Y/N, we're in the middle of a chase..."

"I know," she replied, her voice low and sultry. "But I need you to remember that I'm here with you. That I love you."

Before he could protest further, Y/N's hands moved to unbutton his jeans, her touch confident and deliberate. Tyler's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white as he tried to maintain his focus on the road. The storm raged around them, the tornado a looming presence, but Y/N was determined to create a moment of connection and passion.

She leaned down, her lips trailing kisses along his stomach, feeling the tension in his muscles. Tyler's breath came in ragged gasps, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The danger of the storm, the thrill of the chase, and the intoxicating sensation of Y/N's touch all melded together, creating a heady mix of excitement and desire.

Y/N started with gentle kisses, her lips barely grazing his skin, sending shivers down his spine. She took her time, enjoying the way his body reacted to her touch. Her fingers brushed against the waistband of his boxers, teasingly slipping inside before pulling back.

Tyler groaned, his eyes briefly fluttering shut before he forced them open again, his focus wavering between the road and the overwhelming pleasure. "Y/N, you're killing me," he managed to say, his voice strained.

She smiled against his skin, her breath warm as she whispered, "Patience, love."

With deliberate slowness, Y/N peeled back the fabric of his boxers, revealing him fully. She wrapped her hand around him, feeling the heat and hardness, and gave a slow, deliberate stroke. Tyler's hips lifted slightly, a soft curse escaping his lips as he fought to keep the car steady.

Y/N began to kiss her way down his length, her tongue darting out to taste him. She moved with a tantalizing rhythm, her mouth hot and wet against his skin. Tyler's breathing grew more ragged, each inhale and exhale a battle for control.

Tyler's hips bucked involuntarily, a low moan escaping his lips. "Y/N, I... I can't..."

Y/N took him into her mouth, inch by agonizing inch. She hollowed her cheeks, creating a delicious pressure as she moved up and down his length. Her tongue swirled around the tip, tasting the salty bead of pre-come that had formed there.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to speak. "You can't what? Hold on? Or do you want more?"

"More," he choked out, his eyes glazed with desire.

Y/N took him deeper, her head bobbing in a steady, relentless rhythm. She could feel the tension building in his body, the way his muscles tensed and his breath hitched with each movement. Her hand joined in, stroking the base of him in time with her mouth, creating a double sensation that drove him wild.

Tyler's control was slipping, his mind a haze of pleasure and need. The car swerved slightly, and his hand shot out to steady the wheel. "God, Y/N, you're gonna make me crash."

She pulled back for a moment, her eyes meeting his with a mischievous glint. "Then you better focus, Tyler. Because I'm not stopping."

With that, she took him even deeper, her movements more insistent and urgent. He could feel the storm closing in, the tornado's destructive power a stark contrast to the intimate moment they were sharing.

Y/N's tongue moved with expert precision, swirling and flicking, creating sensations that drove him to the edge. She knew just how to tease him, how to bring him to the brink and then pull back, leaving him wanting more. Her hand continued its relentless rhythm, each stroke a tantalizing promise of release.

Tyler's grip on the steering wheel tightened to the point of pain. He was teetering on the edge, the combined thrill of the chase and Y/N's touch pushing him to his limits. With a strangled cry, he finally let go, the release washing over him in waves of ecstasy.

Y/N didn't stop. She continued her ministrations, her mouth and hand working in tandem to prolong his pleasure. Tyler's body trembled, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to regain his composure. The overstimulation was almost too much, but Y/N's touch was too intoxicating to resist.

She pulled back slightly, her lips brushing against his sensitive skin. "Do you like that, Tyler?" she whispered, her voice dripping with seduction.

"Yes," he moaned, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to hold on to his sanity. "God, yes."

"Good," she replied, her tone teasing. "Because I'm not done with you yet."

With renewed intensity, Y/N took him back into her mouth, her movements slow and deliberate. She built the tension again, her tongue and lips working in perfect harmony to drive him wild. Tyler's mind was a whirlwind of sensations, the pleasure almost too intense to bear.

"Y/N, please," he begged, his voice hoarse with desperation.

"Please what?" she asked, pulling back just enough to speak. "What do you want, Tyler?"

"I... I can't..." he stammered, his body trembling with need.

"Can't what?" she teased, her hand moving in slow, torturous strokes. "Can't hold on? Or do you want more?"

"More," he choked out, his voice barely a whisper.

Y/N smiled, satisfied with his response. She took him even deeper, her mouth and hand working in perfect unison to bring him to the edge once more. Tyler's control was slipping, the pleasure too intense to resist. With a final, desperate cry, he let go, the release washing over him in waves of ecstasy.

Y/N didn't stop. She continued her ministrations, her mouth and hand working in tandem to prolong his pleasure. Tyler's body trembled, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to regain his composure. The overstimulation was almost too much, but Y/N's touch was too intoxicating to resist.

When she finally pulled back, Tyler was spent, his body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. Y/N wiped her mouth with a satisfied smile, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"How was that for a distraction?" she asked, her voice full of teasing.

Tyler laughed, the sound a mix of relief and lingering desire. "You're incredible," he said, his voice still hoarse.

Y/N leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I love you, Tyler. Never forget that."

Requests for Tyler are open be free to send in as much as you wish!

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

[alchemistc]

There's been something about the woobification of Buck that's been sitting on the tip of my tongue for weeks now, and I think I've finally figured it out.

This is, of course, mostly in reference to the moral outrage about a decade-ish (give or take) age gap between two adult men and the infantalization of one said grown man, so all the puritanism isn't really coming from a place of good faith anyway, but here's the thing that's been bugging me that I couldn't quite put a finger on until now.

Buck has people he goes to for certain things. He has, what are in his mind, experts in the field for most of the things he can't think through on his own, that he goes to for a sounding board.

He went to Hen to talk through the sperm donor dilemma for a few reasons that made sense to him. 1) She's a mom. She has very much had to deal with the reality of 'giving up' children she considered her own. Buck is aware that he would be giving up something that could mean something to him, and he wants to talk to someone who has some insight into that. 2) She's dealt with IVF. She knows the risks, she knows the trials and tribulations, she knows about this thing that he is thinking about agreeing to be a part of so she's going to have a fuller grasp on the enormity of everything this process entails.

And they drink about it. Hen gives him what she can and cautions him where she thinks she should and they continue to talk about it and regardless of what SHE thinks, he makes his mind up in part because he got to talk to his Expert.

Bobby is often his go to when he feels like he's losing his grip on things. He's seen Bobby staring down the bottom of the bottle. He's seen the work he's done to pull himself back into the world, and he's seen the way he fights for his family, his people. Buck leans on him in times of questioning himself because he knows Bobby has pulled himself off the ledge with bleeding hands and a bleeding heart.

He reaches out to Maddie about interpersonal shit constantly. We see it all the way back in S2 when he's starting to question what the hell he's still doing in Abby's apartment, and that never really changes. She's the one with advice for him when he's angry with his parents, upset with the firefam, worried about his friends, or just generally concerned with the way he's perceived by people or how he perceives the world. He goes to her when he's embarrassed, ashamed, because he knows she won't judge him for it. She'll call him out, for sure, but she's not going to look at him differently when she knows he's done something he considers bad behavior.

When he goes to her during the Tommy arc, he's there for one reason he'll admit, and another she has to ferret out. 1) He lied to his best friend and he doesn't know why. 2) Oh yeah he went on a date with a dude that's not strange WHY IS THAT STRANGE I'VE ALWAYS BEEN AN ALLY PLEASE DON'T PULL BACK THE CURTAIN - and Maddie is there with two things: 1) It's not weird but it IS new and something you clearly haven't worked through all the way which is why 2) you'll tell Eddie when you're ready

And Eddie is sort of his go-to to bounce ideas off of. Eddie is his Buck expert. Eddie is the guy who can sort through all the bullshit and who sees Buck for exactly who he is, every time, regardless of what Buck himself is thinking. Eddie is his best friend, and he knows the good the bad and the ugly better than anyone else. He is also, quite frankly, the one Buck seeks out to help him contextualize all of his romantic feelings for people. Eddie's the guy he talks to when he's interested in someone, when he's falling for someone, he's the guy through which Buck filters his love interests into the firefam. I do the same shit with my best friend. It's instinct to want the person you consider the expert on you to meet the person you are interested in, it's instinct to want them to like each other, to get along. Buck knows Eddie loves him (in whatever way you see that love, Buck knows Eddie loves him) and he wants this person who loves him to be at least an active listener as he talks himself through the minefield of relationships. I do also think that up until the events of season seven, Buck considers Eddie sort of an expert on that traditional love-marriage-kids-white-picket-fence relationship Buck thinks he's striving for - in a very naive way, because obviously the wasn't what Eddie and Shannon had and Buck knows that, but he's probably fed some of Eddie's rose colored reminiscences back into that notion.

When he comes out to Eddie he's got two worries. 1) I lied to you and I figured out why but I'm still a little worried you think it's weird and 2) I screwed it up with someone I really like and I don't know where to go from here.

And Eddie (Buck expert) reassures him that just because it's new and unexpected doesn't make it strange, that it doesn't change anything in their friendship. And then he gets right to the heart of it - if you like him you should reach out and tell him that. He doesn't know you like we do but if you give him the chance to, he'll love you as much as we do. If he doesn't give it the same shot you want to he's the idiot.

With all that context in mind, Buck isn't seeking out Tommy's attention because he wants an authority figure, or someone to take care of him, someone to guide him through sex or love or relationship dynamics or any of the other random shit I've seen ppl infantalizing Buck about.

What he's looking for, and what he ultimately tells Tommy he'd like to pursue, is a partnership. Someone to walk (or more likely for Buck, speedrun) through experiences together. The Athena to his Bobby, the Chim to his Maddie, the Karen to his Hen.

So every time I see someone infantalizing Buck for seeking out a relationship with an older man for X or Y reason, I'm just like - no. He has Bobby, Hen, Maddie, Eddie, Chim etc for that. He doesn't want or need Tommy for that. He is a grown ass man who has built these strong relationships with his peers and his mentors and he is so fucking aware of that because he reaches for their help any time he feels the urge for a helping hand.

So yeah, Tommy's older. Yes, Tommy has more experience with his sexuality than Buck. And that - that's really it. Buck's been in the same career for more than half a decade. He's lived on his own since he was no older than 19/20. He's had serious relationships, he has a rich and fulfilling life. There is no power imbalance in the relationship between Buck and Tommy.

And while the age gap may be a bit of a draw for Buck, it's not WHY he's attracted to Tommy. We know because he's told Maddie. He's cool. He's interesting. He's confident. He has a cleft.

Buck isn't going into this waiting for someone older and more experienced to take the fucking reins. He felt like he clicked with Tommy, like there was an immediate connection, and yes, Tommy had to kiss him about it for Buck to actually figure out what it was he was experiencing, but from that point on it was all on Buck (and the people he leans on for advice) to help him sort through.

Tommy didn't do shit other than pump the brakes and try to give Buck the space he thought he needed to decide what he was ready for. Buck (again, with the help of his experts - Maddie for the emotional piece of it, Eddie for the Buck of it all) did the work on his own. Tommy didn't swoop in and overbearingly hold his hand through a sexual awakening. He kissed him, asked him out, realized he wasn't ready, stepped back and then checked in multiple times when Buck came back at it going 120 miles an hour.

And then he did everything he could to prove to Buck he wanted the same thing - a partner, someone to talk to, and lean on, and flirt with and rely on to show up whenever they could feasibly manage it (and sometimes when it's a little unfeasible too).

The narrative even acknowledges that Buck had no reason to go to Bobby in this scenario, when he often would, and lays out exactly why.

Within the canon of this particular arc, we're meant to see this as Buck realizing he has the experience necessary to think these things through on his own. This is Buck finally taking control of something that's always felt like it fell into his lap a bit. This is Buck doing more than treading water until his legs give out.

And minimizing that growth bc you personally don't like the LI he's pursuing is gross at best. At worst it's something much more insidious.

[syoddeye]

something something possessed by a worm. you're soap's captive girlfriend who got the call that he was shot. i wrote this between the hours of 2-3 am, so let's be chill. ~1.3k words.

cw: italics, imprisonment/abduction, surveillance, medical inaccuracies we breeze right over, threats of violence, collaring, stalking, noncon blowjob.

on paper, it looks bad. it looks cruel. yet, you can’t bring yourself to care—johnny’s injury is a blessing.

it feels like you won the lottery, picking up the emergency phone. inbound calls only. you were so sure it was him, warning you of his imminent return.

playing the part of a devastated partner is easy. the englishman on the other end of the call sympathizes with your crocodile tears and helpfully tells you that someone will fetch you tomorrow morning. that you'll be brought, at no expense, to sit vigil at your boyfriend's side at the hospital. you hear the word ‘coma’, and launch out of bed. you only half listen to the rest of the conversation, hurriedly packing a bag as he drones. you can't end the call fast enough.

dismantling the flat comes first. you smash the cameras and flush the bugs. pry the tracker tag off your collar and bloody your fingers in the process. later, you’ll stick it on a bus.

you scour every nook and cranny, eventually finding the steel box you've seen john fiddling with. after trial and error, you pick the lock, and it’s a relief to see your id and passport again. it’s like a time capsule. past you offers a genuine, albeit shy smile, and you mutter an apology as you tuck her into a pocket. the last of the snacks he’d left go in with your clothes, as well as the few expensive-looking heirlooms he keeps around the flat. 

someone might call about the wide-eyed, crazed woman jumping off the balcony into the bushes. it’s a risk you take. the nearest pawnbroker, if you remember correctly, is only a ten-minute walk away. the cash you end up with isn’t much, but it's the first chunk of money that's yours in ages.

you hold your breath from glasgow to amsterdam and, by sheer luck, find your godmother’s place by memory alone. she’s surprised to find you on her doorstep, but she buys your story of an au pair job gone sour and lets you stay. truth and reality are too humiliating and too risky so long as you’re on european soil. you lay low, but nobody turns up. no one comes looking.

out of an abundance of caution, you cut and dye your hair anyway. you look up every variation of ‘john mactavish’ and scour obituaries and news articles. you don’t find a thing, but you know he’s special forces—they wouldn’t necessarily publish an announcement.

weeks pass. she doesn’t say a word, but guilt gnaws at you for living off your godmother’s kindness. after dodging their calls, you reach out to your parents and beg them to buy you a plane ticket home to chicago. although they welcome you stateside, they’re distressed and confused about your sudden departure and separation from ‘that nice scottish boy’ they’d met over facetime. they didn’t know about the knife just out of frame or the disturbing sketches he’d draw of your mother from memory. you lie through your teeth and blame his hectic work schedule because it’s easier to say that than admit your little journey of ‘self-discovery’ didn’t lead you into a ‘whirlwind romance’, but a fucking nightmare.

(it started as a dreamy evening of darts and drinks, where a cute soldier made you laugh all the way into his bed. a mirage that hid his true intentions. grand overtures designed to dazzle you until it was too late. until he got you fired and evicted. somehow arranged for your visa to be revoked. orchestrated your demoralization and subsequent breakdown. ushered you into his flat with open arms, cooing and rubbing your back as you hiccuped and sobbed. those days are a blur, a series of escalations. a slow boil you didn’t feel until it scalded, until he locked the collar around your neck. even then, you felt like a failure. that it was all your fault for believing the lies. he laid you out beneath him, whispering the things he’d do to your family if you ran. how the powers at be would let him, given his work. a slap on the wrist. that’s all i’d get, hen.)

months turn into a year. you still look up johnny's name on occasion. still stare when you see a mohawk. yet, little by little, you feel like yourself again. rejoin society. get a shit job. you refuse to touch the dating pool with a ten-foot pole, but you don't feel naked wearing short sleeves anymore. don't flinch at the sound of dog tags clinking together.

you pick up a night shift, determined to save extra money so you can find your own apartment and stop leeching off your parents. everything's fine and dandy. slightly creepy, given the hour, but nothing you can't handle. (after johnny, you handle anything.) you close, intending to take out the trash as you lock up. the alley smells like piss and beer.

tossing the bag into the dumpster, you freeze at the silhouette at the mouth of the passage. they face away, cigarette smoke wafting from their person. they probably don't see you, but just to be safe, you turn to head in the other direction to take the long way to the L—

at least, you would, if johnny wasn't looming over you, night terrors manifest. big, broad shoulders and a puffed-out chest. a grin as wide and sharp as you remember. and those bright blue eyes, the light in them flattening in real time as he drinks in your expression. he relishes the way your face drops. the instant terror. a horrific scar catches your eye, flaring in every direction on his temple like a furious sun.

did ye think i'd forgotten ye, bonnie? or hope the gunshot erased ye? did ye believe me dead?

when you start to cry, because why wouldn't you, he—

no, no. hush. this is a good thing. a happy day. we're reunited, and i'm meetin' my girl's parents. cap's gone ahead to break the ice.

and when you scream, because why wouldn't you, he clamps a hand over your mouth and pins you to the dumpster. doesn't care a whit when your head bounces off the metal. the light returns to his eyes as you squirm. his brows pitch, lips curling. he brandishes a knife and stammers through his reprimand, scolding you for all your struggling.

i see ye forgot the rules and your manners. forgot what'll happen if ye dinnae–din–fuckin' play nice.

johnny forces you into a car, muttering reminders of what happens when you run. assures you, even as he loads you bodily into the backseat, sandwiching you between him and some massive freak in a mask, that he is forgiving. when the car rejoins traffic, johnny works his fly open. it takes a minute, his hands a bit unsteady.

a near-death experience clarifies things. puts what's important into focus. john says he saw his future clear as crystal, then shoves your head down without warning. he barks at the man on your other side, and a hand comes to rest on your flank, causing you to whimper around his cock. he moans sinfully at that before violently fucking your throat.

by the time he comes, you're spent. the fight gone out of you. the mitt on your side migrates to your inner thigh, but you can't begin to care. you’re resigned to drooling on john's lap. you pray for a car crash.

johnny explains how, given his connections, it took only two months to find you. they let him do that because of his work, but he decided to wait and bide his time. he details all the therapy, rehab, and everything he did to get into shape, to get his head on straight, and to get to you himself. plus, there was the matter of tracking down his second quarry. naughty, how you pawned it for less than half its value.

his grandmother's ring fits you perfectly. fate, he calls it.

but you know another collar when you see one.

[starry-kaleidoscope-sys]

flirted with this hot person in one of our friends systems. help. yall how do i ask them to be my husbandwifepartner /j

[fushitoru]

私はスター ! masterlist

note: works indicated with a star (★) contain/will contain explicit smut. proceed with caution, heed all warnings, and remember⸻don't like it? don't read it!

series.

the season of thorned roses ⸻ gojo x reader ★

dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

one-shots.

gojo satoru.

rainy days and brownies ⸻ gojo x reader ★

you wake up for some soft moments with your boyfriend that involves brownies (turned freaky) (2.2k)

seperation anxiety! ⸻ gojo x reader ★

clan head satoru begs you to attend a meeting with the higher-ups, but not for the reasons you thought.

the importance of skincare ⸻ gojo x reader ★

worried about your boyfriend's skin health, you're set out on a mission to teach him about skincare, sitting him down and rubbing products over his face while seated on his lap. only, he convinces you that he has something to teach as well about facials. just not the kind you expected (1.4k)

trouble ⸻ gojo x reader ★

an unexpected tutoring session with your bully satoru gojo leads to somewhere...unexpected (4.2k)

we're cool for the summer! ⸻ gojo x reader ★

on your way to meet your girlfriends on your summer vacay, you encounter an unforeseen obstacle: parallel parking. It’s good you have a hot beach boy ready to help you park! maybe you’ll give him a kiss or a bj or two to thank him for his effort… (1.4k)

sukuna ryomen.

so i know who i'm looking at! ⸻ sukuna x reader ★

on halloween night, you get a strange phone call from a man with a distorted voice right as you're chilling while babysitting yuuji. you get an ultimatum: perform for him, or risk your and yuuji's lives (3.1k). part of kinktober 2024!

toji fushiguro.

finish her! ⸻ toji x reader ★

you will have to face one of the most formidable wrestlers in history in your next match: toji fushiguro. but don't be confused, this isn't normal wrestling⸺no, it's nude wrestling. and winner gets the spoils of the other's body! (extended ver of my toji drabble here) (3.8k). part of kinktober 2024!

multiple (seperate)

i can't stop looking at his d—d—d—d—FACE! ⸻ multiple (SEPERATE) x reader ★

jjk men as overused p0rn/h3ntai plots! (4.1k)

back to the kitty, cause she's kinda pretty! ⸻ multiple (SEPERATE) x reader ★

jjk men as overused p0rn/h3ntai plots! (pt 2) (3.5k). part of kinktober 2024!

[idkyetxoxo]

Aegon Targaryen - Treachery Among Dragons

Summary - In a dramatic clash of dragons and family loyalties, Aegon and his wife face betrayal from within. In the fiery chaos, hidden confessions, devastating secrets and cruel rivalries come to light, culminating in a heart-wrenching plea that could alter the course of their family's future.

Pairing - Aegon Targaryen x Targaryen reader

Warnings - Violence (injury?)

Word count - 2301

Masterlist for Aegon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

As Aegon fastened his armor, the determination on his face was evident, but I noticed the slight tremor in his hands, a small, telling sign of the fear he tried so desperately to conceal. 

My heart ached, knowing that beneath the armor, he was still the man I loved, burdened by the weight of a crown he had never truly desired.

"Aegon, do not take Sunfyre," I implored, reaching out to touch his arm gently. He dismissed me with a wave of his hand, his focus solely on the task before him.

"I need to show these people that I am just as important," he declared, frustration lacing his voice as he headed toward the dragonpit, where the weight of expectations loomed large.

"You are important, Aegon. You are the king," I pleaded, my voice catching with emotion. 

I tried to reach him, to make him see reason amidst the storm of ambition and pride that swirled around us. He paused, exhaling heavily, and turned to face me, his eyes a turbulent mix of frustration and affection.

"You, my dear wife, are the only one who believes in me," he said softly, though there was a bitter edge to his voice, as if he was unsure whether to trust even that. 

His hands trembled slightly as he cupped my face, and I knew that beneath his bravado, he feared the truth of his own inadequacy.

"Then let me accompany you," I insisted, stepping closer. I could feel the weight of his resolve, the struggle within him as he balanced the demands of leadership with his doubts and fears.

"No," he replied firmly, leaving no room for argument. His gaze held mine, a deep concern for my safety evident in his eyes.

Refusing to relent, I grabbed his arm, my grip firm and unwavering. "Let me come with you, or I will follow after you have left," I warned, my voice steady despite the fear churning in my stomach.

He sighed deeply, exasperation clear as he weighed my words. "Very well," he finally conceded, a reluctant acceptance of my insistence.

Urgency surged through me as I tugged on his arm, leading him toward our chambers. I couldn't risk him slipping away, leaving me behind to face the storm alone.

"I need assistance with my armor," I said, my voice steady but laced with the fear that if I didn't keep him close, he might leave without me. He groaned but didn't resist, following my lead.

"Do not think I will allow you to distract me," he cautioned, half-serious, half-teasing. Despite the gravity of the situation, I couldn't help but laugh softly, the sound tinged with nerves and affection.

"I wouldn't dare, my king," I teased gently, letting the laces of my dress slip through my fingers, the garment pooling at my feet in the corridor.

"Seven hells," he gasped, glancing around quickly to ensure we were alone before ushering me into our chambers. 

His concern for my privacy was endearing, a reminder of the intimacy we shared amidst the grandeur and chaos of our royal duties.

As promised, I did not seduce Aegon. Instead, I swiftly donned my armor. Each piece clicked into place, transforming me from a wife into a warrior. 

Aegon moved beside me, his armor gleaming in the dim light, and together we made our way to the dragonpit, the air thick with anticipation.

"Gevie," I greeted Silverwing as she approached, her silvery scales shimmering in the light. She responded with a gentle nuzzle, her warm breath a comfort against my cheek. Beautiful

I smiled warmly, feeling an overwhelming surge of pride and love as I watched Sunfyre affectionately nuzzle Aegon.

"To battle, then," I declared, mounting Silverwing with ease. Her powerful muscles tensed beneath me, coiling like a spring ready to unleash her strength. 

As we took to the skies, the world below shrank away, and the wind whipped past us like a roaring river. Our dragons' wings beat in rhythmic harmony, filling me with confidence. 

I glanced over at Aegon, who sat tall on Sunfyre, his expression a mix of fierce determination and underlying concern.

The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke and blood as we soared forward. Below us, the ground was a patchwork of scorched earth and trampled bodies, the cries of the dying rising like a mournful dirge. 

The metallic taste of fear lingered on my tongue, mingling with the salty tang of sweat.

Arriving at Rook's Rest, Criston's army spread out below us, their formations scattering like startled ants at the sight of our dragons. 

The battlefield stretched before us, a chaotic tableau of swirling dust, fluttering banners, and the pungent scent of fear thick in the air. 

Rhaenys arrived with Meleys, her crimson dragon, and the three dragons, Meleys, Silverwing, and Sunfyre plunged into a fierce battle. Silverwing and Sunfyre's combined strength initially tilted the conflict in our favor, our dragons dancing through the skies with lethal grace, raining fire down on the enemy.

The dragons roared in unison, their attacks meticulously coordinated, each swipe of their claws and burst of fire adding to the chaos and destruction. 

The situation abruptly changed. From the distant horizon emerged Vhagar, a colossal shadow eclipsing the sun as she thundered into the fray. Aemond rode atop her, his visage a mask of relentless determination.

The sky darkened as Vhagar unleashed a torrent of blistering fire aimed directly at Sunfyre. 

Caught off guard, the golden dragon shrieked in agony as the flames engulfed him, his once-majestic wings now crumbling under the searing heat. Sunfyre began a devastating descent toward the earth, Aegon desperately clinging to his back.

The sight of Sunfyre's fall ignited a primal surge of rage within me. My eyes locked on Aemond, who had caused this devastation. 

"You treacherous bastard!" I shouted, my voice carrying across the battlefield, fueled by fear and fury for my husband's safety.

"Lykirī," I shouted as Silverwing quivered under the onslaught of Vhagar's assault. Calm.

"Sōvēs, Silverwing. Dohaerās," I continued, attempting to soothe her. Fly, Silverwing. Serve,

My attention quickly turned back to Aegon and Sunfyre as I saw them plummeting toward the ground. Abandoning thoughts of Aemond and Rhaenys, I directed Silverwing toward their crash site.

"Naejot! Paerī, paerī." I directed as Silverwing landed amidst the flames, the heat intense and suffocating. Forward! Slow, slow.

Sunfyre lay writhing in pain, his once-golden scales now charred and blackened. His agonized cries pierced the chaos around us, a heartbreaking lament for his own suffering and the loss of his strength.

Sunfyre, once a symbol of Aegon's pride, now mirrored the shattered confidence of the man who had ridden him. Silverwing's steady presence at my side was a reminder of the strength I had to summon, even as the world crumbled around us.

My heart hammered in my chest as I spotted Aegon's battered form beside him. Despite his injuries, he was alive. Relief surged through me, mingling with a potent cocktail of fear and despair. 

Sunfyre had shielded him from the worst of the fall, his tail sacrificing itself to cushion his impact, a testament to the bond between dragon and rider that transcended mere loyalty.

"Aegon!" I cried out, my voice raw with emotion as I dropped to my knees beside him. His eyelids fluttered, a faint glimmer of recognition in his pain-filled eyes. 

Gently, I cradled his head in my lap, my trembling fingers brushing away blood-matted hair from his face. Tears streamed down my cheeks unchecked.

"You're alive," I whispered, the words a prayer of gratitude to whatever gods might be listening.

"Are you alright?" Aegon managed to ask, his voice strained and weak. Despite his own precarious state, he was concerned for me.

"I'm alright," I replied, my voice catching as I tried to reassure him. My fingers traced the contours of his face, committing every detail to memory in case this was our last moment together.

As I cradled Aegon's head, memories of our early days together flooded my mind—the way he would pull me close in the dead of night, seeking comfort in my presence, the rare moments when he allowed his guard to fall. 

Now, as I stared into his pain-filled eyes, I wondered if this would be the last time I'd see the man I loved, the man who had always feared he would be remembered not for his triumphs, but for his failures.

A weary smile tugged at his lips, offering me a semblance of comfort amidst the chaos.

The sound of approaching footsteps shattered the tense silence that enveloped us. My heart raced, each beat hammering in my chest like a war drum. 

I turned, my eyes locking with Aemond, and the rush of adrenaline that fueled my fear morphed into a tempest of anger and betrayal. He stood before me, his presence igniting a fire within me, a volatile mix of fury, fear, and frustration.

"How could you let this happen?" I screamed, my voice raw with accusation, fists striking out at him with each word. "He's your brother!"

"You traitorous bastard! You did this!" I lashed out, every syllable laced with venom. 

Aemond didn't flinch, his expression unreadable as he seized my arms, his grip firm and pushing me away. His calm demeanor in the face of my rage only fueled the inferno burning within me.

"Why?" I demanded, my voice cracking with desperation as I staggered back, watching him unsheathe his sword. My eyes widened in terror, silently pleading with him to stop, to explain himself.

"Aemond, why?" I implored, reaching out instinctively to touch his arm, hoping to anchor him in the reality of the moment. "Please, tell me."

He met my gaze, a storm of confusion and conflict swirling in his eye. "Because I love you," Aemond confessed softly, his voice weighed down by years of unspoken longing and regret.

I sighed deeply, shaking my head in disbelief and sorrow. "Aemond, you do not love me," I countered firmly, steadying my voice despite the turmoil raging inside me.

He froze, his gaze locked on mine, the gravity of my words hanging heavily between us.

"You don't understand," he insisted, his tone pleading. "I've loved you for years, watching from the shadows as you and Aegon grew closer. Aegon has everything, your love, the throne but he doesn't deserve it. He never has, and he never will."

I recoiled from his words, struggling to reconcile this bitter confession with the man I thought I knew, dutiful, loyal, always lingering on the edges of our lives. 

"This isn't how you express love, Aemond," I said softly, my voice tinged with sorrow.

He took a step closer, his hand trembling as he reached out toward me. 

"I know I've made mistakes," he continued, his voice breaking with emotion. "But I can't stand by and watch him waste what he has, what I've always wanted."

My heart ached for him, for the years of unrequited love and the tangled web of emotions that had led us to this moment. "Aemond, I..." I began, unsure of how to navigate the dangerous waters of his revelation.

"Let me do us both a favor," he interrupted suddenly, raising his sword with a grim resolve. 

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I shook my head in denial, the enormity of the situation crashing down upon me.

Before I could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps shattered the fragile moment.

Aemond's gaze flickered to the newcomer, and for a brief, fleeting instant, uncertainty clouded his features.

Criston's eyes widened in shock as he took in the scene—the wounded Aegon lying on the ground, Aemond standing over him with a raised sword, and me, tearful and caught in the maelstrom of their conflict.

Aemond hesitated, his resolve faltering as he lowered his weapon and took a step back.

"Aemond?" Criston's voice cut through the tension, laced with concern and confusion, but Aemond remained silent, his gaze averted, unable to face the consequences of his actions.

"Help me," I pleaded, my voice trembling as Criston turned to me, urgency and determination in his eyes.

Aemond looked between Criston and me, and then, with a sudden, decisive movement, he turned away, his choice made.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

"Will he live?" Alicent's voice sliced through the tension, sharp and desperate.

Her question sent another wave of emotions crashing over me. I glanced at her, her face etched with worry and fear, then back at Aegon. He lay so fragile, wrapped in bandages and the remnants of his pain, his breath shallow and uneven.

Staring at the love of my life in such a vulnerable state, I felt a surge of helplessness. Memories of happier times flooded my mind, and the thought of losing him now was unbearable.

Aegon slowly stirred, his eyelids fluttering open as he began to take in his surroundings. The muted sounds of the room, whispers of the maesters, the soft rustle of movement filled his senses, but he remained silent, his gaze unfocused.

I knelt beside him, holding my breath, searching his eyes for any sign of recognition.

For a moment, he stared at the ceiling, as if trying to piece together his scattered thoughts. The weight of silence hung heavy in the air, and I could feel the tension tightening around us.

I reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from his forehead, hoping for some connection, some acknowledgment that he was truly with me.

Aegon's gaze shifted to the side, his expression unreadable. I opened my mouth to speak, to ask how he felt, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I sat there, waiting, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and hope.

Minutes passed, each one stretching painfully long. Alicent stood beside me, her hand gripping the edge of the bed, her knuckles white.

Finally, just as I feared he might never break the silence, Aegon turned his head slightly toward me. His voice, hoarse and strained, broke through the stillness with a single, unexpected command.

"Find me Aemond Targaryen."

A/n - Another favourite of mine!

[reiderwriter]

The One Thing You Can't Have

Pairing: Spencer Reid × Female Reader (DBF! Spencer × Hotchner! Reader)

Summary: After five years away, you move back to your hometown. Reconnecting with many of your father's friends and coworkers, you start to get suspicious when you lose multiple pairs of panties. Or; Spencer risks it all by stealing Hotch's adult daughter's underwear. And maybe her heart, too.

Warnings: Day 15 of Kinktober - panties, mentions canon character death, age difference (ten years), panties, underwear kink, underwear stealing, masturbation, sexual fantasies discussed, PinV Sex, clitoral stimulation, partial creampie, mentions of emergency contraception

A/N: It is done! I shit you not the writing time on this is longer than most of the fics I've ever written, it took me so long that I don't have any other fics prewritten for Kinktober now and have to spend the day hastily writing them... But it was worth it. As always, you can find all my work in my masterlist and all my kinktober fics here. My requests are open until the end of the month, so if there's a specific fic you want, don't hesitate to let me know!

With your family the way it was, you'd dealt with a lot over the years. Aaron Hotchner loved his wife and kids, but that hadn't been enough to protect you from George Foyet. When your mom and kid brother had gone into protective custody, you'd been away at college, and apart from a protective detail, they'd not seen fit to move you anywhere special at all. Foyet was so caught up on your mom that he'd forgotten you existed.

When you got the call from your dad that Foyet was resurfacing, you'd known in your gut that you had to go back. You'd ditched your handlers and driven through the night but when you arrived at the house you'd grown up in, all you could see was police lights and caution tape.

You'd run as fast as you could into the house, but a pair of strong arms grabbed you and lifted you away as you screamed and sobbed. Derek Morgan held you firm as he tried to calm you, but you barely registered his words.

"My mom is in there, my dad too, and Jack, let me fucking go, Derek." You'd only stopped raging when they'd bought out the first body bag. And then the second.

The anguish that filled your lungs stole your breath and you didn't know it was you screaming until your throat was red and completely sore. Another set of hands led you away and into an ambulance, skillfully anticipating your needs.

"Y/N, look at me. Look at my eyes, we're going to breathe together, okay?" Staring up into his dark eyes you suddenly remembered that you needed the air to breathe, his calm voice bringing you back to life.

He was wearing an FBI vest but you'd never seen him before. Not a surprise since you'd avoided everything to do with your father's job for the last five years. You only really knew Derek from when he'd been sent to deliver the news to you about Foyet's initial targeting of you.

The Man in front of you was young, but still older than you. He was tall, but he'd shrunk himself down into the space, leaning over you so that he was the only thing you could see. He looked tired, but he was the only thing for miles around keeping you grounded and you clung to him in desperation.

"My Name is Doctor Spencer Reid, I work with your dad. You're Y/N, right?" His voice was soft and even, like he was taming a temperamental animal. Even though you knew what he was doing, trying to calm you so he could deliver a devastating blow, you let him do it, drinking in each word as total calm swept over you. You nodded at him and waited for him to continue.

"Your brother is fine, he's at your aunt's house, he didn't touch him. Your dad is in the hospital and they think he's going to pull through, but he was stabbed a few times so he's going to be weak for a while." You searched his eyes for the words he wasn't saying as panic rose in your body.

"My mom, where is my mom? Haley Hotchner, she's… She should have been with Jack, where is she?" The look in his eyes was enough to tell you what in your heart you already knew. Your mom was in that bag and your family was broken, again.

You don't know what happened next, but you knew you were bundled up in Spencer Reid's arms and clinging to him for dear life. You knew he'd somehow got you to your aunt's house, and you knew he'd stayed until you were ready to let him go. Even years later you don't know how long he'd held you. Maybe only minutes, maybe hours. He had let you sit and grieve, finding small comfort in the contours of his body.

After that, college wasn't a priority for you. Your brother was only a baby, and he needed you around, so even the three-hour drive upstate seemed too far to be away from him. You stuck around, taking your courses as remotely as they'd let you for the semester and struggling for it.

Your dad felt guilty, of course. For your mom, for the derailing of your life, and for the way he had to keep leaving because that was the job. In all honesty, you didn't mind being home more at that time.

There was Jack, who was great, and your Aunt was so much like your mom that sometimes it was like she was still with you, even a little bit. And there was Spencer, too.

After it had become evident that you were going to fail the only required course you were taking that semester (algebra was your enemy), your dad had sought out the only person he knew with a good grasp of mathematics and no weekend plans and roped them into tutoring you. Which meant that your weekends were suddenly fully booked by him.

He seemed a little different from the first time you’d met him, but that was a given considering the circumstances. He held himself a little taller, and more relaxed as he talked about the kinds of equations you were supposed to use and formulas you were supposed to memorize. He was attentive but not too close, and he’d shown up with shorter hair and now that you could see more of his face, more of his neck, you found yourself getting distracted by the oddest things. The stubborn but small stubble on his neck, the way sweat trailed down his face, the movement of his Adam’s Apple as he swallowed, the way the breeze from your open window tousled his hair.

It took you a distractingly long time to realize that you were physically attracted to him, but when you did realize, it was suddenly all you could think about. You spent most of your days working on math so you’d have some excuse to call or text him. The mornings before your lessons together you’d taken to hogging the bathroom long enough to shave, wash and dry your hair and apply a natural but still skilled amount of make-up. You were surprised that neither of the big bad profilers had caught onto the stench of your puppy love, because you were dripping with desperation.

He never budged of course, too oblivious or too noble to lay a hand on an eighteen-year-old. Or just smart enough to know not to lay a hand on his boss's daughter.

You certainly weren’t making it easy for him though.

“Spencer, what do you think of my outfit today? I’m going out with some friends from high school tonight for a meal, do I look okay?” You’d twirled for him innocently, knowing full well the speed of your spin would throw your already short skirt up past your panties for a split second.

“I don’t think I’m the best person to ask about clothes, Y/N. Maybe ask your dad.” His flush was evident enough that you knew it had worked but his hands were rigid by his sides and he carefully guided you back to the topic at hand.

It turned out that after a semester of tutoring, you’d become such a whizz at mathematics that you’d passed with flying colors. You’d been so excited to tell Spencer that you drove straight to Quantico, using the family pass your father had given you for emergencies to gain access. Spencer didn’t know what hit him when you launched yourself into his arms and wrapped your legs around him, but he’d somehow stayed upright as you buried your face once again in his neck.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, Spencer! I got an A, the Professor was so shocked by my improvement that he asked me if I’d cheated. When I dropped your name, he freaked.” Spencer’s eyes were wide and blinking frantically as his hands struggled to find a place to hold you. You’d worn another scandalously low skirt and it seemed the only way to pry you off of him was to put a hand on or dangerously close to your ass.

You enjoyed watching his internal struggle, and so did quite the number of FBI agents, until your father spoiled the fun by walking out of his office to check the commotion.

“Y/N Hotchner, get down from there, now.” Your father rarely raised his voice at you, choosing a softer approach to parenting than many would expect. That meant that on the rare occasion that he did feel the need to speak up, you shut your mouth and listened. Detangling yourself from Spencer’s arms with an awkward smile, you tried your best to nonchalantly bounce over to your father and explain why you were there.

He motioned for you to follow him to his office, and you complied, letting one ear stay clear to focus on the sound of Reid being teased by all of his coworkers about the scene you’d just caused.

Your dad didn’t exactly scold you for the incident, so much as he tried to insinuate that you should head back home, and then head back to college, too. With months between you and the Foyet incident, he’d been hinting at letting you get back to your life for a while, but your stunt with Reid had him suddenly addressing it more overtly.

To say that your family dinner that night was a pain in the ass was an understatement.

“Y/N, Daddy said you went to his work today!” Jack had started the conversation, and you knew the tactical warfare was beginning.

“That’s right, buddy! I had to thank Spencer for helping me with my schoolwork.” You smiled at your brother before turning a suspicious glance toward your dad, who sat peacefully eating his dinner. The fact that you were even all eating together should’ve alerted you to something going on behind the scenes.

“Uncle Spencer is the best!” It wasn’t Jack’s fault he’d just given your father the best ammunition he could’ve asked for.

“Do you agree, Y/N? Do you think your Uncle Spencer is the best?” He was using his calm interrogation voice and you hated it.

“Dad, please, he’s not that much older than me, it’s weird for me to call him Uncle.”

“He’s ten years your senior, Y/N. You know that right?” You didn’t move as your eyes locked together with his, as he seemingly asked a more serious question in the subtext. You weren’t ready to answer it though, and so you buckled under the pressure, looking away first and eating the rest of your meal in silence.

Without saying much of a goodbye to any member of your father’s teammates, you decided that it was about time you continued with your life, not letting the actions of George Foyet hold you in a standstill any longer. You went back to college full-time, got your degree, and got a job in a city near your college town. You came back home regularly, but in the five years since your mother's death, you hadn’t talked to or heard from Spencer Reid.

Job opportunities were better in D.C. though, so after growing up and having some time away, you came right back to your childhood home, ready to start over. It was only temporary, of course, and you had a job lined up, but apartments were so hard to come by, especially ones that were actually livable, that you needed to do a lot of searching to find one that felt right.

So your dad’s home it was. With Jack a bit older and constantly away at school or clubs or friend’s houses, and your dad’s schedule the way it was, you’d practically got the house to yourself. And after living alone and with female roommates for half a decade, you’d almost grown too comfortable in your own skin. The summer between your move and the start of your new job was hot and sticky, and you found yourself taking more and more cold showers after your morning workouts.

Normally at 11 a.m., you had the house to yourself, and you’d happily stroll around in a small towel and dry yourself off. If your father or brother were home, you’d cover yourself up a bit more, sure, or just head to your room quicker, obviously.

So emerging from your shower, the last thing you expected was coming face to face with Doctor Spencer Reid sitting on your couch, the one that was directly on your path between the bathroom you’d just emerged from and the room you needed to be in. You cursed your father and his practically-sized apartment as you floundered your way through a greeting of the man you hadn’t seen in five years.

“Spencer, hi. What... What are you doing on my dad’s couch?” You clutched the towel close to your body, trying not to shiver as he trailed his eyes over your body, eyes just as big and wide as the last time you’d seen him.

“We were on our way to a local crime scene, he went to grab something from…” His voice trailed off as he pointed towards the master suite where you could now faintly hear the sound of your dad on the phone to someone.

“Right. Great. I should probably…” You gestured to the room and quickly started making your way toward it, trying not to visibly cringe at the most awkward post-shower interaction you’d ever had.

“What are you doing here?” His voice shot out quickly, and you whipped around so fast, that you almost panicked and dropped the towel completely.

“Oh, I… Did my dad not mention? I got a job at a company nearby, so I moved back. I’m staying here with Dad and Jack until I can find a decent apartment.”

“Oh, wow. Well, it’s nice to have you back. It’s been like five years since you left, right?” His tone was bright and he was nodding his head, but the words set fire to your nerve endings as you remembered that you’d practically run away from him. Even after half a decade, he was having a physical impact on you.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. You have a good memory.”

“You know, I get that a lot.” His grin ignited something in your chest, and you gathered the laundry you’d left on the sofa and quickly excused yourself before you could prove yourself more of a idiot than you could already make a case for.

Spencer watched you go, wondering just when Hotchner was going to emerge from his hiding place to attack him for so openly ogling his half-naked daughter. He stood on the spot staring at your door for a moment too long before dragging his eyes away. Unluckily for him, what he found on the floor had him panicking all over again.

“Y/N, your forgot…” He grabbed the lacy material in his fingers and went to open the door before stopping, realizing that you were probably completely bare behind that door now. The thought sent him into a tailspin, and he once again stood clueless for a beat too long with a pair of your freshly laundered panties in his hands.

He considered dropping them back on the floor, but he didn’t want them to get dirty again after you’d washed them so nicely. He should’ve just left them on the sofa for you to find later, but when Hotch’s voice grew louder and clearer behind him, fear took over and he shoved them into the closest hiding space he could find. His pocket.

“Callahan found something for us at the ME’s office, she’s meeting us at the precinct, let’s go.”

And just like that he was out the door, and he had officially signed his own death warrant.

You never noticed that the first pair went missing. When it became a pattern though, you did become suspicious. Three pairs of underwear in thirty days seemed a bit much, and unless your building's laundry machines were eating them, you had no clue where they could've been.

It's not that Spencer even meant to do it any of the times he did. But when he'd returned home that first day, overwhelmed with the caseload he'd been handed and found the offending item still right there in his coat pocket, the blood had rushed straight to his head.

He'd spent a half hour in agony staring at them, trying to smooth them out so they wouldn't get crumpled, his dick twitching at every slight movement he made. It had been quite a few months since he'd had sex, never really one for casual hook-ups. But if the result of several months of celibacy was stealing underwear then he thought maybe it would be best to have sex sooner rather than later.

He couldn't resist the temptation. Popping the button of his pants, he'd taken his cock in his hand and worked his way up and down his shaft imagining you dropping that towel. He imagined you wearing the panties and nothing else as you replaced his hand with your mouth, desperate to please. Taking the panties in his hand, he began directly masturbating into them, wishing so needily that you were still inside them.

When he shot his load, he soaked them through, and the shame that overcame him was intense and swift.

You never realized that he'd somewhat avoided you after that, doing his best to stay away for fear he'd let his perversions rule his actions. You had somehow made yourself unavoidable though.

The first time he saw you again it was at one of Rossi's family get-togethers. It had been years since you'd seen some of the members of the team, so you were really looking forward to it. Plus, Rossi had boasted of a recently installed pool and jacuzzi within his invitation, and you were excited to check them out with the fine summer weather actually staying fine.

You'd brought your bikini with you and changed in one of the ground-floor bathrooms, wrapping another towel around yourself before you finally made your way to the pool. But once again, wrapped in a towel, you'd come face to face with Spencer Reid.

"Y/N, I didn't know you were coming." He looked like a deer caught in the headlights, and this time worked especially hard to not let his gaze travel all over your skin. He regretted his entire existence as he realized he'd have to hide his micro-expressions around countless profilers, some of whom were present and accounted for when you'd last been seen together.

Derek was going to give him hell.

"Yeah, Uncle David invited me! I'm so excited for the jacuzzi, I haven't been in one since college."

"You call Rossi 'Uncle David?'" The thought had tickled him, humor sparkling in his eyes as he finally smiled at you.

"Why yes I do, and if you're not careful, my dad is going to make me start calling you Uncle Spencer again." You skipped off merrily after that, leaving your spare clothes and your discarded ones in the bathroom Reid had obviously been waiting for.

His smile soured as he realized the impact of your words. Uncle Spencer. Huh. Some fucking "Uncle" he was. He washed his hands thoroughly, having spilled some kind of drink down himself before greeting you, as his eyes fell to the pile of clothes you'd left neatly in the corner.

He tried to tell himself he couldn't do it again, but curiosity and arousal lit up his entire body and carried him forward. Jeans, a t-shirt, socks, and shoes were left tidily discarded, but he couldn't obviously see any underwear. There was a second pile of neat clothes and he looked at that one thoroughly as well, but after a minute it was evident that you'd hidden your unmentionables from clear sight.

He heard the happy cheers and smiles from outside, and painstakingly attempted to pull away, but he couldn't. Rooting through your things, he found them. He found two of them, really. The used underwear you'd likely just taken off, and the fresh pair you were going to change into. Spoiled for choice he sat in a stasis, mentally cursing himself for being so stupidly horny.

It would be wrong to take another pair. And certainly wrong of him to take the clean pair which you'd instantly noticed were missing when you tried to put them on to wear them.

The used pair though. He held them delicately in both hands, the slip of material not as fancy as the ones he'd used before, but somehow more enticing.

Letting his cock rule his thoughts he brought them up to his face and inhaled deeply, and it was like a bomb going off in the back of his head. He had to have them.

Organizing the bathroom into the exact layout as he'd found it, making sure not even a hair was out of place. The panties were safely in his pocket, and he took a minute to get his body physically and mentally under control before exiting the bathroom and rejoining his friends.

The next time he'd taken some, they'd really been handed to him like a gift. One month back at home, and you felt slightly stifled by the overbearing presence of your father. You needed a nice, messy night out, and you sure got it.

The friends you'd reconnected with had taken you out to a slew of clubs, and by the end of the night, you were tripping and stumbling into anything and anyone in your path. It was as if you were magnetically drawn to every object in your way, unfortunately, one just happened to be tall and lean and caught you before you could tumble off again.

"Y/N?" He looked down at you, confused as he took in your intoxicated state.

"Uncle Spencie!" You relaunched yourself into his arms, reminiscent of that day in the bullpen. "Uncle Spencie I can't believe you're here!" You giggled into his neck as you buried yourself there, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck as you pulled away to grin at him again.

"Y/N, how drunk are you?"

"How you are drunk, huh? Why don't we ever ask that question?" You sent yourself into a fit of giggles as your friends watched the scene play out behind you.

"Girls, this is Doctor Spencer Reid. My daddy is his boss. Isn't he cute?" Your arms still wrapped territorially around Spencer, you introduced your friends who cackled approvingly at your drunk shenanigans.

"Y/N, you need to let me go, the others…"

"Others? Is daddy here? AARON!! AAAAROOOOOO-" He clamped a hand over your mouth and moved you to the side of the road to hail a taxi as fast as possible. Apologizing to your friends, he quickly stuffed you into the cab and gave the driver your address.

"Uncle Spencer, I just wanted to see my daddy and his other friends. Why are you being so mean?" The exaggerated pout on your face had him dragging a hand down over his face as he struggled to pull a seatbelt over you.

"If your dad had seen you wrapped around me like that, he'd have killed one of us."

"Both of us," you nodded and giggled. Your short dress was riding up your thighs, the leather seats of the car feeling unbearably hot and sticky under your skin. You shifted uncomfortably a few times, your underwear eating into your skin in an uncomfortable manner.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" He sternly whispered the words into your ears as he grabbed your wrists. It was too late though, you'd already worked your underwear down your thighs enough that they'd reached your knees and then fallen around your ankles.

"It felt bad, I didn't like it." You leaned your head back and let your legs hang open slightly, just enough that Spencer could see the taxi driver angling for a look.

He snapped a hand between your legs, closing off the view before snatching up the underwear from the floor and pocketing it. You didn't know nor care though, the motion of the car rocking you off into a deep sleep. He'd ended up having to carry you up to your apartment, getting you ready for bed, and leaving just fast enough for Hotch to not catch him hanging over his unconscious daughter.

And he had a third pair of your underwear.

He spent his days wondering just what the fuck was wrong with him, and his nights jerking off to your scent, wondering just how willing he'd be to climb into bed with you and if he'd have the strength to say no.

He was normal enough in your interactions with one another. You'd seen each other at various case celebrations, at parties hosted by the team members, which that summer were high in total. You couldn't resist the temptation to flirt with him, but it was only when the two of you were well out of earshot of anyone who might frown upon it. You didn't think he even noticed that's what you were doing anyway.

Spencer did notice. And he kept noticing and was disgusted by how much he wanted you. You were Hotch’s daughter. He’d seen pictures of you as a child, he’d held you while you cried over your mom and the stress of having to be a responsible adult after everything happened with Foyet, he’d known how much you hated having to grow up quickly when you had Hotch for a dad, and he felt gross that despite all of that he wanted to fuck you so badly that he’d resorted to petty thievery and letting you flirt with him under your father's nose.

It was towards the end of your summer at home when you finally noticed the missing pieces. You'd even almost mentioned it to your dad before thinking it through a bit more. If it wasn't some laundry mix-up, he was going to go full FBI on every man who came close to you, and that was a risk you weren't willing to take.

In the end, you were thankful you said nothing.

The BAU team had been out on a case for ten days, the largest amount of time they'd been away since you'd moved home, and you'd decided to greet them as soon as they returned, congratulate them on a job well done.

You knew they were already heading to their regular bar after they finished their paperwork, but you had some morale to boost in the meantime, so a donut delivery plus enough coffee to stay awake for hours was in order.

They'd practically thrown themselves off the jet and into the box of donuts, each of them thanking you for the happy greeting after what had to have been a hard time away.

"Y/N, you didn't have to do this, but thank you. The team really appreciates it." Your dad had looked at you with a proud look before showing you up to his office, letting you wait on his couch until everyone was finished.

You got bored quickly and asked if you could help with anything, which is how you became your dad's errand-runner. He sent you to the printer to pick up papers, you'd run to get him more coffee from the pot twice and he sent you to ask the others about their progress. Which was totally fine had they not looked like paperwork-writing zombies on the verge of collapse.

"Y/N, head down to Spencer's desk, he should have a file on the geographical profile I need." He hadn't even glanced up to ask you that, but he did shout a thank you out the door, so you suppose he could be forgiven for now.

Bouncing down the stairs you noticed Spencer was deep in the middle of reading some files, doing that speed reading thing you'd heard him talk about but never witnessed.

"Spencer." He didn't look up, too focused on the words in front of him. "Spencer, my dad needs a file."

"Go-bag. Reading, give me a minute." He still hadn't even glanced at you so you pulled yourself around his desk to search for his go-bag yourself. It was on the floor, and you pulled it towards you, settling down on the floor to open it up and look for the files you needed.

You probably should have had more reservations about rooting through Spencer's things because just as you pulled the zip fully open, it seemed like his eyes shot wide and he threw his head in your direction, finally distracted from his work.

"Wait, don't look in-" He whisper-screamed the words at you frantically, but it was too late. The first thing your hand had closed around in the bag was small and delicate and somewhat rumpled, and your hand had a mind of its own pulling it out into your lap so the two of you could see it.

Your panties. One of your missing pairs of panties was in Spencer Reid's go-bag.

Both of you sat there for a few moments, neither of you moving, the eye contact not breaking one second as you both stared at each other in fear and surprise.

He cleared his throat quietly and whispered down at you, "I can explain…" but he didn't get a chance as you swiftly grabbed the file you'd come for - helpfully pulled into plain view by your rustling about - hid your panties back in your own pocket, zipped his bag up and swiftly ran all the way back to your dad's office.

You sat on the couch for the rest of the afternoon, no longer eager to do chores. Spencer had your underwear. He'd stolen it. He'd taken it across the country with him. He'd…You didn't know what he was doing with it, really, but you knew that every image of him with them had the most dirty, exciting, disgusting thoughts running through your head.

You grabbed your things and quickly headed out after that. Penelope caught you by the elevator as you made to leave.

"No, sweetie, where are you going? I thought you were coming to celebrate with us after this, I was so looking forward to having the fun Hotchner around, not the grumpy, serious one."

"I'm just going home to freshen up. I smell like coffee and Quantico, which when you're not nose blind to it isn't the most optimal scent." You promised her you'd see her there, and with a quick glance back at the office, where Spencer was sat tense, looking like he wanted to either run after you or shout something across the room, you left.

By the time you'd arrived home, there were ten missed calls on your cell, and you didn't have to even speculate about who they might be from because there were texts too.

Spencer: I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, call me when you get this.

Spencer: I know it's weird and I'll understand if you hate me, but please talk to me.

Spencer: Please don't tell your dad.

You'd scoffed at that last one as if you'd ever have been that stupid. But you didn't reply or call him, letting him suffer in silence.

This entire time, you'd been operating on the basis that Spencer Reid didn't see you the way you saw him. That he didn't think of you as an adult but as your father's daughter. And now you were confronted with the truth that he was just as fucking lustful and horny as you'd been since you met him at 18? You weren't letting this opportunity pass you by.

Taking the panties out, you stared at them again, trying to figure out just what he'd been doing with them. You recognized them as the pair you'd lost on your night out, bright red and lacy, eye-catching, and definitely yours. He hadn't even tried to lie to you about that, but how willing would you have been to accept the fact that Spencer had stolen someone else's panties? Or been gifted them? Probably not very.

You'd assumed you'd left this pair in the taxi, not entirely sure how you'd ended up in the car in the first place or why you would decide they were uncomfortable right there. Now you had sudden recollections of Spencer also being there, and suddenly your actions made sense.

He'd not only taken your panties, he'd taken your used panties, and it looked as though he'd used them even more. You decided not to think too closely about how he had used them.

But he'd also got you home safe, making sure your things were stored neatly and tucked you into bed nice and tight. And then he'd stolen your panties.

Thinking about it was frustrating but there was nothing else in your mind at that moment. Spencer taking them out secretly to look at. Spencer smelling them. Spencer wrapping them around his big cock and stroking himself to the thought of you.

You wanted to know precisely what he'd done, and you intended to find out.

Penelope called you as soon as they'd left work, and sent you the location, too, and you decided it was time to get ready to mess with Spencer.

The dress you'd worn on the night he'd stolen your panties was freshly laundered. Usually, you wouldn't wear anything so risky in front of your father, but he'd likely only be there for an hour or two before leaving you be. You pulled out a fresh pair of red panties as well, hoping to jog Spencer's memory a little bit to entice him to talk.

With a quick make-up retouch, you climbed into your car, and within twenty minutes you were walking into O'Keefe's.

Miserably, Spencer couldn't come up with an excuse to stay home quick enough and was tumbled into the car by Derek and Penelope. He had a feeling, too, that he wouldn't be able to leave early, either, which was only confirmed when you walked in wearing that dress.

His hopes to sit and nurse his non-alcoholic cocktail peacefully at the edge of the booth are shattered as he watches you saunter over. It clings tight to your skin, twisting around every peak on your body, revealing every part that he'd spent the last few weeks dreaming about.

He was screwed.

"Hi, Dad! Hi everyone!" You smiled innocently enough, but your sickly sweet smile turned on Spencer was an omen, and he suddenly wanted to be down on his knees begging for forgiveness. Or something else.

Instead of sticking by your dad's side, you make your way to Spencer and force him to shuffle further into the booth so you can sit next to him. It's cramped and you're on the edge still, so you let your hand rest on his thigh for a beat too long as you join the conversation.

"What did I miss?"

"Just talking about the craziest things that have happened to us on cases."

"Reid was propositioned by a prostitute once," Derek chuckled.

"Please, Reid has been propositioned by multiple prostitutes, multiple times." Penelope and Derek continued to joke and giggle about the younger man's apparent cluelessness to flirting.

"I guess they just assumed you were a pervert, Spence. I wonder why they'd think that?" His eyes shot wide as you snuck your hand into his pocket under the table, watching to see if anyone else had noticed the bold actions.

But you looked away from him quickly and didn't let your hand spend too long there, sliding it out slowly, feeling up his leg as you went. He took another sip of his drink before shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His cock had been rudely awoken, and he didn't want it to stay awake, so he attempted to let it fall into a less obvious position.

But as he shifted he felt something else in his pants, and curiously he put his own hand into his pocket. You'd returned your stolen underwear to the thief.

He took in a shaky breath and held them inside his pants while he willed himself to calm down. Partly because you were in public and partly because your dad was present. He almost had himself under control when you decided it was time for your next move.

"I need to go get a drink, I'll be back soon." You stood and pushed away from the table, bouncing away swiftly. He watched you go from the corner of his eye and then had to do a double take as you pushed yourself up against the bar ordering your drink.

You stuck your ass out, not enough to make it look intentional to anybody but him, but just enough so he could see the red underwear you had on underneath your dress.

He downed his drink and made his excuses before making his way right to the bar where you stood.

"What are you doing?" He demanded, so close behind you that you felt his breath in you before you heard his voice.

"Buying a drink, what does it look like I'm doing?" You scooted your ass back until it was pressed up against his crotch and he groaned, hard and loud in your ear.

"Y/N, you can't do that, your dad is right fucking there."

"I sure hope my dad isn't fucking over there, that'd really be a sight I didn't want to see." He shut his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath before he put his hands on you. Grabbing your hips, he walked you closer to the bar so that your ass was no longer on display, nor touching him in any way, then he moved to your side and left only one hand firmly touching your back so you knew not to immediately try something else again.

"This is your last warning. Now, you're going to order that drink and then you're going to walk back to that table like a good fucking girl, or so help me god, I will show your dad just how much of a slut you're being." His voice was a dark growl and you felt your panties growing more wet with each syllable, nodding instantly as the bartender came over.

For a minute, he'd genuinely thought that had worked. You'd ordered your drink without another word and then turned back to the table and walked nicely, having pulled your skirt back down a little bit. He'd thought he'd won until the second he'd sat down when Aaron Hotchner had grabbed his coat and stood up.

"Spencer, you're not drinking? Can you drive Y/N home tonight? I’m leaving now, and I’m sure she doesn’t want to leave so early.” You watched as his jaw twitched, taking only a second to compose himself before he agreed.

“Great, have a fun night sweetheart,” he said, kissing your head, before turning out and leaving with Rossi.

“Now, Spencer, what was that you were saying about good behavior at the bar? It was really so very interesting to me and I’d love to hear more.”

You spent the next half hour draining your drink and his self-control, stroking a hand down his chest as the others comfortably ignored your purring at him. He answered all your questions coldly, but every time your hand trailed a little bit too low he stopped it with a heavy hand and a warning look, letting you know that you were still getting to him.

Once you’d finished the first drink, you got up and moved to the bar once again, making sure that his eyes were on you completely as you swayed your hips on the way over. You pulled exactly the same move as you had earlier and made sure he knew you were going to be hard to handle the entire night.

When you returned, he was the only one left at the table, the others having scattered to the dance floor, the bathroom, and the bar. Taking the chance you climb directly into his lap.

“What’s wrong, Spence, you’re looking so lonely over here?” You rest your hands on his shoulders and let your ass fall to his lap, grinding down gently to feel him underneath you.

“How could I be lonely when you’re out here throwing yourself at me like a cheap whore?”

“Oh, we’ve already established how much cheap whores love you today, Spencer. Why would you be so surprised that I’m having the same reaction?”

The others slowly started returning so you pushed away from him for a second, straightening your clothes before they noticed anything amiss.

“Y/N, I need some youthful arm candy, come to the dancefloor with us!” Penelope pulled you from your seat and you laughed as you followed her, sending a wink back over your shoulder to Spencer.

He sat grinding his teeth as you continue your games on the dancefloor, swaying your hips suggestively, not sparing him a single glance as you practically exposed yourself on a dancefloor. He decided he’d let you have your fun and then march you out quickly. He moved his timeline up exponentially the minute he saw a man saunter up behind you, whispering in your ear before walking you over to the bar.

Downing his drink, he made his way to your side, pulling you away from the man quickly.

“We’re leaving now.” He said, leaning down to your ear as he grabbed your coat and pulled it around you.

“Man, what do you think you’re doing?” The man who had pulled you away was visually drunk, looking rough and dangerous as he leered down at you.

“She’s not interested and she’s too young for you anyway.” He said, very close to flashing his badge to get him to back off.

“What, you her dad or something?” He scoffed, but you turned on him with a wide smile as you leaned your head back against Spencer’s chest.

“He’s my daddy, actually.” With a wink, you left the bar, letting Spencer chase after you as you walked directly over to your car. Throwing him the keys, you jumped into the passenger seat.

“I’m taking you home now, you’re being reckless, you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Reckless how? It’s not like I’m the one who has been stealing my boss' daughter's panties for the last month.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You jacked off into my panties and now you’re pissed I caught you…wow.”

“Can you just shut up? I’m sure your dad wouldn’t like me to tell him how you put them back in my pocket tonight, right?”

“Was that a threat, Spencer?”

“If I was going to threaten you, Y/N, you’d know.”

“You’ve changed, you know. Since I was a teenager. You’re different now.”

“No, I’m not. I’m very much the same.”

“You’re hotter now. I don’t know how that is possible because fuck did I want you back then, but now…” You let your eyes trail down his face as he continues to drive, jaw tense. His side profile had always been pretty, but with the bags under his eyes now more pronounced, you thought about what it’d be like to trail your mouth down his neck, what you would give to sit prettily on those lips of his.

Your tongue darts out to wet your own lips, as the fantasies grow to fill the car. Suddenly it’s his hands between your legs, making you moan like the whore he’d accused you of being earlier, it’s his tongue down your throat as he fucks his fingers into you, completely ruining you.

When you pull over, you’re certain that he’d heard your thoughts, because you didn’t recognize where you were at all.

“Spencer, this isn’t my dad’s house.”

“No, it’s mine. Get out of the car.” Suddenly obedient, you do exactly as he tells you, jumping out of the car as swiftly as you can and letting him march you up the stairs, right through his door and all the way to his bedroom. He pushes you forward gently but with a firm enough hand that you know he wants you on the bed. He doesn’t touch you any further as you prop yourself up on your elbows, but moves to another part of the room, grabbing something from a drawer before throwing it at you. Throwing them at you, you supposed, because when you looked down, you found your other pairs of missing underwear on your lap.

“I’m sorry for being so fucking dirty and disgusting, but you need to stop saying those things to me before I do something we both regret.”

You don’t reply, sitting and breathing heavily for a second before pushing your body further up the bed and reaching down. His eyes drink you in as he watches you hook two fingers underneath the underwear you’re wearing and drag them down your legs, not caring that he can see everything. You let go of them as soon as they’re hanging off your leg, holding them out to him.

“Peace offering?”

He’s on you in an instant, crawling on top of you so he can shut you up with his mouth, his hands, his whole being. You welcome him greedily, letting him take control as he pins your hips down underneath his.

“Little slut, you want me to fuck you so bad?” He says, a hand at your chest, pinching your nipple hard through your dress as you moan and writh underneath him. “Throwing yourself at your father’s friend like this, huh? Must be a little whore.”

He doesn’t let you respond, shoving two fingers into your mouth as you obediently wrap your lips around them and start sucking. Pushing your dress up, he groans at how wet you already are for him, swiping a finger over your clit carefully as you moan around his fingers, the vibrations shooting straight to his cock.

Lifting his hips, he unzips his pants in a second, not stopping to contemplate the consequences of his actions. His cock is pressed against you, gripped in his hand, but it’s hot and it’s heavy and fuck do you need it inside of you. He teases you with it as you whine around his fingers, trying to top from the bottom and grinding your hips up into him. He removes his fingers from your mouth reluctantly so he can hold your hips down.

“Spencer, don’t fucking tease me. Please just fuck me now.”

“Are all of you Hotchner’s this fucking bossy?” You roll your eyes, ignoring his question as you move to grab ahold of his cock, lining it up with your cunt and pushing it in slowly. A hand over yours stops you before it can get any deeper.

“Wait, I haven’t put a condom on yet.”

“Then you better make sure you pull out before I have to tell my dad exactly who it is that made him a grandaddy.” His hips snap up into yours then and with a few shallow pumps he’s fully sheathed inside of you as you scream at the feeling. You’d spent years thinking about this moment, but you’d never imagined he’d fill you so perfectly, stretching you out in all the best places.

His fingers return to your clit, working you up into a frenzy as you arch up into him, wrapping your legs around him to allow him better access. He growls into your ear with each thrust, before grabbing fistfuls of your ass and dragging you to the edge of the bed.

He pulls out quickly, repositioning you and holding your legs open wide as he stands between your legs, lining his cock up and pushing into you once again, immediately regaining his pace. He lifts one knee onto the bed, again pushing your legs down into the bed and opening you up further to him. The new angle hits deeper inside of you than you were sure anyone had ever been, momentarily leaving you breathless and soundless, listening only to the noises coming from your cunt.

Wet slaps of skin against skin, the arousal trickling down your leg to stain his sheets.

You regain your breath just as he knocks it out of you again, pushing you over the edge as you cum, hard, on his cock. Your head goes dizzy as you struggle to come down from the bliss he’d pulled you up into, legs twitching as he continues pounding into him.

You’re vaguely aware of some loud moans and screams, and it takes you an entire minute to realize the sinful noises are coming straight from your mouth.

“Fuck, Spencer, so fucking good for me, you made me feel so good, thank you.” His hips stutter inside you then, and you feel a heat flood you.

“Shit,” he pulls out quickly and sprays the rest of his load over your pretty black dress, falling down on top of you and reclaiming your lips passionately. You stay locked together in that embrace for god knows how long, rolling around back and forth in his bed until he finally detaches himself, pulling your clothes off and throwing a large old t-shirt over your head before grabbing you like an oversized stuffed toy and leading you into the depths of oblivion.

When you wake up in the morning, the pounding in your head is exaggerated considering you hadn’t really drank that much the night before. It takes you a shocking amount of time to realize that the pounding wasn’t in your head though, but instead a loud banging against Spencer’s door, ordering him to open up

You’re so comfortable though, you try to ignore it. Until your father’s voice is pouring through the paper-thin walls.

“Spencer, open the door, right now, or I’m kicking it down. You have five seconds.” The Spencer in question shoots out of bed immediately from beside you, scrambling to pull on pants and make his hair look like you hadn’t been tangled in it all night before running to the door.

You similarly panic around the room for a second, searching for a hiding place and grabbing your phone before settling on the absolutely genius position of under the bed.

You hear the confrontation like it’s happening right over you.

“Aaron, I really think you’re going to regret this.” David Rossi’s voice is calm, trying to talk some sense into your father, but he isn’t having any of it.

“Where is she? I told you to drop her off at home when she was finished drinking, but she wasn’t there when I woke up.”

“I can explain…” Spencer trailed off, and you cursed the man for being such a bad liar. That line hadn’t worked on you, either, so you doubted it’d work on your dad. Opening your phone, you check the time. 11:47. You quietly cursed yourself as you opened the multiple messages from your father.

You decide to help Spencer out by replying to one of them now.

“Hey, Dad. I ran into an old friend last night, and Spencer made sure we both got back to her’s safely. I’m still at her apartment, but I guess I forgot to text last night because I was so tired, sorry for worrying you!”

You heard his phone ping with the message, heard the tense silence as he read the message slowly, and heard the incredibly loud ping of your own phone, screaming from inside Spencer’s room as he replied.

Unfortunately, your dad hears it, too.

Pushing past Spencer, who in his defense is doing a great job of taking a stand by slowing down your father momentarily, Aaron Hotchner bursts into the room just as you poke your head up from the side of the bed.

“Morning, Daddy.” You try, hoping to sweet talk your way out of this whole situation.

“Living room, now.” He says, hesitating for only a moment. “You’re dressed, right?” You almost laugh at his pathetic tone before considering the situation, just nodding and walking out behind him as you try to make Spencer’s shirt cover more of your body than it originally did.

There’s a gleam in Rossi’s eye as you walk past him, head hung in embarrassment. You sit guiltily on the couch, and Spencer finds his way next to you, and you suddenly feel like two children about to get the scolding of a lifetime.

“What were you thinking?” He demands, and you grow suddenly angry at the indignant tone of his voice.

“Dad, I am 23 years old, I do not need a lecture for spending the night out.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, sit down. Spencer? Anything to say.” You slump back into your seat and wait for the answer just the same as your dad is, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, you feel a blanket being thrown over your legs, and it isn’t until then that you notice how cold you’ve been. He takes the time to wrap the material around your body, making sure you’re comfortable before he even thinks about looking up at your dad.

“Hotch, what is it that you want to know?” He levels his stare with your father, and it seems to dampen his anger a little bit. They’re having a silent war right now, in some kind of expressive language that you’ve never been able to decode, and somehow, it seems that Spencer is winning.

“Did you use protection?” Your sharp intake of breath is about all the answers your father needs, and you realize how majorly you’d fucked up by letting the conversation get this far.

“Dad!” you shout indignantly. “That is frankly none of your business.” He doesn’t look at you though, not even sparing you a glance as his eyes stay focused on Spencer, trying to figure out something you’re not even sure of yourself.

“For god’s sake, Dad, I’ve been in love with him for five years.” All the eyes in the room snap to you then, and if you hadn’t been feeling shy before, you certainly were now.

“Y/N, you’re barely an adult.”

“I’m sorry that’s entirely rich coming from the guy who had a child straight out of high school. I’m an adult, which is why I’m allowed to make my own mistakes and decisions, and I’d really prefer your support instead of your judgment.” Your father tries to speak again, to protest some part of what you just said, but unlistening, you groan in frustration and just climb directly into Spencer’s lap.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Spencer panics below you for a second, before resting comfortably on your legs, far enough down that he is spared your father’s dirty looks.

“Aaron, I think you’d better hear the girl out. She reminds me a lot of someone I know, so hard-headed these youths of today are.” You are intensely thankful for Rossi’s presence then and you send a thankful smile his way, just as your dad grumbles.

“Uncle David is right, you should listen to Uncle David.”

“Until a few days ago, you were calling Spencer “Uncle Spencer” so I’d be quiet if I were you, Y/N.”

“Heard.” He pauses for a second to think, the years finally etching into his skin as he breathes out a sigh of relief. You suddenly feel bad for not being home when he woke up, and you can only imagine how it must’ve felt to not know where you were, or if you were safe after everything that he’d already been through.

“I’m not against this, I suppose. But I swear to god if you ever go missing on me again, I will have an entire agency out for you.”

“You know where I’ll be, Dad.” He nods then turns to Spencer.

“You’re going to take her to a pharmacy in the next three hours to get emergency contraception, and then the both of you are going to come - fully clothed - to my house. It’s been a while since we had a family dinner.” You smile brightly up at him, and within another minute, it is just you and Spencer in the apartment alone.

You looked back up at him shyly and tried to awkwardly climb out of his lap, but he pulled you right back into him.

“For the record, I think I’ve only been in love with you for 37 days. Is that okay with you?” All of the confidence drains from your body as you struggle to find the words.

“In my defense, it’s not that I didn’t love you back then, it’s just that you were so young, I think I never considered it. And when I realized that you had those feelings, I felt so guilty about it, I never stopped to let myself think about what else I was feeling. And then you were gone and I didn’t have to think about it again, and then you came back, and I’ve been doing a lot more thinking now, and I think that-”

“I think that you should shut up and kiss me, Spencer Reid.” You said.

“Heard.” You giggled as he pressed his lips up into your own, pulling you further down into him as he held you tight. You didn’t come up for air for a long while, drinking as much of him in as you could as he gave you his heart.

“You know what this means?” You said, finally pulling away with a gasp.

“What?”

“You don’t have to steal my panties anymore. I can just give them to you now.” He lit up red underneath you and groaned as you laughed at his pained expression.

“As long as you never mention that to your father, I think we’ll escape this job and lives intact.” He said, a faraway look telling you he was likely running probability on those ideas right at that second.

“Just remember, my dad has two weapons and the ability to move you halfway across the country should he choose to.” You pressed your forehead against his, chuckling once again at his pained expression. “But also remember, that I’d happily follow you anywhere, Reid.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Hotchner. Oh, no, that was weird. We’re going to have to get you a new name sooner rather than later.” You gasped as he lifted you in his arms, standing and carrying you back to the bedroom.

“Spencer! What are you doing?”

“We need to go brainstorm some new names, too weird to call you Hotchner. And I do all of my best thinking in bed.”

“Really? I do mine in the shower,” you teased, holding tight to his shoulders as he continued forward.

“We can definitely try that next.” He said, carrying you through the door, and closing it shut behind him, hoarding your attentions for the rest of the morning.

[pedrospatch]

a safe haven l nine

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: When you find out that you’re pregnant, everything comes crumbling down around you.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A SCENE THAT HEAVILY IMPLIES DOMESTIC VIOLENCE. this chapter it also contains a very uncomfortable scene with reader and Luke, but despite the sexual nature of the scene, READER DOES NOT GET SA, BUT SHE DOES GET INJURED. INJURY there is a description of an injury as the result of DV HEAVILY IMPLYING STRANGULATION. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. pregnancy, mentions of high risk pregnancy (not reader), mentions of child loss (not reader), mentions of pregnancy related symptoms (missed menstrual cycle, morning sickness), protective Tommy Miller, protective Joel, and last but certainly not least, feral Joel. this chapter is a lot, just proceed with caution if anything in bold can be a potential trigger for you.

word count: 11.8k

October, 2024

It’s the middle of October.

By now, the pain had become almost unbearable. Time certainly wasn’t healing the wound. 

If anything, time only seemed to be making it worse.

So, so much fucking worse. 

It drags, and you almost feel as if you’re paralyzed by it. But the only thing that you can do about it, about any of this, is just pretend. 

Pretend everything is okay.

Pretend it doesn’t hurt.

Pretend you don’t feel empty.

Pretend you don’t need him.

But you do need him. Oh, how you fucking need him.

The hole in your heart is growing bigger by the day, and only Joel Miller is capable of filling the void. Only he has the ability to make you feel whole again. Complete.

“Be honest with me—what does this look like?”

You pause your knitting and glance over at Maria.

With her due date approaching, you had offered to help her prepare for the baby’s arrival. At about six months, Maria was expected to give birth towards the middle of winter season, and instead of trading or having to use rations for certain baby items, like blankets, little socks and mittens, you’d decided to show her how to make them instead. Not only was it saving her from having to trade or use her rations on things that could easily be knitted, but it served as a decent, albeit temporary, distraction, giving your mind the chance to focus on something else other than how deeply you were hurting without Joel.

Tilting your head slightly, you eye the soft, butter yellow wool she’s holding in her hands. “Um, is that the start of another baby blanket?”

“No.” Maria’s face falls. “It’s supposed to be a hat.”

“Oh. Um.” You lean forward in the brown leather armchair you’re perched on, squinting hard at it as she holds it up. “Okay, yeah, I can kind of see the shape of it now. I can totally see it being a little hat for the baby.” She tosses you a knowing smile and you squirm slightly, heat prickling at your ears.

“I appreciate you lying to me.” She giggles and sets down her knitting needles beside her on the couch along with the ball of wool yarn. Leaning back, she places both hands on her belly and sighs. “At the very least this child will never go without a blanket seeing as blankets are all I’m capable of making.”

You flash her a small, but reassuring smile.

“You’ll get the hang of it, Maria, I promise. It just takes some practice, that’s all.”

“Well, now that Luke has put me on strict bed rest until I have the baby, I’m going to have all the time in the world to practice,” Maria remarks, exhaling another sigh. Craning her neck, she peers at your own knitting project, which you’ve been working on in something of a secretive manner in your lap and out of the expectant mother’s view. “What are you making over there, anyway?”

Her timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

“I’m so glad you asked since I’m just about done.”

Crossing the last stitch, you set aside your knitting needles and then hold up the finished product. “What do you think of these?”

Maria’s hand flies to her mouth, tears welling up in her dark eyes the moment she sees the pair of little brown baby booties in your hands. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes, a tear rolling down the side of her face as you stand up and walk across her living room to present her with the shoes. Sitting down beside her, you hold them out in the palms of your hands. With trembling fingers, she accepts them. “Kevin had a pair just like these when he was a newborn. I kept them even after he’d outgrown them.” She lets out a small laugh in spite of herself. “You know, I’d always complain that he was growing up too fast. I used to wish that I could slow time down a little so I could enjoy my son being that young longer,” she admits, sniffing. She reaches up, dabbing at her damp eyes with one of her hands. “And now Kevin is frozen in time, forever a three year old little boy.”

She sets the booties down on her belly and inhales deeply, willing herself to keep her composure.

Swallowing back your own emotions, you brush a single, stray tear from her cheek with your thumb. It wasn’t the first time that she’d opened up about losing her child—but Maria often kept her emotions hidden, tucked away along with her son’s memory. For the last several years, she’d dedicated most of her time and energy to Jackson and to its people, pouring herself completely into her role as the community’s leader. But now that Luke had placed her on strict bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy, Maria had no choice but to step down, temporarily handing the role over to Tommy, along with a small council she’d handpicked herself.

It hadn’t been easy for her, after all, there was only so much she could do to keep herself preoccupied while being confined to the four walls of her home. She found her mind wandering to Kevin a lot more often than not lately, and the pregnancy hormones did absolutely nothing to help in the matter.

“Maria?” you say her name softly. “You okay?”

She slowly exhales the breath she’d been holding.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she finally replies, sniffing again.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” She pauses momentarily. “I just—there’s a part of me that still has trouble believing I’m going to be a mother again. It’s been so long, you know? What if I’ve forgotten how to be a good mom?”

Dropping your hand from Maria’s face, you offer it out for her to hold. She accepts it and you give her hand a gentle squeeze as you vouch, “This baby, they couldn’t be any luckier than to have a mother like you, Maria.”

“And a fuckin’ hell of a dad like me,” a voice teases from the doorway.

Tommy, who had been down at the commune’s market picking up some potatoes for dinner, saunters into the living room with a brown paper bag in his arm. Setting the bag down onto a nearby table, he then makes his way over to his wife. Noticing that she’d been crying, he leans over and presses his lips against her forehead, softly murmuring, “You doin’ alright, sweetheart?”

“I’m alright,” she assures him with a nod. “I’m just extra sensitive and hormonal right now. The usual.”

He hums. “Uh, yeah, I kinda figured that out when you bawled your way through Old Yeller at the movies the other night.”

She pouts. “Pregnant or not, that movie’s a tear jerker, okay? Only people made of stone don’t cry when the dog dies.”

“She’s got a point, Tommy,” you agree with a shrug. “I cried too, and I’m not pregnant.”

Drawing himself back up to his full height, Tommy glances at the booties resting on Maria’s belly. He picks them up and holds them both in the palm of his hand. 

“Well, ain’t these just the teeniest things I ever did see,” he remarks with a soft chuckle. “Who made these?”

Maria jerks her chin towards you. “She did.”

Tommy’s eyes meet yours and it feels like a punch to the fucking gut—they remind you of his brother. “Almost feels like a crime, havin’ you make clothes for our kid for free,” he states, shaking his head as he hands them back to Maria. “You’re makin’ the baby’s entire wardrobe at this point, little lady.”

Sheepishly, you wave a dismissive hand at him. “I made one sweater and a couple pairs of mittens for them. I wouldn’t exactly call that a wardrobe, Tommy.”

“It’s a hell of a lot more stuff than we had before. I gotta be honest, it just don’t feel right acceptin’ all these things from you without payin’ somehow. I’d really like to at least trade you somethin’ for them.”

Shaking your head, you politely decline the offer.

“I appreciate it, but I really don’t need anything.”

“What ‘bout Luke?”

“He doesn’t either.”

“But—”

“Honey, don’t waste your breath,” Maria chimes in with a sigh. “I’ve been trying to get her to accept a trade all week long and she simply won’t budge.”

Tommy purses his lips together, slowly rubbing his chin in thought. “Okay, I’ve got an idea,” he proposes after a minute. “How ‘bout you and Luke both come on over and join us for dinner later tonight? That ain’t too bad of a deal, right?”

You silently mull over the offer for a second.

“If I accept the invitation, then will you two knock it off with all this damn trade nonsense?” When he eagerly nods, you sigh. “Alright then, I accept. We’ll come over for dinner tonight. Granted he doesn’t come home late from the clinic again.”

“Perfect,” he grins. “See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Knowing he only means well, you decide to be a good sport about it and smile at him. “No, Tommy. I suppose it wasn’t.”

“Great!” Maria beams. “We haven’t had a chance to get together for dinner in months. Lately when I see Luke, it’s as his patient,” she muses. “I have to admit, it’ll be so nice to have a conversation with him that doesn’t revolve around my uterus for once.”

Tommy jokingly makes a face. “Yeah. Tell the doc to leave all that medical stuff at the door before he comes over. Last thing I wanna hear ‘bout while I’m chowin’ down on some big, juicy bison steaks is what fuckin’ size my wife’s uterus is—”

“Tommy! That’s not funny!” Rolling her eyes at her husband, Maria turns to you to apologize but she stops short when she notices a sudden, not to mention drastic, change in your complexion. Frowning, she reaches up and touches your cheek. “Hey, you don’t look so good. Are you feeling alright?”

You can taste the bile at the back of your throat.

“I—I’m sorry, what did you just say was for dinner?”

Tommy shoots you a strange look. “Uh, steaks?”

The mere mention of the word sends a violent wave of sickness crashing over you—slapping your hand tightly over your mouth, you scramble to jump off the couch and make a beeline for their downstairs bathroom right across the hallway. You’d made it just in time to fall to your knees in front of the toilet. Clutching the sides of the porcelain bowl, you gag loudly, and the sickening sound of your retching bounces off the walls.

As your stomach heaves, you feel one hand gather your hair to hold it back and out of your face, while the other rubs soothing circles into your back.

“Let it all out,” Maria encourages you. “It’s alright, just let it all out. There you go, get everything out.”

Tommy pokes his head into the bathroom.

“She okay?”

“Tommy! Get out of here!” Maria scolds him over her shoulder. “She doesn’t need an audience!”

He holds up his hands. “Alright, alright! Sheesh, I was just makin’ sure she’s okay, you ain’t gotta bite my head off!” He huffs at her. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you two need me.” Without another word, he spins around on the heel of his boot and disappears.

Once you’re certain there’s nothing left, your trembling hand reaches for the handle on the tank and pulls it down, flushing the toilet. You then sit back, slumping against the wall. “Jesus. I am so fucking sorry. I have no idea what the hell came over me,” you groan, the embarrassment evident in your tone as you wipe at your mouth with the sleeve of your flannel shirt.

Maria peers at you with a suspicious glint in her eyes.

“You know,” she says, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, “About five months ago, I went through a phase where I couldn’t stand the thought of meat—any kind, but red meat had to be the worst. I just could not stomach it.” Her hand falls away from your face and she rises to her feet with a labored grunt. Leaning back against the sink, she continues to say, “Poor Tommy, he couldn’t even mention it to me or I’d throw up on his boots. Not long after that, I found out I was pregnant.”

You stare at her, your lips parting slightly.  “Maria, you can’t seriously be insinuating—I am not pregnant. No, it’s not possible, you know that I can’t have kids,” you sputter out, furiously shaking your head. “There’s just no fucking way that I’m—”

Maria holds up her hands to stop you. “When was the date of your last menstrual cycle?”

“It was recent.”

“How recent?”

Silently, you start counting the weeks and you freeze the moment you realize you’d missed September completely, and October’s cycle had been due two weeks ago. You’ve been so lost in your own grief, so busy trying to keep yourself from falling apart, that you hadn’t even realized you haven’t bled since—

“August,” you breathe out in a terrified whisper.

The last time you had your period was in August.

August. 

Before you had slept with Joel Miller for the first time. 

Maria whirls around and starts digging in the medicine cabinet above the sink, and then in the one below it. After a minute of rummaging, she turns back around and extends a hand out to you, offering to help you to your feet. She lets out another grunt as she helps you stand. “I had one left,” she states, holding out her other hand to you, an individually wrapped pregnancy test in her palm. “At this point, I don’t think you even need to take a test, but it doesn’t hurt to have solid proof.”

You can hardly choke out her name. “Maria—”

She hastily shoves the test into your hands. “Just take it. I’ll be back in to check on you, okay?”

Not giving you the chance to protest, she steps out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

You look down at the test in your palm and then up into the mirror, meeting your own wide eyes in the reflection.

It can’t be possible. It just can’t be possible.

You can’t have children. 

With shaking hands, you unzip your blue jeans and then tear open the package. Your mind is in such a haze, you have to read the instructions three or four times before the information finally sticks. After taking the test, you lay it down top of the counter with the results window facing down. You pull your panties and jeans back into place and wash your hands using the bar of soap next to the sink—all the while, the sheer panic has started to settle in, the fear that accompanies it seeping deep into your bones.

Swallowing harshly, you realize it’d been well over the three minutes the package had instructed you to wait for the results.

“It’s negative. It’s negative,” you affirm quietly over and over underneath your breath as you pick it up and flip it in your hand. “It’s negative. It’s negative—”

You stop, and for a second, your heart feels like it stops too.

Horrified, you blink furiously, as if somehow you’ve misread the results—but there is no fucking mistaking those two solid little pink lines.

Your blood runs cold in your veins.

You’re pregnant. 

Luke hasn’t touched you in months.

And you’re pregnant. 

Luke hasn’t touched you in months. 

And you are fucking pregnant. 

Maria knocks lightly on the bathroom door.

“It’s been a few minutes now—can I come in?”

She waits, only to be met with complete silence.

“Hey, hon.” She knocks again. “Is everything okay?”

Again, there’s no response from the other side of the door.

“Christ, Maria.” Tommy suddenly appears beside her with a glass of water in his hand. Flashing his wife a teasing look, he quips, “Can’t you let the poor girl do her goddamn business in peace? What’s wrong with you, woman?”

Maria frowns. “I think something’s wrong.”

His playful grin falters. “What do you mean?”

“She’s not answering me.”

Tommy chortles, quirking an eyebrow at her. “Maybe ‘cause she’s actually in there doin’ her business?”

Hesitantly, Maria bites down on her bottom lip.

“What? What is it?”

“I gave her a pregnancy test to take.”

Tommy’s eyes widen. “You fuckin’ with me?”

Maria glares at him. “No! I’m not fucking with you, I’m being serious! I gave her the test and then told her I would check back in with her after she took it, but now she’s not answering me and I’m kind of worried.”

“The door locked?”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think it is. Should we just open the door and see if she’s okay? I don’t want to barge in there but—”

Tommy hands Maria the glass of water. “Hey,” he calls lightly as he raps on the door with his fist. “Everythin’ alright in there?” He waits for a minute, but when you don’t reply, he grasps the brass doorknob in his hand and says sternly, “Now you listen here, little lady. You had best answer me right now, or we’re gonna have to come in, you understand me?”

Silence. 

“Last chance, talk or I’m gonna open this door.”

Nothing. 

“Alright then, suit yourself. Hope you’re decent.”

Tommy turns the knob, cracking the door open—when he doesn’t see you, he tries pushing it open further. The door stops halfway, and he peers around it only to find you sitting on the floor with your back against the wall, preventing the door from going any further. “Shit, she’s sittin’ right behind the goddamn—fuckin’ hold on, Maria! If I try shovin’ it open, I could hurt her!” Being careful so as not to hit you or step on you by accident, he squeezes his way into the bathroom. He crouches down beside you, cupping your cheek in the palm of his hand. “Hey, what is it? What’s the matter?”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his.

You can’t speak. You can’t move.

All that you can do is stare at him. Petrified. 

“C’mon, little lady,” he coaxes, softly. “Talk to me.”

“Tommy! Let me in!” Maria demands, impatiently. “Can you move her? I can’t squeeze through, my belly is way too big.”

Tommy slides one arm around your shoulders and the other arm under your knees. “I’m just gonna move you out the way so Maria can come in, alright? C’mere.” He gingerly slides you across the tile and cradles the side of your body against his chest. He then calls out to his wife, “There, that should be enough room!”

Maria pushes the door open and rushes inside. “Is she okay?” Gripping Tommy’s shoulder, she slowly lowers herself to kneel beside you. Her eyes go straight to the test clutched in your hand. She just about has to pry your ice cold fingers off the white stick one by one. “It’s positive,” she gasps. “Your results are positive—you’re going to have a baby!”

Tommy lets out a loud, gleeful laugh. “Did’ya hear that, little lady? You’re gonna have a baby! You’re gonna be a mama! Ain’t that great news?”

Finally, you snap out of your trance. Your eyes anxiously bounce between Tommy and Maria, heart pounding as they eagerly wait for your reaction with smiles of pure excitement on their faces.

“I—” Unable to utter another word, you burst into tears.

And they’re certainly not tears of happiness.

No, the sobs coming from deep within you aren’t full of joy at the news that you’re going to be a mother.

They’re pained. Cries full of sorrow, anguish, and fear. As the confusion flashes across their faces, all you can do is weep harder, and louder.

“Wait a minute, I thought you would be happy.” Maria’s hands reach for yours and she holds them tightly as she tries to understand what it is that is causing such a negative reaction. “You and Luke tried for a really long time to have another baby. Why are you so upset?” She keeps her voice calm, kind. Warm. It wasn’t that she was judging you—Maria wants to help you, however there’s no way for her to help you if she doesn’t know what’s causing your grief in the first place. “What’s the matter, honey? Are you afraid after what happened last time?”

“I can’t be pregnant,” you rasp out. “I can’t—”

“Hey now, it’s alright. C’mere.” Tommy shifts and he moves to sit down beside you against the wall. His arm drapes around your trembling shoulders in an effort to comfort you. As your entire body shudders with sobs, he pulls you close against his side, rubbing your arm with his hand. Once they’ve subsided and little hiccups are all that are left, he finally speaks again. “You can talk to us, little lady. ‘Bout anythin’ that’s on your mind. We care ‘bout you a whole lot. Y’know that, don’t you?”

“Tommy’s right,” Maria nods. “You’re like family to us. You can come to us about anything. We’ll do whatever we can to help you, okay?”

You shake your head tightly. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

She lets out a small sigh and glances at her husband with a look of defeat. “I think you should run down to the clinic and get Luke. He’ll know what to do to calm her down.”

“No!” you shout loudly, startling them both. “I—Luke can’t find out that I’m pregnant. He just can’t know, or else—” A fresh batch of tears spring forward as you clamp a hand over your mouth, muffling another wail.

“Or else what?” Maria asks, raising an eyebrow.

Or else he was going to fucking kill you.

Tommy grabs your wrist, gently tugging it away from your face. “Or else what?” He echoes his wife. “What is goin’ on? Is there somethin’ we should know ‘bout?”

Yet another sob escapes you and his fingers curl tighter around your wrist, firmly, but he’s careful not to be too harsh.

“We’re gonna need you to tell us what’s goin’ on.”

There’s no way around it. Around any of it.

You have to tell them. 

Swallowing harshly, you admit, “There is.”

The couple waits expectantly.

“The baby isn’t Luke’s.” You mumble it so quietly and incoherently that neither of them hear it despite being in such close proximity.

Maria furrows an eyebrow. “What did you say?”

“The baby isn’t Luke’s!” You cry out, yanking your wrist out of Tommy’s hand. “This baby isn’t his and that’s why he can’t fucking know!”

And just like that, the truth comes tumbling out.

Luke’s violence towards you.

Your romantic affair with Joel.

Ellie discovering the abuse and telling him about it.

Your stubborn refusal to let either of them do anything to help you.

You spare no details of everything that had taken place over the last several months, and by the time you had finally finished, both Tommy and Maria were rendered completely speechless.

“Can one of you say something? Please? Anything at all?” Your voice is small, feeble.

After a minute, Tommy pulls his arm from around your shoulders and stands up. He helps Maria up to her feet before he extends his hand to you. “Alright, first thing’s first. Let me get you up off this floor, little lady.”

His voice is soft, and so is his gaze.

“Tommy how can you—after everything that I’ve done? Your brother—”

“Please. Just let me help you off the floor and then we can talk ‘bout it. Okay?”

You accept his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Much to your surprise, he doesn’t let it go as he leads you out of the bathroom and back into the living room where he sits you down on the couch. Maria, who hasn’t said a single word, takes a seat beside you.

Tommy kneels down in front of you, placing a warm and gentle hand on your leg. He almost looks a little bit guilty, as if he should have known what was being done to you behind closed doors. “Look, m’gonna ask you a question and I need an honest answer. How long has he been doin’ this to you?”

Anxiously, you start wringing your hands in your lap.

“Tommy, I can’t. Please, don’t—”

“Tell me,” he encourages you, softly. “When did it first start?”

Your throat bobs. “Two months after my dad died,” you confess, another tear rolling down the side of your face.

Maria stiffens. “Luke has been putting his hands on you for two years?”

“Yes.”

You can hear the shame in your own voice—shame for letting the abuse go on as long as it has, for everything to come to light like this.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Tommy sighs heavily and hangs his head. “Joel told me. He fuckin’ told me.”

You wipe at your swollen eyes with your forearm.

“What are you talking about, Tommy?”

He sighs again.

“Months ago, the day after the big summer party,” he begins to explain. “We were at the bar. Joel was askin’ me ‘bout you and Luke. Said somethin’ just wasn’t right when he saw you two together for the first time. He tried to tell me somethin’ was wrong and I—I didn’t fuckin’ believe him. Told him he was seein’ what he wanted to see ‘cause I knew he liked you. I fuckin’ told him that you and Luke were happy. He tried to tell me and I didn’t fuckin’ listen to him.”

“Tommy, please don’t blame yourself for this,” you beg him. “I’m the one who chose to hide it. This is my own fault, okay? This is all on me, not on you.”

Maria furiously shakes her head. “It’s not your fault and it sure as hell isn’t on you. You’re the victim here.”

Victim. 

The word makes you cringe.

“But it is my fault, Maria. I hid it from you guys for two fucking years.”

“But why? Why did you hide it? Why didn’t you come to us?” Tommy’s voice is strained. “You should’ve told us what he was doin’ to you. We—I could’a done somethin’ to stop it. I could’a helped you.”

“Because. I didn’t want to risk getting him thrown out of the community. Jackson needs him, Tommy.”

“Like hell we do,” Tommy rises to his feet. “Ain’t no way that we’re gonna tolerate that fuckin’ shit here.” With his hands curled tightly into fists, he spins around and starts heading towards the front door.

You stand and chase after him, catching him just as he opens it. “Where the hell are you going?”

“To confront that pathetic son of a bitch—”

“Tommy, please! Don’t do that.” Grabbing his arm, you shoot him a pleading look. “Please, think about this for a minute.”

“Ain’t nothin’ for me to fuckin’ think ‘bout, alright?”

“Yes, there fucking is! This town needs a doctor. They need Luke—Maria needs Luke.” You glance over at her just as she appears in the hallway with both hands on her belly. “God forbid that something goes wrong—she goes into preterm labor or she has a complication when she gives birth. Did you think about that?”

“We’ve got two nurses,” he reminds you.

“Two nurses who only know basic neonatal care. That’s it. If something serious happens, Maria’s going to need Luke. And the baby’s going to need him too.”

You knew you’d gotten your point across when Tommy turns to his wife, helplessly.

“Fuck,” he curses, slamming the door shut. “She’s right. I fuckin’ hate to say it, but she’s right ‘bout that.”

“I am right,” you state and his attention flits back to you. “Luke has to stay and you both know that as well as I do. For the good of Jackson, he has to stay.”

Conflicted, Tommy growls out in frustration. “So what, I’m just s’pposed to give him a fuckin’ pass? How the hell can you expect us—how can you expect me to let that motherfucker walk around this place knowin’ what he’s been doin’ to you over these last two years?”

Your fingers dig into his arm, a fresh batch of hot tears stinging your eyes. “Tommy, if this community suffers without Luke because of me, it will destroy me. The guilt will fucking destroy me.”

Finally, Maria decides to step in. “Listen, I know that you’re trying to look out for the people of this town and I get that. But you’re risking your own life by asking us to let him stay here.” She walks over to you, taking your hands in hers. “Honey, I know men like Luke because I used to prosecute men like Luke. I would take them to court on murder charges.” Her eyes find yours. “I don’t want to scare you, but if that is the only way for me to get through to you, then I will sit you down and I will tell you all about what happened to the women who swore to me their abusive husbands would never, ever take it that far.”

You swallow harshly and a chill runs up your spine.

“I’ll leave,” you squeak. “I’ll leave him.”

“And what if he doesn’t let you walk away?”

Tommy crosses his arms over his chest. “He will if I’m the one who fuckin’ talks to him. I ain’t gonna give him the choice. He has to let her go.”

Panicked, you furiously shake your head. “No! I can do this on my own, Tommy. I can handle him alone. I don’t need you to do it for me. I can fix this without your help, okay?”

“You can’t,” he says, firmly. “You just can’t.”

“Yes, I can—”

He cuts you off with a pleading look.

“You need to let us help you. Please. Let us help you.”

You had agreed to it, but only on one condition.

“I need a couple of days,” you’d told them.

Tommy frowned. “No. It’s happenin’ tonight. We’re gonna talk to Luke, you’re gonna pack up a couple bags, and we’re gettin’ you away from him. You can stay here with us for a while. You’ll be safe.” Taking notice of the shocked look on your face, he said, “I know you ain’t crazy enough to think I’m gonna let you go home to him tonight. Ain’t no way in hell.”

“I—this is all happening so fast. It’s too overwhelming, Tommy. I just need a day or two to process everything before I take that leap.”

“And give Luke the fuckin’ chance to hurt you again?”

“He hasn’t laid a finger on me in weeks now.”

Tommy scoffed, “Well, someone give him a fuckin’ medal!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “He hasn’t hit his wife in weeks! What a fuckin’ guy!”

You recoiled, his sarcasm stinging like he’d poured salt straight into the open wound.

“Tommy,” Maria glared at him. “Not helping.”

He immediately shot you an apologetic look.

“Shit. Sorry, little lady. I’m just real worried ‘bout you. I don’t like the idea of you goin’ home to him tonight, and much less knowin’ that you’re pregnant, y’know?” His eyes had fallen to your stomach with sudden curiosity. “When, uh—when do you plan on tellin’ Joel ‘bout the baby, anyway?”

Heat flooded your face and neck.

“I—I’m not really sure about that yet.”

“Jesus Christ, Tommy! She just told you that she’s feeling overwhelmed,” Maria chastised him. “Let’s take it one step at a time, okay? Our first priority is going to be to get her out of that house. She has already agreed to letting us help her, so I think there’s a bit of room for compromise. Here’s the deal.” She put a hand on your shoulder. “As much as I don’t want to let you go home to him tonight either, I’m going to allow it so you can take a breather. Tomorrow in the afternoon when you get home from work duty, I’ll come over and help you pack some clothes and necessities, and we can bring them over here to our place.”

Nervously chewing your lower lip, you asked, “And then what?”

“I’ll go confront Luke,” Tommy stated. “Best if you ain’t there when I talk to him, little lady.” He turned to Maria, placing a hand on her belly. “I don’t want you to be there either, sweetheart. I ain’t takin’ any chances and puttin’ you and the baby under stress so I’m gonna have to handle him alone, alright?”

Maria nodded, shifting her attention back to you. “So? Do we have a deal?”

Meekly, you had nodded in agreement. “Yes. We have a deal.”

The rest of that evening passes by in a blur.

Autopilot had taken over the moment that Tommy took you across the road and dropped you off at your door.

“Any problems, you come get me,” he’d said. “You come and get me. No matter what time it is, alright? You fuckin’ come and get me if he tries anythin’.”

All that you could do was give him a weak nod and then you’d turned around, slipping into the house.

You don’t remember cooking dinner.

You don’t remember looking at the clock, noticing it was well past dinnertime and realizing that Luke would be home late as usual. You don’t remember fixing him a plate and leaving it on top of the stove for him to find when he came home, storing all of the leftovers, and washing the small pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

You don’t remember heading upstairs afterwards, you don't remember taking a long shower, brushing your teeth or changing into your pajamas.

It wasn’t until hours later, when the bedroom door opened and Luke walked in, that autopilot finally disengaged.

“You’re still up?”

You’d been sitting on the foot of the bed anxiously picking at your fingernails without even realizing it until he glared at you—he’d always hated the habit and spent months smacking it out of you.

Ceasing from messing with your hands, you drop them into your lap.

“You’re home really late again,” you say, quietly.

“I made a last minute house call. John’s little boy came down with a hell of a fever tonight.” Luke sets down his satchel bag and shrugs out of his jacket—as he does so, you catch sight of the tiny, reddish purple bruise on his neck, right below his ear. Draping his jacket over a nearby chair, he arches his brow as if he were silently challenging you to confront him, as if he’s daring you to ask him who had given him a love bite.

You don’t care. You don’t care about what or who Luke has been doing over the last several nights when he’s been coming home so much later than usual.

Kicking off his black boots, he saunters over to you, his mouth stretching into a cruel, satisfied little smirk.

Oh, he knows damn well you’ve already figured it out.

He wanted you to figure it out.

“Spend the afternoon at Tommy and Maria’s again?”

“Yes. I did.”

“I see.” He hums. “She was telling me during her exam this morning at the clinic that you’ve been helping her knit some clothes for the baby. Is that so?”

“I have,” you murmur, looking down to avert his curious gaze as he stops in front of you. “We’ve been making blankets for the baby, too.”

Luke cups your chin, forcing your eyes back up to meet his. “Well, isn’t that sweet of you.” He roughly curls his fingers around your jaw, his thumb brushing along your quivering lower lip. He hums again. “Something about you seems different, darling. Been looking a lot prettier to me these days.” He lets go of your jaw and brushes your hair behind your shoulder, his finger skimming the strap of your cotton pajama top. “How long has it been now, sweetheart?”

Your throat goes dry, your lips parting in shock as Luke pulls it down your arm, his palm grazing over your skin.

No. This can’t be happening. He wants to—?

Without waiting for a response, Luke grabs one of your hands and places it over his belt buckle.

Noticing your expression, he laughs again. “Why do you look so surprised?”

“You—you haven’t wanted to touch me in months.”

Luke shrugs. “Well, what can I say? I’m suddenly in the mood for my pretty little wife’s cunt.” His grin stretches from ear to ear. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky this time. Maybe we’ll have a little one of our own running around this place. I’m feeling rather optimistic tonight.”

You’re going to be fucking sick all over him.

No, you can’t let him do this to you.

You can’t let him touch you.

He pushes your hand lower, right over his bulge.

“No!” Tearing your hand away, you jump up and roughly shove him away from you. “Don’t you fucking touch me!”

He stumbles backwards, but he catches himself before he can fall.

Your chest heaves a d he stares at you, bewildered at what you had just done. “I’m so sorry that whoever you fucked before you came home wasn’t enough for you, but you are not fucking touching me,” you spit at him. “In fact, you’re never touching me ever again because I’m leaving. I’m done, Luke.”

“Excuse me?”

“You fucking heard me.” Your voice trembles—you can’t be sure if it trembles out of anger or out of the sheer terror you feel. Maybe it’s a bit of both. “It’s over, Luke. This marriage is fucking over. I’m not putting up with what you’ve been doing to me for the past two years. I’m not going to tolerate it. Not anymore. I’m not going to allow you to keep on hurting me.” Lifting your hand, you slide your wedding band off of your finger and toss it at him. It clinks as it lands on the hardwood floor near his feet. “I’ll be out of the house by tomorrow evening.”

“Let me take a guess.” He speaks calmly, much too calmly, as he starts towards you. The time bomb has started ticking. “You’re going to move in with Joel Miller and his feral little rat of a kid?”

Hands curling into fists at your sides, you seethe, “Where I move is none of your fucking business, Luke.” He steps closer and your courage starts to falter. You can feel yourself wanting to back down—the thought of your unborn child is the only thing that keeps you from completely losing your nerve. “Here is the deal. You’re going to let me leave and you’re going to stay the fuck away from me. If you do that, then I won’t tell anyone anything about the things you’ve done to me. It’ll be like none of it ever happened. We both move on with our lives. Separately. Got it?”

He draws closer and closer. Much too close.

“Oh, you silly, silly girl,” he tsks. “Do you really think you can call the shots? Do you really fucking think you have the upper hand here? That you can make the decision to end this marriage, just like that?”

Closer, until his chest brushes against yours.

“Luke, I’m giving you a fucking chance here,” you say, backing away until the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. With nowhere else to go, to run, you fall backwards onto the bed, scrambling up towards the headboard. Your heart is pounding, too hard and too fast—would it give out before he even has the chance to get his hands on you? “Luke, please, just let me go.” Clasping your hands together in a plea, you beg him, your back pressed against the headboard, “If at any point in our relationship you loved me—if at any point in our marriage you actually cared about me, you will fucking let me go in peace. Please. Just let me go. Let me fucking go.”

Luke stands at the foot of the bed, his face blank.

Emotionless. There isn’t a single ounce of compassion in his eyes. No mercy. 

“Please,” you whisper once more. Curling both of your arms around yourself, you subconsciously protect your belly.

Luke reaches down and unbuckles his belt.

You watch, your stomach churning, as he slowly slides the black leather from the loops of his jeans.

“I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

“I mean it, Joel. Stay away from Luke.” 

Joel clutches his stallion’s reins tightly in his hands as the pair fall into a slow, easy trot behind Tommy and his horse, Ranger.

He follows his brother as he leads the way through the quiet, tranquil plains of Wyoming. Instead of scanning their surroundings for signs of potential danger, all Joel can do is think about you—that was all he could ever do these days, was fucking think about you and about that fucking night.

The memory plays over and over in his mind on a loop, torturing him day in and day out. It never fucking stops. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

“I mean it, Joel. Stay away from Luke. And maybe it’s for the best if you just fucking stay away from me too.”

That’s precisely what he had done. He had stayed away from Luke. And against his better judgement, he had stayed away from you, too.

“How’s it feel to be back out here?” Tommy asks over his shoulder. He tugs at the reins and gives Ranger the cue to slow his trot, giving Joel and his horse, Bandit, the chance to catch up and ride at their side. “Bet you couldn’t be fuckin’ happier to be off house arrest, huh?” he adds, a light joking edge to his tone.

After about four and a half weeks, Joel had made a full recovery, and he was cleared to return to patrol duties. Wanting to ease him back into the swing of things after so much time off, Tommy decided to pair up with Joel as his partner for that morning’s watch. The two took a route just a few miles west of the community, one that was scoured every couple of days since it was so close to Jackson’s main gate.

“S’alright,” he mutters with a shrug that causes him to wince. His shoulder’s still a little sore. Ellie had assisted with his physical therapy, badgering him every single night to do the exercises in some book she’d found in the town’s library with Dina’s help. He had full range of motion again, and that’s all Tommy had needed in order to allow him to return to patrol.

“You feelin’ alright?” His brother notices the slight look of discomfort on his face. “Shoulder’s good?”

“Any particular reason you’re bein’ so annoyin’ today?”

Tommy feigns offense. “You got fuckin’ shot, Joel. Just makin’ sure you’re okay. Jesus.”

Joel lets out a small huff through his nose. “M’fine,” he assures him. “Shoulder’s good. Still hurts a little and the cold weather ain’t doin’ a whole lot to help, but ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle.” Sitting back in his saddle, he lets his thighs close around Bandit. “Whoa,” he utters to the animal, his fingers squeezing the reins as he signals for Bandit to come to a halt.

“What’s the matter? Why are we stoppin’?”

“This route’s clear, Tommy. We should turn around and go find the rest of the group. Check and see if the other routes are clear too.” Joel clicks his tongue, prompting Bandit to move again. He steers the stallion and starts turning around to lead them back east, but then stops once more. He glimpses over at Tommy, who hasn’t moved a muscle. Noticing the odd, pensive expression on his face, Joel frowns, asking, “What’s wrong?”

Tommy chews the inside of his cheek, his apprehension written all over his face. “Uh Joel, there’s something we need to talk ‘bout and maybe it’s best if we do it while we’re out here, just the two of us.”

Confused, Joel’s eyebrows pull together. “What is it?”

His brother hesitates. His lips purse together, a sudden look of regret flashing across his features.

“Tommy?” Joel prompts. “The hell’s goin’ on?”

Exhaling a heavy sigh, he states, “You were right.”

“Right ‘bout what?”

“‘Bout Luke.”

Joel freezes in the seat of his saddle.

“You were fuckin’ right ‘bout him mistreatin’ her.”

His grip around the reins tightens, skin stretching thin over his knuckles so tight they’d gone white.

“She was over at mine yesterday afternoon. Ended up tellin’ me and Maria everthin’ ‘bout Luke and what he’s done.” Rolling his lower lip between his teeth, Tommy pauses for a second before repeating, “You were right. You were fuckin’ right ‘bout that bastard from the start and I’m real sorry that I didn’t fuckin’ believe you, Joel.”

Joel’s mind begins to race.

What had prompted you to finally tell Tommy and Maria about the abuse? Did something happen to you that he didn’t know about?

Ellie had been pretty good about keeping him posted. He would ask her about you the very minute she’d walk through the front door after her shift at the stables and she would provide him a full report.

“She’s fine. She ain’t hurt,” Tommy reassures him, as if he’d read his mind. “We’re plannin’ on movin’ her outta the house later on tonight.”

“What?” Finally, Joel speaks, his voice rigid.

Tommy holds his hands up in defense. “Now, hold on. I need you to give me a minute and let me explain—”

“She told you Luke’s been abusin’ her and you just let her go back to him? Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? Why didn’t you and Maria fuckin’ stop her?”

“Why didn’t you fuckin’ stop her the night you saw the bruise on her?” He shoots back at him. 

Joel stares at him, his lips parting slightly.

How did he fucking know about that? 

“She told us the truth ‘bout the affair too, Joel.”

“She did?”

“She did,” Tommy confirms with a nod. “I had a hunch, y’know. The day of the ambush, I thought I saw panic in her eyes when I told Ellie you’d been shot. Then I saw it again when she saw you there sittin’ on that table with a bullet in your shoulder, but I brushed it off. Thought she was just real worried ‘bout the kid seein’ as those two are thick as fuckin’ thieves, y’know?” Despite the serious nature of the conversation, he can’t help but let out a chuckle when he thinks of you and Ellie. “But now I know she was scared of losin’ you. That girl loves you, Joel. I know you love her too. I’m willin’ to bet it’s the reason you let her walk away that night. Why you kept her secret.”

“Jesus.” Joel exhales a shaky breath. “Y’must think I’m a real fuckin’ coward for knowin’ what he’s been doin’ to her and not doin’ a goddamn thing ‘bout it, huh?”

Tommy shakes his head.

“It’s a complicated situation, brother. She only did what she did for the good of the community. She’s still trying to do what’s best for Jackson, believe it or not. She, uh, she wants us to let Luke stay.”

“She wants you to let him stay?”

“Girl’s got too big of a heart. Doesn’t want the town to be without a doctor.”

“Ain’t no goddamn way you’d let him stay! After all the fuckin’ shit he’s done to her?” When his brother doesn’t respond, Joel narrows his eyes at him. “Jesus Christ. You can’t fuckin’ tell me you’re actually considerin’ it? Are you fuckin’ serious, Tommy? You and Maria would let that son of a bitch stay in Jackson? Knowin’ he’s spent two fuckin’ years puttin’ his hands on his wife?”

“Look here, alright? I don’t like the idea as much as you don’t, and neither does Maria,” he says. “But this ain’t exactly black and white, Joel. I really fuckin’ wish it was. But the hard truth is that Jackson does need a doctor, and unless one magically falls out of the fuckin’ sky, we ain’t got much of a choice here. My wife and child, they might need him, y’know? Maria’s considered a high risk ‘cause of her age. If somethin’ happens and there’s complications when she’s in labor, she and the baby are gonna need him. Our nurses, they ain’t really trained to handle things like that, y’know?”

Joel’s lips press together into a tight, thin line.

Of course it’s black and white to him—because he loves you. You’re his fucking priority. There’s no gray area for him. None.

But Tommy? His priority is Maria and their unborn child.

Joel can’t fault him for that, and he certainly isn’t going to try. But what about you?

“Listen, Joel. I know this is real fuckin’ hard, believe me I do. I care about that girl a lot, a whole fuckin’ lot. I saw her as family long before I knew ‘bout your relationship with her and before I knew she was—”

He stops abruptly, red splotching his cheeks.

Joel still doesn’t know he is going to be a father. Again.

“Before you knew she was what, Tommy?”

“Tommy!” A woman’s voice shouts. “Joel! Over here!”

The two brothers glance over their shoulders and see the rest of their morning patrol group heading towards them.

Tommy bites back a sigh of utter relief. That had been too fucking close.

He turns to Joel, lowering his voice. “Joel, I need you to listen, and listen to me real good. We’ve gotta take this one step at a time. First thing’s first, me and Maria are gonna get her outta that house. She can stay with us at our place for a while. She’ll be safe with us. That much I can promise you.”

“Then what?”

“Don’t know yet. We get her out first and then we figure things out from there. In the meantime, I’m gonna need you to stay calm, Joel. Please. Don’t go off and do somethin’ stupid, alright?”

That had been a lot easier said than done.

Joel needed to talk to you.

He needed to fucking see you. 

But his brother had been adamant.

“Don’t fuckin’ get involved, Joel. Not ‘til we get her out. I don’t want things to fuckin’ explode in our faces, alright? Let me handle this.” 

Letting out a heavy sigh, Joel leans back into the couch and looks down at the guitar in his lap—he’d just spent the last hour carefully polishing it in an effort to keep himself occupied. He thought back to that night you’d come over to gift it to him, how he had kissed you for the first time mere hours before you showed up on his doorstep with your father’s Gibson.

As he gives the guitar a gentle test strum, he recalls the request you made for him to sing you a song and a dull ache settles in his chest, right over his heart. He’ll sing you every song you want to hear, if given the chance.

Part of him is optimistic that he would get the chance.

You were meant to be his. He was meant to be yours.

He just fucking knows it.

Joel’s train of thought is shattered by the sound of the front door opening, and then loudly slamming shut.

“Ellie?” He calls out.

Her voice comes from the hallway. “Yeah?”

“C’mere, kiddo.”

Ellie grumbles incoherently as she walks into the living room, hair disheveled, clothes filthy, and her sneakers caked with muck from the stables.

Joel frowns at her. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Today was just really fucking shitty and while that was a great pun, for once, it was not fucking intended,” she sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. “If you called me in here to ask me about her, I’d save my breath. She stayed home today. She’s sick.”

Joel’s stomach instantly drops. “She’s sick?”

“Yeah. With like a really bad cold or something.”

Putting down the guitar, he questions, “And who told you that?”

“Dina,” Ellie replies, looking puzzled. “She said Luke told her—” She stops abruptly as he jumps to his feet and immediately shoves past her, heading towards the front door. She spins around on her heel, following him. As he flies down the porch and starts down the road towards your house, she is forced to jog along beside him just to keep up with his stride. “What, what? What is it? Fucking answer me, Joel, what is it?”

“She ain’t fuckin’ sick, Ellie.”

“What do you mean she’s not—oh fuck. You don’t think she’s hiding out at home because—?” Ellie’s heartbeat stutters when the realization sinks in. “Luke.”

When the pair arrive at your place, they find a very, very distraught Maria Miller standing on the front porch, her hands wrapped around the doorknob. “Hon, I need you to let me in!” She turns and pulls the knob, desperately. “Please! Open the door for me!”

Your tearful voice comes from the other side. “Go away, Maria!”

The sound of Joel’s boots prompt Maria to turn around. “Joel,” she breathes out his name in relief. “I can’t get her to open the door. Tommy went to see if we have a spare key for the unit. He hasn’t come back and I don’t know what to do.”

“Break a fucking window, maybe?” Ellie snaps at her.

Joel silences her with a glare and then takes Maria by her arms, moving her to stand behind him. “Open the goddamn door!” he commands firmly, pounding his fist harshly against the wood. He can almost feel the way you freeze on the other side the moment you hear the sound of his voice. “Open this fuckin’ door right now!”

Ellie chimes in, “Come on, please open the door!”

“Go away!”

Joel continues to beat his fists against the door. “Show me what he fuckin’ did to you!” He shouts as he drops his hands to the doorknob, clawing at it as if somehow that’s going to do the trick and open the door. “C’mon! Show me what that fuckin’ bastard did to you!”

“Please, go away, all of you! Just leave me alone!”

“You know we can’t do that,” Maria calls. “You’re going to have to open this door and let us—”

Losing what very little patience he has to begin with in the first place, Joel cuts her off. “I will fuckin’ break this door down if I have to,” he threatens. “I’ll cause a scene and let everyone in this whole fuckin’ town know what Luke does to you. Is that what you want?”

He hears the lock click almost instantly.

Finally, you crack the door open and peek out to show them your face. “There, you fucking see?” Your face is blotchy, your eyes red and swollen from crying. “I’m fucking fine! Now fucking go away!”

You try shutting the door, but Joel is too quick and slips the toe of his boot in, wedging it between the door and the doorframe.

“Move, Joel!”

“Nope,” he says, keeping it planted firmly in place.

Not wanting to break his foot, you let up and he shoves his way inside with Ellie and Maria trailing behind him.

Taking a clumsy step backwards, you gather up the front of your knitted cardigan in your trembling hands, bunching it around your neck to conceal it. “Get out! Please, just get out!” you beg them through your sobs. “Please leave! I’m fine! Look at me, I’m perfectly fine—”

Heart hammering painfully against his sternum, Joel walks over and he takes your wrists. “Let me see. Baby, please. Just let me see.” His voice is raw, thick, as if he were on the verge of tears himself. He just knows he’s failed you, failed to keep all those promises he had made about never letting anything bad happen to you. He’s fucking failed. Again. He tries to find your gaze, but you refuse to look him in the eye. “Let me see,” he chokes out again, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast against the iciness of your own. “I’ll force you if I have to, so please just show me. Please, just fuckin’ show me what he did to you.”

Letting out another agonized sob, you drop your hands and let go of the material, letting it fall back into place at your sides and exposing your injury.

Maria gasps into her hands. “God.” 

“Fuck.” Ellie’s eyes widen in complete horror.

Joel drops your wrists, taking a step backwards as his eyes glaze over the severe discoloration around your neck.

He feels fucking sick to his stomach, but it isn’t until he notices the clear imprint of a square belt buckle on the column of your throat that Joel thinks he might actually be sick all over the floor.

“What the hell is going on in here?”

Luke’s voice suddenly echoes through the foyer. He stands near the front door, looking thoroughly confused—that is, until he sees you standing there, exposing what he had done to you the night before with his belt. The very same belt he’s wearing now.

No one has the chance to speak.

No one has the chance to think.

No one even has the chance to breathe.

Joel charges at Luke. He roughly snatches the collar of his jacket and pulls him further into the foyer of the house, away from the open front door so that he has nowhere to run.

You rush towards them. “Joel, stop! No!”

Maria quickly hurries to stop you, grabbing you by the back of your sweater. She yanks you back and out of harm’s way. “Don’t!”

Horrified, you watch as Joel slams Luke straight into the mirror hanging on the wall—head first. He pulls him forward, then slams him back even harder, the impact completely shattering the glass. Hundreds of shards go flying across the hardwood floor.

“Oh shit! Watch out!” Ellie jumps back as a sharp piece of broken glass lands between her sneakers.

“Joel, stop it! Please, stop!” you cry out as Maria grasps your arm to keep you from jumping in the middle of the altercation. “Stop it!”

But Joel is too far gone. Ignoring your desperate cries, he wraps one hand around Luke’s neck, holding him in place. His other hand curls into a tight fist and he starts delivering bone shattering blow after bone shattering blow to his face. “You wanna fuckin’ hit someone?” He snarls as the man’s nose cracks beneath his knuckles. “You wanna fuckin’ put your hands on someone? Huh? Then you fuckin’ put ‘em on me! C’mon, I fuckin’ dare you to put ‘em on me!”

Throwing Luke onto the floor, Joel climbs on top of him and he secures both of his hands around his throat. He feels the uncontrollable urge to do to him what he had done to you—only, unlike Luke, he doesn’t need a belt, and unlike Luke, he isn’t going to stop.

He isn’t going to let him live.

Joel squeezes Luke’s neck, cutting off his oxygen.

“How do you fuckin’ like it,” he hisses, irises going from brown to black as he presses harder on his windpipe. “C’mon, tough guy, tell me how you fuckin’ like it.”

Luke feebly claws and scratches at his hands, gurgling as blood starts coming out of his nose and mouth.

“Joel! Stop!” Tommy rushes into the house, his boots scraping against the floor as he skids to halt. Without hesitating, he jumps into action. “Joel, stop! Fuckin’ let him go! Let him go!” He reaches down to pull him off.

“Look at what he did to her! Fuckin’ look at her!”

Tommy turns his attention to you, and the color drains from his face. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes out, shocked by the mark around your neck. He has half a mind to step back and allow Joel to finish the job, but with you, Ellie, and Maria watching on in terror, Tommy doesn’t have a choice. He grabs fistfuls of Joel’s denim shirt and tries to tug him off the man he’s about to kill. “Fuckin’ let him go, Joel! Right now! That’s an order!”

Luke’s attempts to fight him off grow weaker. His face is beaten beyond recognition, and there’s a pool of dark red growing under him, dripping from a deep laceration he’d sustained from the being slammed head first into the mirror. His hands fall from around Joel’s wrists. He’s close to losing complete consciousness.

“Joel, let him go!” Tommy bellows. “Now!”

“Tommy, be careful!” Maria warns him, worriedly.

Somehow, he finally manages to peel Joel off Luke. He shoves him up against the nearest wall, pinning him in place. Behind him, Luke coughs and sputters violently, gasping as he frantically tries to breathe some air back into his lungs.

“Fuckin’ let go of me!” Joel growls, his eyes wild as he drives his fists into Tommy’s chest. “I’ll fuckin’ kill him! Let me fuckin’ go!”

Tommy cups Joel’s face in his hands and tries to meet his gaze. “Hey, look at me, I need you to calm the fuck down—I said fuckin’ look at me, Joel!” He demands. “I need you to calm the fuck down. I know that he fuckin’ deserves it, alright? Trust me, it’s takin’ all the strength I’ve got in me not to fuckin’ let go, let you kill the son of a bitch. Hell, there’s a part of me that wants to help you fuckin’ do it! But it ain’t the way we handle things here. M’gonna need you to take a breath and calm down, big brother. If anythin’, just do it for her sake, alright?”

Joel’s chest heaves, his breaths rough and ragged as his eyes flicker over to you. His heart sinks at the sight of you sobbing uncontrollably in Ellie and Maria’s arms.

Groaning, Luke rolls over onto his stomach and spits a mouthful of blood into the floor. “You can fucking have her,” he rasps, looking up at Joel through swollen eyes. “Keep her. Keep the useless little whore.”

Blinded by white hot rage, Joel starts thrashing around in Tommy’s grasp and tries to break loose. “Fuckin’ call her that again you fuckin’ son of a bitch—”

“Shit.” Dropping her arms from around you, Ellie steps forward, standing protectively in front of both you and Maria.

“Get the fuck off me, Tommy! M’gonna fuckin’ kill him!”

Maria tucks your face into her shoulder. “Don’t watch.”

“Joel, fuckin’ stop it already!” Tommy struggles to keep him in place. “You’re scarin’ her half to death!”

“I don’t fuckin’ care—”

Tommy’s fingers curl around the collar of his shirt. He slams Joel back against the wall so hard, the mirror, or at least what’s left of it, falls. The square frame breaks in half when it hits the floor.

“Well, you should fuckin’ care! She’s pregnant, Joel.”

You lift your head from Maria’s shoulder. “Tommy.”

Ellie spins around on her heel to face you. She stares at you with wide, round eyes. “You’re fucking pregnant?”

Joel looks over at you. Just as shocked, if not more.

“What?” 

Tommy grabs his chin, forcing his older brother to look at him once more. “It’s true,” he murmurs quietly. “So please, just take a goddamn breath and calm the fuck down. For her sake—and for the sake of your child.” He releases Joel’s shirt and takes a careful step backwards towards Luke, who is still groaning in pain on the floor. Once he realizes Joel isn’t going to charge him again, Tommy turns around and grabs the injured man by the lapels of his jacket, pulling him up to his feet in a rough, careless manner. “Get the fuck up,” he says. He drags him towards the door. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“Tommy? Where are you taking him?” Maria questions him.

“Town jail. M’gonna throw his sorry ass in a fuckin’ cell and leave him in there ‘til we figure out what to do with him.” He glances over his shoulder. “I’ll get the council together for an emergency meetin’ tonight.”

“Jesus,” Ellie mutters under her breath as soon as they disappear. “Did this really just fucking happen?”

Chest still heaving, Joel glances down at his bloodied, torn knuckles and then turns to you, his eyes meeting yours. The tension between the two of you is almost palpable.

Maria lightly clears her throat. “We should probably get out of here,” she suggests. “Let’s head on over to mine and Tommy’s while we wait for him to get back.”

“Are you cold?” Ellie asks, worriedly.

She holds up a blue fleece throw blanket she’d dug out from the hallway closet despite you warning her not to snoop around the house while Maria’s in the bathroom tending to Joel’s hand.

Shaking your head, you sigh, “I’m fine.”

“But it’s cold in here.” She drapes the blanket over your hunched shoulders. “Can I get you something? Water? Are you hungry? You should probably eat something—”

“Ellie, please stop with all the fussing.” You pat the spot on the couch beside you. “Just sit here with me. That’s all I need right now.”

Nodding, she sits down and angles herself toward you, getting a closer look at the wound you’d been left with.

“Shit,” Ellie mutters under her breath. Grimacing, she lifts a hand and gingerly presses her fingertips to your neck in disbelief. “Fuck, dude. How bad does it hurt?” She touches a particularly sore spot on the column of your throat and you hiss in pain. She retracts her hand and sputters an apology, “Fuck, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Wincing, you assure her, “It’s fine. It’s just a little tender right now, that’s all.”

“A little?” she scoffs.

“Okay, maybe more than a little,” you admit.

Ellie observes you for a moment. “Are you okay?”

“It’ll heal, Ellie. It looks worse than it really is.”

“No, I mean—” Pausing, Ellie moves her hand, placing it on your stomach. “Is the baby okay?”

You glance down at yourself, almost as if you expected to see something different about yourself, but then you remember you’re only about six weeks along and there is nothing to see, no significant changes to your body. Perhaps it’s the reason why there’s a part of you having a hard time grasping that Ellie’s asking if the baby was okay. If your baby is okay.

After a minute, you nod. “Yeah, I think so,” you reply softly, putting a hand over hers.

Relieved, Ellie flashes you a small smile. “Good.”

“How are you two doing in here?” Maria appears in the living room with Joel trailing behind her. His right hand is wrapped up in a white bandage.

“We’re okay.” Ellie glances at Joel. “You okay?”

He gives a quick, subtle nod of his head. “M’fine.”

“We can take her home now, right?” When Ellie doesn’t ge the immediate response she’s seeking, she shoots him a tiny little glare. “She’s coming home with us, isn’t she? I mean, she fucking has to come home with us.”

He still doesn’t answer her question.

All Joel can do is stare at you, jaw clenched and his lips pressed into a tight, thin line.

“Hey, Ellie, how about we go into the kitchen and make some tea?” Maria beckons to her with her hand.

She snorts. “Seriously? Who the hell wants fucking tea after that fucking shitshow—”

Maria pins her with an exasperated glare. “Ellie.”

“Oh shit, okay. I get it now,” Ellie quickly realizes it’s simply an excuse for the two of them to leave the room. Dropping her hand away from your stomach, she jumps up to her feet and wraps her arms around you. Her hug is brief, but full of warmth and reassurance, as if she’s silently telling you everything’s going to be alright. She releases you and follows Maria to the kitchen, leaving you and Joel alone.

Nervously, you stand up, your knees wobbling.

You feel torn—torn between wanting to run over to him and jump into his arms, and wanting to run away in the opposite direction to find somewhere to bury your head in shame. You’d promised him he had nothing to worry about, swore to him you couldn’t bear a child, and now here you were, carrying his and putting a responsibility on his shoulders he didn’t ask for. A responsibility that, surely, he doesn’t want.

On top of everything else he’d been through with you.

No, because of you. And now this?

Somehow, you muster up enough courage to speak.

“Joel,” you squeak his name. “Say something.”

“You sure you’re pregnant?” He asks, quietly. He stands across the room, making no move to come closer.

Swallowing harshly, you nod. “I’m sure.”

“How long have you known?”

“I only just found out yesterday,” you swear.

“And Tommy and Maria fuckin’ knew before me?”

It’s hard to tell if he’s angry or if he’s disappointed—not that either was a better option than the other.

“I was here with them yesterday in the afternoon. I got sick out of nowhere. Maria’s the one who suspected it and suggested I take a pregnancy test when I realized I haven’t had my period since August. After the first time that you and I—well, you know.” Shifting from one foot to the other, you continue to explain, “It never even fucking crossed my mind, Joel. I didn’t notice anything. I didn’t notice the symptoms. Missing my period, the dizziness, and the nausea. I was so busy trying to keep myself from fucking falling apart without you that it all went right over my head.”

Joel’s harsh expression suddenly softens.

“I took the test. When the results turned out positive, I just lost it. I fucking lost it, and I told Tommy and Maria everything because I was scared.” Your voice breaks, and a tear slips out from the corner of your eye, rolling down the side of your face. Several more threaten to follow, but you blink them back. “They offered to help me, Joel. They wanted to get me out of the house last night, but I was too fucking stubborn. I didn’t listen to them. I thought I’d be fine for one more night, but when Luke came home, he wanted to be intimate with me.”

Joel sucks in a sharp breath. His anger boils in his veins all over again. “And did he—he touch you like that?”

“No, of course not. I didn’t let him. I couldn’t let him. I told him not to touch me and I pushed him away.”

“Then what happened?”

“I told him that it was over. That our marriage was over and I was leaving. That’s when he took off his belt and he—” Gesturing to your throat, you start sobbing again as images of the night before flood your mind.

Luke had done pretty horrific things to you before, but this? 

This had been the worst of them. He almost killed you.

“Baby.” Joel rushes over to you and pulls you right into his arms. “Shh, darlin’. S’alright,” he soothes. “S’alright, you’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

Whimpering, you met into his touch, the very touch you have been missing with every fiber of your being. “I’m so sorry, Joel,” you croak into his chest. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

He pulls away slightly, peering down at you. “Sorry? For what?” Without even giving you the chance to answer, he assures you, “There ain’t nothin’ for you to apologize for, sweet girl. Alright?”

You let out a tearful scoff. “Joel, I’m pregnant. And it’s fucking yours,” you remind him, the guilt in your tone loud and clear. “Don’t you remember how worried you were about it? And how I told you that you had nothing to be concerned about?”

“Don’t put it all on yourself, peach.”

You almost smile.

Oh, how you’ve missed hearing him call you that.

“Look, this is on me too, baby. Part of me knew there was still a possibility, but I didn’t care. All I cared ‘bout was makin’ you mine every fuckin’ chance I got.” Joel’s hand cups the side of your face. He chuckles nervously and says, “Y’know, at one point, I kinda thought I was at the age where I’m shootin’ blanks more than anythin’ else. Guess we were both wrong, huh?”

“Joel—”

He cuts you off. “And if you’re worried I’m upset ‘bout you bein’ pregnant, you’re wrong ‘bout that too, darlin’.”

Surprised, you blurt, “You mean, you want the baby?”

Now it's his turn to be taken aback.

“Y’thought I wouldn’t want it?”

“Yeah,” you confess, sheepishly. “I thought you would be mad about this, if I’m being honest, Joel. I wasn’t sure if you’d even want anything to do with it.” Noticing he’d taken some offense to the notion that he wouldn’t want his own child, you exhale a small sigh and place a hand on his chest. “Come on, Joel, can you honestly blame me? When you were the one who was so damn worried about me getting knocked up in the first place? Wouldn’t you have thought the same if you were me?”

He grazes your cheek with his thumb. “Can’t lie to you, sweetheart. I probably would have.” Letting his hand fall away from your face, Joel takes a seat on the couch and pulls you down onto his lap. “Sure as hell wasn’t in my plans to have another kid in my fuckin’ fifties. But y’know, the idea of having a little one runnin’ around, it ain’t all that fuckin’ bad.” He pauses, adding with a faint grin, “‘Specially if he or she happens to look like you.”

Relieved, you lean into his chest, shoulders sagging in exhaustion. 

“You alright?” Joel murmurs, pressing a kiss into your hair.

Burying your face into his neck, you breathe him in. “I am now that I’m with you,” you confess as he wraps his arms around you, holding you tighter than he ever has before.

“M’gonna take real good care of you, darlin’. Both of you,” Joel reassures you, softly. “Nothin’s gonna hurt you, baby. S’long as you’re with me, nothin’ or no one is ever gonna hurt you ever again. Swear it on my life.”