#but there will be a little bit of exploring in the coming chapters

[northern-passage]

what have i been up to?

i decided to do a little check-in type post just to let you all know what i've been working on. i know things have been quiet here, mainly because i'm just not as active on social media as i used to be (but especially here)

i have been working on tnp, though. i've been rewriting chapter 2 (what was previously chapter 1) and i know a lot of people complain about rewrites but the fact was simply that i had written myself into a corner; when it comes to IF, when you have a lot of stats and branching and variations to track, you get to a point where it simply does not make sense to try and force it, and i really needed to go back and fix my coding and cut a lot of variables. which is what i've been doing, and many of you have seen how that's changed the game so far with the rewritten prologue (now chapter 1).

with that in mind, i've also done a lot of worldbuilding. again, you've seen some of this if you saw the pantheon post i made a while ago (though some of that has changed already, too, along with more edits to chapter 1 😅) and i've put a lot more thought into the setting, how the world "works" and the different relationships between countries and cultures, etc.

i will be yapping about all of that under the cut if you're interested, but if not, just know i am still working on the game. i do not have an estimated timeline for an update, but i am trying very hard to get chapter 2 out this year.

anyways, my rambling:

one of the main changes will be how Gael and Adrania function. Gael and Adrania remain similar in essence but the relationship has changed, as has the source of their hostilities. i've also put a lot more thought into the way gender roles would work in this world, something that i've previously been a bit wishy-washy on. reading more fantasy and studying lectures on the craft and understanding the way oppression works in the real world has allowed me to brainstorm a better, more realized world with tnp.

that being said, i still stand by my original goal with this project, which is that i'm not really interested in writing violent/graphic misogyny, transphobia, or homophobia. but i am interested in exploring the way empires hold power, and for tnp, that has always been through money and trade. even in the very first iterations, the major cities like blackwater and king's harbor are designed with very clear and purposeful class divides, i've just put a lot more thought into how this would actually work.

and there is also the influence of the gods; when your major religious figurehead is revered as a "mother," as well as the enforcer of justice, what does that mean for the world and the women in it? when you have gods that are genderless or genderfluid, how does that change societies perception of trans people, and gender as a whole?

i struggled when i started tnp about how to depict gender in this world, and originally i simply chose not to give it much thought, and i used a lot of anachronisms rather than actually trying to explore what transness and gender within the context of tnp would look like (i think this was my biggest mistake with Lea at the start. if you remember that you're a real one lol). and i think that's a cop out and simply not how any society would work. Adrania is an empire; people will be forced to comply to various roles and expectations in order for this empire to retain control.

so this led me to 1. reimplement the tolls, something that was present in my very first draft but got scrapped before publishing for the first time. it's easy to control people when you have papers and tolls to track them (or restrict their movements if they don't have the "correct" papers). 2. expand on the relationship between Gael and Adrania. where did these two countries come from? when did they split? how has Adrania managed to grow in power while Gael has not? and how has the plague exacerbated the hostilities? etc. we'll see a lot of this explained in the next chapter (as well as some edits made to chapter 1 again), with Adrania's trade agreements and how they exclude Gael specifically.

and finally, what gender roles are people expected to play within society? if Adrania's main god is a woman (okay, a wolf, but you get it) and a mother and also known to be a ruthless dispenser of justice, what does this mean for Adranian men and women? if their god of death is genderless and also commonly represented as a god of dreams and transitions (from life to death and wakefulness to dreams and from one gender to another or beyond) how does this impact the trans people in this world? if the god of war and harvest is sometimes a woman and sometimes a man, who benefits from elevating one depiction over the other?

lots of fun questions! which i think has led to some interesting changes in the game which makes the world feel more real. it also gives me a reason (not that i "needed" one but, ya know *gestures vaguely*) for all of the women i have in combat leadership roles: Keres, Hadrien, and Merry, just to name a few, and why someone like Redwine would be disliked and challenged as a political, landowning leader instead (and ultimately replaced by a man). while all the warrior gods are women (Wolfmother, the Moon, Stormbringer), Adrania emphasizes the male depiction of the Sun, which leads to this divide of men seeking landownership and more administrative political roles, versus women who, outside of motherhood, make careers as generals and captains and knights.

with trans people, there are similar expectations, of course, but they are also pushed towards more spiritual roles due to their perceived kinship with the death god as well as the Sun (and this also means that while motherhood is revered in this world, there is a looser definition here than in our world, due to transness being acknowledged, accepted, and an integral part of society. what "motherhood" is and what it means to people will be explored heavily in game, you just have to trust me on this one!) obviously there is a real history of trans people being seen this way, and it's something i've turned over in my head for a while. beyond the spiritual, though, trans people are seen in every other role as well, and we'll see some trans people who have little to no relationship with religion or the death god (like Merry, Lea, Clementine, Rodrick, and Rafe) and others that have an actively hostile relationship with it (Noel. lol) and including the potentially trans mc, we see a diverse depiction of trans people, as hunters and watchers and captains and healers and bards, etc. i'm hoping this still gives a well-rounded, multi-faceted look at how trans people live in this world without pigeonholing them solely as "divine oracles," or othering them from their cis counterparts.

overall, i feel that i've matured as a writer since i started tnp and i want that to reflect in the world as well. rereading the original demo made me cringe and a lot of it just felt very childish and flat, and i feel like i really didn't have a strong enough grasp on the fantasy genre, nor the skills and knowledge required to do proper, intensive worldbuilding at the time. now i think the story and setting and characters have grown a lot and i'm more capable and confident to do the things that past me couldn't. anyways thanks for reading all this, this post was just an excuse for me to talk about everything because i'm dying keeping it all to myself LOL. i look forward to catching back up to chapter 3 and finally sharing it all with you eventually!

[lych33dragoncookie]

So, like... Anyone mind telling me when this fanbase gaslit themselves into believing all the psychological manipulation stuff Shadow Milk did in his main 2 Beast Yeast episodes was done purely out of loneliness or longing or whatever? Sure he started getting weird about it near the later half and DEFINITELY strange about it near the end there but...

Come on, don't genuinely try to look me in the eyes and tell me he did any of that because he felt like he had to or because he was lonely. In part, yes; that's why he was so damn happy to see Pure Vanilla start seemingly seeing things his way, and start acting more like Shadow Milk himself, but... that's not it. That's not JUST it. There's more. Of course, there's more. Do you lot not get it by now? He loves... LOVES, suffering. He. Loves. It.

"Oh but he doesn't-" What? Doesn't enjoy this? Doesn't like it? Isn't on board with it? Wrong again.

He loves every little bit of it. He's totally on board, and seems to consider this its own fun little form of art. "Oh but that's not manipulation" yeah, this instance isn't. He's just here to mess a little with Wind Archer. It's here to show just how sadistic he is, and how he draws absolutely no lines in the sand whatsoever so long as it's entertaining. Now, if you want to see him toy with someone else for his own amusement and sheer desire to inflict harm on a psychological and emotional level...

This last instance in particular is really amusing to me. We see him pull this exact little gambit again, on Pure Vanilla Cookie... I suppose he has his own preferred little methods of getting what he wants, hm~? He has quite a good read on them both, too. He knows they're each other's rocks; just as well as they are each other's weakspots. Such is the nature of trust and a tight-knit bond, isn't it? Something he'll gladly take advantage of... And, the best part is, HE LEFT HIS MARK ON HER! Oh, he did...

Though, that's not too hard to do, is it? It's more like... tearing at holes in already-torn fabric. Honestly, I cannot imagine how much restraint it must have taken to pull them away from each other at the spire... though, he probably got a chuckle out of watching them fall right into his little trick; playing at each's sense of doing what must be done no matter what, their little obsession with fate... and, besides, they probably expected to get separated sooner or later, anyways, right? It's just such an obvious, beautifully obvious little bit of bait... and they took it hook line and sinker, just like he wanted them to. There is no way he didn't get at least a little bit of amusement out of that.

Ah, but, we really haven't gotten to the most severe example of what he's really capable of, have we? It's an example people barely ever explore, frankly. And, I can't blame them! The focus is on someone else for just about the entire chapter, and at first glance she can just sort of be disregarded as a bit of a trope ball, but... trust me, she's the biggest example I could possibly provide. Not White Lily, not Pure Vanilla...

Her.

Oh, but she's so happy obeying his every whim! Serving him with her whole life! Doing absolutely everything to earn even the slightest of his affections, no matter what! Yes, exactly, my dear strawman; and that's exactly what's wrong here.

Allow me to let you in on a little secret. Most of the time, people aren't created a certain way. What someone is comes as a result of how they're molded, be it by themselves or their environment. The shape a person takes is not determined by their creation, but rather their experiences thereafter. Now, dear reader, think for a moment;

Could this possibly, possibly be natural? Could this possibly be the result of anything other than hard, cold, deep-rooted conditioning? He threatened to kill her. He. Threatened. To. Kill her. And she didn't flinch. Not for a moment. As a matter of fact, she went right back to adoring him, ceaselessly, without any hesitation in her heart. Eager, as always.

You can't tell me she was made like this. You can't tell me this comes from a sincere place of love, care and affection; a nurturing of any kind. If it were, how could she take a death threat so lightly, act like it never happened, not even act at all scared as a result? No, my dear reader, no... She wasn't made like this. This isn't natural. Why would it be? How could it be? Remember...

The act of Shadow Milk turning to deceit, deciding to make the world his', turn it into his stage; that act was what created Candy Apple Cookie. He was set in his goals, already, by the time she was made. Now, with the previous information about his character given... What do you think happened?

Here you are, having decided you're the one above all. That the world shall be yours, all yours, and only yours. And, now having embraced the power to do exactly that, you've been given something interesting. A blank slate. Someone who didn't have a life before you. Someone who was never given the chance to be their own person. Someone who only knows that they were created as a result of your actions. Someone who, with very little effort, could be whatever you want them to be.

Is it any wonder her obsession runs so deep? Is it any wonder she won't flinch at the threat of him ending her life? Is it any wonder the possibility of any, any kind of attention from him is all that fuels her every action? No. It's all she's ever known. He's all she's ever known. And, chances are, he made sure of that.

It really doesn't feel like his neglect of her is exactly something he doesn't realize he's doing, either. He treats Black Sapphire Cookie so much better, with so much more respect, calls upon him constantly... and yet, little Candy Apple Cookie is left there on the sidelines. Waiting. Hoping that eventually, maybe, someday, her devotion and efforts will be rewarded. And, I ask you, dear reader; why would she do this, if she didn't know what she was looking for? What she wanted?

Do you not see the picture forming, here? He knows what he's doing. He was given a blank slate, someone he could mold however he wanted. He had to make her like this. The praise he gives to Black Sapphire Cookie; who's to say Candy Apple Cookie's never known it? That, when she had been more recently created, the two weren't more actively involved with each other? That Shadow Milk didn't recognize her efforts, didn't praise her, didn't give her the kind of attention he currently gives his other underling... Only to stop doing that. Slowly. Slowly, but surely. Leave her hungry. Leave her wanting more. Make sure she dedicates her every living breath to trying to get it back. To getting back the only thing she's ever known. To keep trying and trying to please the very reason she exists, the only one she's ever had, no matter what.

Now, I know this isn't exactly in the text, but... are these really farfetched assumptions to make, knowing him? No. No they aren't. Specially considering just how deeply ingrained all of this seems to be for poor little Candy Apple Cookie. Is it any surprise? The whole damn world is supposed to be in his hands, anyways. She belongs to him, as far as he's concerned. He couldn't care less. And she'll likely never realize that, because this is all she's ever known.

... Candy Apple Cookie's whole existence is just miserable, isn't it?

Ahem.

I hope I've made my point. Never once was all that stuff he did in Beast Yeast 7 & 8 just about Pure Vanilla Cookie. I feel like I've proven demonstrably enough that this is all him. He loves inflicting pain. He loves tearing his little playthings apart bit by bit. He's powerful, extremely so, but he'd rather put in the effort to make sure he breaks those he takes an interest in, instead of just destroying them outright. He holds no regard for anyone but himself, and he knows damn well how to make someone feel despair crushing their very being, slowly and painfully. He's not misunderstood. He's not just weird and unable to carry out his desires normally. He's an enormous sadist who loves taking control and playing with his food as much as he can, delighting in every single moment of suffering; knowing just what heartstrings to pull at to break someone.

He may be lonely, but that's a mere byproduct. He did this to himself. None of this is a facade. It's not a farce. It never was.

You're not looking at a victim. You're looking at a monster. He knows damn well what he is. And he loves being who he is. No matter how deeply unfulfilling it may be. It's all he could ever want to be.

... And I love that about him. Oh, how utterly so. <3

[crabsnpersimmons]

things i'm doing instead of writing my fic:

take a map, take a map

Note: nothing is to scale because i value my sanity

[ibblescribbles]

Do you think you will ever check out Raincode? It's made by the same people who made DR but with a more focus on mystery. (It has the same vibes and stuff, I feel like you would like it a lot) another thing, the writing is so banger

Yes, I've already played Raincode!! Really enjoyed it, especially for the DR-like vibe and I actually made charms of the main cast:

I have sketches of Yomi and Yakou that I've been meaning to add to this set for ages but haven't been able to bring myself to refine them ;v; Makes me happy when people recognize the Raincode merch at cons tho! I'm really excited for Kodaka's new game too, I haven't played the demo yet!

[jamiesfootball]

🌹🌹🌹 to have on hand if you want to share or brag on anything while in your reaching 100k push <3

I have been staring at this one curiously, trying to seize on the perfect thing to share.

Then I stared at it mournfully during the time I was waiting for my new charger to arrive.

Now my charger is here, I can pick back up on my word count, and I am a mere 2200 words away so I will hit 100k this weekend or so help me.

That said, I've realized what I want to share isn't a snippet -- it's some brain goo.

For Oh God You're Gonna Get It (You Have Not Been Given Love), I want to talk about the chapter without Jamie.

This chapter is midway through the fic, and it's current working title is 'Six Rounds' (also known in my head as 'Six Round Roy.') The conceit of this chapter is that while Jamie is away in Manchester for the weekend, Roy has a series of conversations (again, this is Talking: The Fic) with six different characters. Storylines are progressed, he gets to stretch some of his new therapy muscles, and he also gets to run headlong into that common 'I'm fixing my life' pitfall of rushing to try to fix too much at once.

To me, I enjoy the concept of a chapter like this - not only for the narrative break, but because I enjoy it when characters have many people (I will find the Vonnegut quote, the 'you are not enough people' quote, and post it later). So we get to see a bit of how Roy is fitting in with everything- with his new position as manager, his relationship with the players as both a coach and a mentor/friend, his relationship with Keeley and how that's changed. And one more bit that I'll get into.

However it's been digging into the back of my head- are people going to enjoy a whole chapter without Jamie? And a very very long chapter at that. Most of my chapters have an average of 3-5 scenes at inception, with smaller bits that grow in between to connect them. This chapter is 6 almost completely non-related scenes, and I can already feel the need for glue to hold them all together.

So it's been worrying me - a whole freaking chapter without Jamie? Someone's going to skip it, or skim it, because it doesn't have their favorite guy in it.

But then I had the realization as I was making my notes on it that actually despite not being physically there Jamie's in every scene. I don't mean in a he-crossed-Roy's-mind way either. All the conversations he has, Jamie is in them somewhere. That's just how baked into Roy's life he is at that point. That's how baked in he is to Richmond at this point. He's just there, a presence in everyone's life, and especially Roy's life, so of course he comes up.

Which is why it's telling that the one conversation that he doesn't come up in, that 1 time out of 6 conversations in this very long chapter, is when Roy is trying to have a conversation with the people who aren't really in his life at all. His parents.

[caifanes]

we’re done. it’s finally over (kinda)

[comicaurora]

A bit of a strange question, but if there were any of your videos you were to "remake" today for any reason (ex: you feel like you misrepresented the original text or spread misinformation), which would it be and why? None of them is a perfectly valid answer

Again: bit of a strange question, but I've been thinking about my own creations and how I could have done so much better with some of them, but I also know that is a sign of my growth and constantly chasing "what if I did this instead" isn't always healthy for nurturing a creative mindset, and I was wondering what your opinion might be as a Creator of Things with a bit more experience than I

There's been a few trope talks where I've thought later of other angles I could've explored that might warrant sequels or part 2s, but I don't dislike any of the summaries enough to justify a rework.

I always find "I could've done this better if I made it now" to be a bit of a fallacy. I'm only better at making things now because I made all those earlier things. If I knew everything I'd learn from making a project before I started the project, it wouldn't come out the same.

I think when it comes to the "rework remake perfect" instinct, it helps to zero in on what the impulse is really grounded in. In my experience, more often than not, it's not actually about making the art better, except incidentally. It's usually about showing that you are better. It's demonstrating your competence and your higher standards and your skills, and more importantly it's overwriting the proof that you were once less than perfect. If people look at your old work and think that's all you're capable of, they'll be judging you poorly!

If that's the motivator, it's a very unhelpful one. You can't control for being harshly or incorrectly judged. It's a fruitless effort to stave off potentially upsetting outdated criticism, and it's not even going to work. Fear of critique is an unreliable and untrustworthy motivator.

If it really is about making the art itself better, perfecting your magnum opus with your newly leveled-up skills, that's a little more solid. But from where I'm standing, it's always better to use those skills to make something new instead of polishing something old. The older, unpolished work has already acquired its audience that finds it appealing for reasons that might never occur to you. Trying to bury or overwrite it just deprives that audience of the thing they like, and maybe makes them feel bad for having liked it in the first place. Also, usually when you look back on the older work, you'll conclude that the problem is everything and it'll need to be torn down and started from scratch. I know when I revisited the first three chapters of the comic, when I let my critic brain spin up, it wasn't shading or lineart I wanted to fix - it was panel composition, overall pacing, the entire structure of the chapters as a whole. I would've had to make them all over again to be happy with them, and they wouldn't be the same story by the end.

I've been thinking a lot about the Discworld through this lens lately. It ended up over 40 books long, but everyone agrees that the first two are not what you should start with, because they're the worst ones. They're entirely parodic, purely referential of at-the-time major fantasy series, and borderline mean-spirited in places. If you haven't read Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser and Dragonriders of Pern, you're not gonna understand like a full 50% of The Colour Of Magic.

It's clear that when he started in on them, Pratchett was entirely focused on taking the piss out of a genre he found mostly shallow and unimpressive. But the Discworld wouldn't leave his head, and everything he made fun of he clearly eventually found himself overthinking. He'd make little one-off jokes in the early books about Dwarves having no women and a hundred words for gold, and then twenty books later he'd have a Dwarf gender revolution make waves across the Disc, and then he'd write Thud!, a book that delves deeper into the nuances of Dwarf societal structure than Tolkien ever did.

If you look for them, there are continuity errors everywhere in Discworld. In his introductory book, Carrot defused a dwarf bar full of rowdy brawlers by guilting them all into writing to their poor lonely mothers back home. Shortly thereafter, Carrot will be outraged at the mere concept of an openly female dwarf. Pratchett even eventually wrote Thief of Time, a book that loosely explains that the Disc makes no sense because history has been broken and put back together incorrectly twice, and therefore any continuity errors are because of that.

He's the writer. He could've gone back and fixed it, edited the reprints to be less disruptively discontinuous with the later books. Instead he continuously moved forward and allowed the world he made to grow without cutting it off from its roots. And because he didn't bury his older, far worse work, we have the privilege of following the Disc's evolution from the very start, and seeing how this shallow, stock fantasy world parody became something incredibly rich and complex without ever pretending like its early installments never happened.

Anyway, that's why I think it's better to move forward. You make more good stuff that way.

[d0rianw1lde]

Sometimes I wonder if Eddie had ever found another maternal figure.

He’d always been such a mama’s boy. Wayne had the photos (and stories) to prove it. Endless nights of curling up in his mama’s lap while her nails gently scratched at his scalp- She’d always known the quickest way to get him to fall asleep- and endless days of watching her blues records spinning on the player while she took in the cool breeze drifting through their trailer’s screen door on those hot, Tennessee summer days.

But when he’d finally comprehended it all- that she would never come back, that he would never feel her fingers in his hair or smell her fruity perfume waft through the house,- I think he’d held that hole in his heart for so long.

But for a short while, there was someone who filled it- Melissa Buckley, the local librarian.

In such a small town, it’s easy to spot the newbies. It was no different when she’d seen a wild head of curls approaching the desk, peeking up over the tall stack of books with with eyes as wide as saucers and as dark as night that flickered to and fro as it explored the brand new environment.

“‘Scuse me miss?” A quiet voice beckoned, words drenched in a sweet, southern twang. “I’s just- uhm- wonderin’ if you had any Lord’a the rings.”

“Big books for a little kid, dontcha think?” She’d asked after she moved the stack of books to lock eyes with the new boy, all scraped knees and elbows, freckles and twinkly eyes, swimming in an old tee-shirt and held together only by the overalls slung over his slim shoulders. And he cracks a smile- a crooked little gapped-tooth grin.

“Maybe,” He begins, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels. “Maybe, but I ain’t ever gonna let that stop me from explorin’ the shire. Uhm- I ain’t got a library card though.” He says quietly. “On account ‘a I just moved here. Can I still read em here?”

And Melissa knows she should tell him the truth- ‘Yes, but remember, people will want to check those books out too’ is the phrase that bumps around in her head. But his earnest grin, and his little accent, and the shy, freckled grin does nothing but kick on that maternal instinct of hers. “Well..” she mutters quietly. “Tell you what..You can read them, and I’ll keep them aside. And when you can, you bring your mom or dad in, and we can get you started.

“..Mighty kind of you, miss, but my mom n’ dad ain’t able to come in. Mama’s passed, and Dad ain’t been home the last few days. Dunno when he’ll be back. ‘Big job’.” He explains.

And that sentence alone breaks her heart- makes her think of her own little girl, who must’ve been the same age as he was, alone. It twists in her chest, it makes her feel a bit sick. And from that moment, even if Eddie didn’t know, she’d vowed to herself to keep an eye on him.

And she did- she’d turn a blind eye when he would curl up on the peeling leather chair in the corner of the fiction section and fall asleep with another thick fantasy book on his lap. She’d set him up in the break-room with a juicebox and graham crackers she’d packed when making Robin’s lunch and listen intently as he whispered about the chapter he’d just finished, and the characters he’d grown to love.

And she wonders how anybody could leave him be. He reminds her so much of her little girl- how he rambles excitedly, how his eyes light up a the mention of a brand new book to read. She wonders how anybody could see this little boy and somehow have nothing but love in their hearts. How anybody could possibly leave him alone.

And Eddie?

Eddie loves the smell of incense, and flowers, and old books on Melissa. He loves giving her a big hug before he leaves for the day. He loves being able to sneak behind the desk and watch her take inventory of the returned books. He loves when she brings him snacks, or reads him the big words he can’t quite figure out. How she encourages him to read to her to pass the time. It ignites his love of storytelling. It ignites his excitement for life.

It’s not his mama. But nothing will ever be his mama. And maybe he won’t be able to put his head in his mama’s lap and let her blues records lull him to sleep.

But resting his head against Melissa’s shoulder and listening to the quiet flipping of pages or her hushed narration was a new kind of comfort. A comfort he’d needed. A comfort he always wonders if his mama sent down just for him.

[divinesangel]

— random details about your future spouse [PAC]

pm me for an affordable, in-depth personal reading! — 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞!

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟏

they've been through some stuff and came out the other side with a calm, steady mindset. they're the type who doesn't get easily shaken or overwhelmed by life’s challenges.

when things get hectic or stressful, they stay chill and don’t panic. they can handle chaos without losing their cool, making them someone you can rely on in tough situations.

they’re not the type to rush into things. they like to take things slow, think things through, and make sure they’re making the right moves, whether it’s in relationships, work, or life decisions.

they probably have a strong sense of family and respect for long-held values. they believe in things like loyalty, commitment, and honoring what came before, whether that’s family traditions or their own personal principles.

they’re either spiritual or have a strong personal philosophy that guides their life. they probably reflect on the bigger picture and have a deep understanding of their own purpose or place in the world.

they're not afraid to step out of their comfort zone. they love exploring new places, trying new things, and keeping life exciting. they can be spontaneous and enjoy breaking out of routines.

always thinking outside the box. they might have a knack for coming up with new ideas or solutions, whether it’s in their work, hobbies, or just life in general. they love expressing themselves in unique ways.

they don’t take shortcuts. they put in the effort and grind steadily toward their goals, even if it takes time. they understand that success is built on consistent work and dedication.

you can count on them, no questions asked. they keep their promises and show up when they say they will, whether it’s for something big or small. they’re the kind of person you can trust with anything.

they’ve got their finances together. they don’t live paycheck to paycheck, and they know how to manage money responsibly. they’ve probably built a secure foundation for themselves and are smart about financial decisions.

once they’re in, they’re in for the long haul. they’re fiercely loyal and protective of the people they love. they’ll stand by your side through thick and thin, and you’ll always know they’ve got your back no matter what.

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟐

they’ve been through some tough stuff before (like heartbreak or betrayal), and they’re still working on getting over it. they’re in a process of healing, so they might be a bit cautious when it comes to love, but they’re definitely growing through it.

at times, they might feel a little lost or unsure about where they’re headed. they’re working on figuring things out, but they can get stuck in their head, trying to make the right choices. they may need a bit of time to get their confidence back before moving forward with big decisions.

they used to hold onto things too tightly, whether it was their money, their emotions, or their need to control everything. but now, they’re realizing they need to loosen up a bit and trust the process. they’re getting better at letting go of the things they can’t control.

they care a lot about building something real and secure for the future. they’re the kind of person who’s thinking about their career, their finances, and how to make sure they’ve got a strong foundation. they’re not into quick fixes; they’re focused on what lasts.

they can get caught up in the “what ifs” and feel like there are too many options to choose from. they might struggle with indecision or fantasizing about all the possibilities instead of making moves. they’re learning to focus and stop overthinking everything.

they’re someone who’s always looking for fresh starts. they might be starting a new chapter in their life—whether it’s career, relationships, or just personal growth. they’re focused on making things better and are always willing to work toward something new and more secure.

they’re ambitious and want more for themselves. they’re standing at a crossroads, thinking about what the next step looks like. they’re starting to plan ahead, but they’re also trying to figure out what path is the right one for them.

they’re soft-hearted and sensitive, not afraid to show their feelings. they’re the type to express their emotions and be vulnerable with the people they trust. they’re also really intuitive and can pick up on how others are feeling, offering emotional support when needed.

— 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝟑

they’re someone who’s got their life together and doesn’t rely on others to feel secure. they’re proud of what they’ve built and enjoy the rewards of their hard work. they’re confident in their own abilities and don’t need validation from anyone else.

they know that good things take time. they’re not into rushing through life but are all about putting in the work and letting things grow naturally. they’re all about steady progress and building something real and long-lasting.

sometimes they feel unsure of themselves, especially when things aren’t going as planned. they may have moments of questioning their strength or abilities. they’re still figuring out how to trust themselves fully, but they’re working through it.

they can be a little guarded, especially when it comes to their emotions or what they’ve worked hard for. they like to keep control, but they’re learning to let go and trust more. it’s a process, but they’re getting there.

they’re the type of person who handles life with a lot of maturity. they take responsibility seriously and know how to manage their finances, their career, and their relationships in a practical way. they don’t take shortcuts.

they can be hard to read sometimes, and their emotions are deeper than they let on. they’re intuitive and sensitive, but they often keep their feelings under wraps. they might struggle to fully express what they’re going through, but they’re working on understanding themselves better.

they don’t like rushing into decisions. they’ll spend a lot of time weighing out their options and might even avoid making tough choices altogether. they want to make sure they’re doing the right thing, but they can get stuck in overthinking.

when they finally make up their mind, they’re sharp, direct, and won’t hesitate to go after what they want. they’re all about clarity and truth, and once they’re sure about something, they’re confident in their actions.

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 !

hi! it's daphne here.

i'm currently offering personal readings for €8 and soulmate readings for €15 so don't hesitate to send me a private message if you're interested!

thank you for being here!

[punkshort]

i know who you are | 5. the dinner

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Everything seems perfect until it all unravels. Emotions come to a head and the big lie is revealed.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, pining, alcohol use, eating, flirting, sad!Joel, amnesia, slow burn, minor infidelity, one use of 'daddy', big ol' emotional argument (lots of mean and hurtful things get said)

WC: 9.5K

Series Masterlist

By some miracle, you didn't end up getting sick, although it took most people in town a full week to recover from the flu. The infirmary was packed every day and Nick regularly expressed his endless gratitude that you chose to work for him. Maria and Tommy isolated as best they could in their home out of fear their daughter would get sick. When the townspeople slowly began to recover, they were itching to do something, so they decided to host a dinner.

One thing you hadn't done in ages was bake. You used to do it often, something you found rather soothing and rewarding long before the world went to shit, so you decided to make something to bring to dinner. After exploring your pantry, you discovered you had the right ingredients to make a simple pie crust, so you got to work mixing and rolling out the dough, getting so lost in your thoughts that you didn't even hear Joel walk through the front door.

When he heard you working away in the kitchen, he walked softly towards the entryway and leaned against the frame to admire you. He crossed his arms and smiled to himself when he saw the bits of flour smeared across your cheeks and your hair a little disheveled, your appearance not a concern to you as you worked.

It was the sweetest thing he had seen in a long time. He almost felt bad when you suddenly sensed his presence and looked up, disrupting your flow.

"Don't mind me," he said with a smirk before strolling over to the table to sit. "Whatcha up to?"

"Making a pie," you told him as you pinched some flour between your fingers and scattered it over the counter. You picked up the sticky ball of dough and sprinkled that with a bit of flour, as well, before grabbing the rolling pin. "Thought it would be nice to bring something with us tonight."

Joel nodded and picked up an apple from the bowl on the table. "That's nice of you," he said before taking a bite, "I'm sure they don't expect us to bring anythin'. They're just bored outta their minds and lookin' for someone to play with their kid for a while."

"Hey! I need those!" you scolded when you heard the crunch. He paused his chewing and looked down at the apple in his hand before stretching his arm out to you with a grin.

"Here you go," he said, mouth full. You laughed and shook your head before focusing on the dough once again.

"Keep it," you said, "I'll still have enough."

He leaned back in his chair and watched you diligently roll the dough out until you achieved the level of thickness you desired and then laid it gently in a buttered pie pan.

"Can you help me peel?" you asked when you came over to grab the bowl from the table, and he couldn't resist reaching out to dust away the flour from your cheek. You looked at him in surprise and he gave you a small smile.

"'Course I'll help," he said, standing up to grab two knives from the drawer. After giving yourself a moment to recover from his unexpected touch, you joined him at the counter, placing the bowl between you both as you began to peel in a comfortable silence. It had been almost two weeks since you saw Ben outside the tailor, and although you always looked for him whenever you walked to and from work, you never crossed paths with him again. You had been hoping to corner him to try to get more information before confronting Joel, but you had no such luck. So, with a deep breath, you cleared your throat and focused on your apple before speaking.

"Joel?"

"Hm?" he replied, his brows pinching together as he carefully worked his knife around the apple in the palm of his hand.

"Can I ask you a question?" you asked as your pulse began to thrum faster in your throat.

"Sure," he said, still laser focused on his task.

"Who are the Fireflies?"

His hand slipped and he dropped the apple and knife, pulling the pad of his thumb into his mouth with a hiss. You gasped when you saw a few drops of dark red blood on the cutting board and put your knife down before grabbing a somewhat clean towel and handing it to him.

"Is it bad?" you asked, taking a step forward to try and see his injury before he wrapped it in the towel. He shook his head.

"Nah, I'll live," he said, studying the cut for a second before applying pressure again.

Still, you rushed to the linen closet to grab the first aid kit and brought it downstairs. "Rinse it under the water," you instructed him before opening the bag and rifling around. He did as he was told and watched you pluck out a bandage and a small bottle of antiseptic. "Show me," you said, and he held his hand out to you so you could examine the cut. He studied you up close while your attention was focused on his thumb, taking in every feature on your perfect face and inhaling your familiar, comforting scent while you bandaged him up. If this was what it took to get you close to him, then he was ready to injure himself every damn day.

"You're good at that," he murmured, flexing his thumb when you were all done. "Learnin' a lot from Nick?"

You packed up the first aid kit, avoiding his heated gaze. "Yeah, I guess so," you said, turning back to your apples. Ever since Joel caught the flu and you helped nurse him back to health, it felt like there was a shift in the air between you. He was more brazen with his touch, like when he wiped the flour from your cheek, and while you never asked him not to touch you, your feelings for him were complicated. Until you could figure it out, you had been trying your best to not allow yourself to get caught in his orbit.

It was proving to be more difficult than you expected.

"Why don't you go sit down, I can finish these up," you said, your eyes cast down on the apples. You felt him regard you silently for a moment before he pushed off the counter and went back to his spot at the kitchen table. It was obvious what he was doing. It was the exact opposite of what you were doing. He was trying to create a charged moment, and you were trying to avoid them.

"You didn't answer my question," you said, and his energy immediately shifted.

"Where'd you hear 'bout the Fireflies? From Ellie?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. You looked up at him, confused.

"Ellie? No," you replied, shaking your head. "I ran into Ben a few days after our visit. He thought you had already told me about them and seemed a little skittish when I didn't know who they were."

You watched him closely, refusing to look away as he tried to mask his anger, but you could still see it. His jaw tensed and his uninjured hand clenched into a fist in his lap while you waited for an answer.

"So?" you prodded, cocking your head to the side. His nostrils flared for a second before he took a deep breath and turned his head away.

"The Fireflies were the group the three of you had joined before comin' to Jackson," he began. You tried to focus on peeling your apples but you were working incredibly slow, not wanting to miss a single word. "You were with 'em for a couple years. They had a decent setup, kept you all safe. Better than the QZ."

"Okay," you said slowly, picking up another apple. "So it was a community like this one?"

He huffed and shook his head, "Not exactly. More like an army. They're a revolutionary group. They rose up against the military and took over QZs with the promise of givin' control back to the people, but..." he trailed off and scratched his beard. "Wasn't all that simple. They killed alotta people in the process, and in the end, civilians still suffered. Didn't end up matterin' who was in control when both sides were just as violent."

"Oh," you said softly, setting your knife down, "so I joined because of what happened to my family? Because the military killed them? And then I ended up killing innocent people, anyway?"

Joel shrugged and stood up. "Like I said, we all made decisions the best we could with what we knew at the time. You didn't know any better. Nobody did."

"Did you join them, too?" you asked.

"No," he said, pressing both palms flat against the counter as he looked at you.

"So why did Ben seem to think telling me about the Fireflies would cause a problem with us?"

His mouth pressed into a thin line and you saw the suppressed rage flicker across his eyes again. "Fireflies ain't exactly well received by most people," he said, "lotta people here had family that was hurt or killed. Innocent bystanders caught in the middle of a war they didn't start."

You swallowed nervously, apples long forgotten as you braced yourself for your next question. "Did the Fireflies hurt someone you loved?"

Joel's gaze dropped to his hands and he clenched his jaw. He wanted to tell you. He should have just fucking spit it out and told you everything, but at the last second, he chickened out.

"No."

And you may not have known him as well as you did before the accident, but you knew him well enough now to be able to tell when he was lying. You tried to hide your disappointment by picking your knife back up and getting to work.

"Are there others?" you asked him, and he lifted his head up, "other former Fireflies who live here?"

"Aside from you three? Just Tommy."

Your jaw dropped in surprise and your eyes snapped up to him once again. "Tommy?"

"Mhmm, just for a little while. You didn't know each other before Jackson," he said, anticipating your next question. "Fireflies are a big group. Spread out all over the country."

"Oh," you said softly, looking back down at your half peeled apples which were slowly becoming brown on the edges. You began peeling again, faster now, as you thought about everything he just said while he watched you carefully from the other side of the counter. You weren't sure what else to say. It felt like he was telling you the truth, but you still had a hunch he was leaving something out.

"Y'know, it's a miracle I didn't eat half that damn pie before we got here," Joel said teasingly as you walked up the porch steps to Tommy and Maria's house. "Whole house smells like Christmas now. Drove me crazy all afternoon."

You smiled and smoothed down the blue blouse you found tucked away in your closet. It wasn't a top you could envision yourself working in, it looked a bit too nice for that, so you thought dinner would be a perfect time to wear it, combined with a dark pair of jeans that were relatively clean and only slightly frayed on the bottom. At the time, you thought it was cute when Joel came downstairs with his hair slicked back and his flannel tucked into his jeans for once, but when you walked into Tommy and Maria's and found the house to be filled with four married couples from around town, you suddenly felt uncomfortable.

"I didn't realize anyone else would be here," you murmured quietly next to Joel as you slid off your coats.

"He mentioned they may invite a few others but I didn't think this many," he told you, taking your coat and hanging it up before looking around. They had two tables covered in linen pushed together in their dining room which was alight with candles and sprigs of pine and holly spread around the middle, giving the room with a warm and romantic atmosphere. You swallowed nervously and all of the sudden, the evening felt too much like a date.

"Hey, you two!" Tommy's voice rang out from the kitchen, startling you out of your reverie. "Glad you could make it," he said, tugging Joel into a hug before giving you a chaste peck on the cheek.

"Um, here," you said, holding out the pie, "didn't want to come empty handed," you explained with a little smile. Tommy's eyes lit up when he took the pan from you and gave the pie a quick sniff.

"Damn, smells good, Sugar," he told you, his cheeks already rosy from the liquor he had been working on before you arrived. He shot Joel a playful look as he headed into the kitchen, handing Maria the dessert. "Your girl can bake, Joel. Lucky man."

The tips of your ears went hot and you looked away uncomfortably before Joel could catch your eye.

"I'll get us a couple drinks," Joel said, ignoring Tommy's comment, much to your relief. "What'dya want?"

You glanced around the room and what the other women were drinking before shrugging and suggesting wine. He followed Tommy over to the living room where they kept their liquor locked up and away from their toddler, who was gleefully playing with another woman you didn't recognize. Popping your head into the kitchen, you spotted Maria all by herself working on dinner.

"Maria," you said with a smile, and she turned around with a sigh of relief.

"Hey, I'm dying here, can you help me?"

"Of course," you said, rolling up your sleeves. "What do you need?"

She put you to work right away, chopping up vegetables and dumping them into boiling water before helping her thicken a sauce she was making for some pasta. You were just about to taste test the product when Joel and Tommy joined you in the kitchen with the drink that he promised.

"Smells so fuckin' good in here," Tommy said loudly before taking a generous sip of whiskey and giving Maria a quick peck on the lips. Joel put your wine glass near you on the counter and you shot him a thankful smile before bringing a spoon up to your lips to taste the sauce. You winced and scrunched up your nose and Joel chuckled.

"It's missing something," you explained, putting the spoon back down as you examined the spices available to you while Maria was instructing Tommy on doling out the appetizers.

"Lemme try," he said, rounding the corner to stand next to you. You handed him the spoon and he held up his whiskey. "Hands are full," he told you teasingly, and you rolled your eyes with a grin before dipping the spoon back into the sauce and lifting it to his mouth. He leaned in and wrapped his lips around the spoon, closing his eyes and making a soft noise at the taste. Your knees suddenly felt weak and your face felt hot as you struggled to compose yourself before he caught you.

He opened his eyes slowly and ran his tongue over his upper lip to capture the remnants of the sauce and you had to resist the urge to swipe your thumb over his mustache to gather the rest. It made your breath hitch in your throat and you forced yourself to look away, mentally cursing your body's reaction to him.

"Lemon," he said huskily, then took a sip from his glass while still staring down at you. Your eyes drifted up to his and you saw that look again. The one that made you feel too many things at once: nervousness, excitement, pressure, confusion. So you took a deep breath and squeezed past him, having no choice but to brush up against his chest.

"You're right. It needs lemon," you said, finding one in the mess on Maria's counter and slicing it in half before squeezing it generously over the sauce. Joel leaned against the counter, one arm caging you in from behind as you worked. You tried to ignore how close he was but you could feel his breath on your skin and it was causing your pulse to race. Fortunately, Maria came to your rescue.

"How's it going?" she asked, and Joel pushed off the counter, stepping back to give you both some room.

"Good, I think the sauce is done," you told her, and after she gave it a little taste, her eyes lit up.

"So good!" she said, clearly pleased. You felt your cheeks heat up before gesturing towards Joel.

"Thank Joel. He thought of the lemon."

Maria shot Joel a smile and thanked him as he tipped his glass in her direction before taking another sip. "Happy to help, ladies," he said.

"Go enjoy the party, I got it from here," Maria told you, shooing you away.

"Are you sure? I really don't mind-"

"Yes, I'm sure! I'm just going to plate everything and we're good to go. Help yourself to some appetizers before they're all gone," she said, turning her back on you as she started pulling down serving platters.

You picked up your wine and took a sip, hoping to quell some of your nerves as you let Joel lead you into the living room where the party was in full swing. Tommy had his daughter balancing on his shoulders as he talked to a couple men, their wives at the other end of the room in the middle of a lively conversation. You chewed your lip, glancing back and forth before you took another sip and looked up at Joel.

"Guess I'll go see what's got them all worked up," you told him, nodding your head in the direction of the other women.

"You sure?" he asked with a frown. "Don't want you feelin' uncomfortable. We can stick together if y'want."

You shook your head and stepped away. "I'm fine," you told him before forcing yourself to join the other women. As you approached, you gave the women a friendly wave to catch their attention and they beckoned you towards them with open arms. They all seemed to be around your age range, give or take, and very friendly as they took the time to re-introduce themselves to you. You politely listened to them talk about their kids or jobs while you sipped your wine and nodded along. When three of the women became engrossed in a story about their children and school, you felt yourself begin to zone out. The girl standing next to you, Hannah, caught your eye and smiled.

"Do you have any kids?" you asked her, and she shook her head.

"Not yet. I don't think we're ready, you know?" she said, glancing over your shoulder at her husband. "But one day I think we will. How about you and Joel? What are your plans?" she asked, then her eyes went wide with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry. That was a dumb question, you probably don't... ah, I'm such an idiot," she said, and you laughed.

"No, you're not, it's fine," you assured her as her cheeks began to flush.

"I guess I just keep forgetting about your accident. That was so rude of me," she said, "I see you guys together all the time and it seems so normal."

You glanced over your shoulder at Joel, watching for a moment as he laughed heartily at something one of the other men said. "Yeah," you told her, turning back around, "I can see why you'd think that."

Her gaze drifted between you and Joel for a moment before she lowered her voice and took a step further away from the other women. "So you still don't remember anything, huh?"

You shook your head sadly. "Nothing. At this point, I'm not expecting anything to come back. I'm just trying to start over."

She nodded solemnly and took a sip from her wine. "How's it going with you two?" she asked, tilting her chin in Joel's direction. You sighed and rubbed your eyes. Same old questions, different person.

"Okay, I guess. He's been incredibly patient," you said, "but I think he is still holding out hope that my memory might come back and we'll just pick up right where we left off."

Hannah gave you a sympathetic look right as Maria approached with a big smile stretched across her face. "Dinner is served!" she announced to the room before bending down and stretching her arms out for her daughter.

Everyone began to scatter as couples rejoined and headed towards the dimly lit dining room. Joel appeared by your side, his hand hovering over your lower back as you waited for the other couples to take their seats.

"Havin' a good time?" he murmured, and you gave him a tight smile before nodding. Joel pulled out one of the two remaining chairs for you and you whispered your thanks when you sat down, then he pushed it back in before taking his own seat. He relaxed and stretched his arm across the back of your chair while he listened with amusement to Tommy drunkenly telling a story that had carried over from the living room.

"The table is beautiful, Maria," you told her, leaning away from Joel a bit. "It's so cozy and warm, you really outdid yourself."

She smiled as she bounced her little girl on her knee. "Thanks. We were just itching to do something, you know? We got a little cabin fever, I think."

You felt Joel's thumb brush lightly against your spine, making you shiver. But when you glanced over at him, he was still caught up in listening to Tommy and you wondered if those little gestures were intentional or if it was muscle memory.

Once everyone began to eat, Joel dropped his arm from your chair and you found yourself missing the warmth that radiated from him, confusing yourself even more. Sometimes you just wanted to hit your head against the wall and rattle your memories loose so you could stop feeling so conflicted. If you were this confused, you couldn't imagine what Joel was feeling. Although, at that moment, he seemed to be perfectly content as he stood up with Tommy to get another drink.

"Y'want any more?" Joel asked, nodding to your glass but you shook your head.

"Maybe later," you said, and when he caught your eye he gave you a quick wink before following Tommy back into the living room.

"So, how's it going at the infirmary? Still like it?" Maria asked, drawing your attention back to her.

"Yeah, I do, actually. That was a good idea, I've been meaning to thank you," you said, wiping the corners of your mouth with a napkin. "It feels good to stay busy and I'm learning a lot."

"Well, Nick always speaks so highly of you. Especially after that nasty flu worked its way through town. He said you were a godsend," Maria told you while simultaneously handing her daughter a steamed carrot.

"She was. Worked her tail off all week then had to deal with me when she got home," Joel said as he sat back down with a soft grunt. You smiled at him, grateful for the compliment.

"If he's anything like his brother when he's sick then I'm sure you've earned sainthood status," Maria said to you, making everyone laugh.

"Hey, what're you sayin' 'bout me down there?" Tommy slurred with a grin from the other end of the table. You were fairly certain Maria answered him with some sharp remark which made the table laugh again, but you couldn't exactly remember because Joel dropped his hand to rest on your knee and you suddenly couldn't think straight. Your skin felt hot under his touch, even through your jeans, and you could have sworn the whole room could hear how loudly your heart was pounding in your chest, so you anxiously grabbed your wine glass and finished the rest in one gulp, hoping it would steady your nerves.

You could have asked him to move his hand. You could have made an excuse, gotten up and used the bathroom, but you didn't. You remained perfectly still, allowing his hand to rest on your leg as you tried to focus on the conversation at the table. Because although your mind was saying one thing, your body was always reacting differently.

If you had known what would have ended up happening that night, you would have done something in that moment. Maybe if you had, it would have changed everything.

Instead, you sat there and didn't say a word. You just politely listened to everyone talk with Joel's hand still on your leg while your body and mind waged a war nobody could see.

When Maria stood to hand off her daughter to Tommy and clear the table, you joined her, finally ending Joel's grip on you. The other women stood while the men attempted to help but got shooed into the living room. When all the ladies were alone in the kitchen, Maria pulled out a jar of apple flavored moonshine that she told you all quietly she was hiding from Tommy because it was her favorite before passing it around for everyone to have a taste.

It was strong. Each of you had to stifle your coughs into your hands, which erupted into giggles and eventually caught the attention of the men, so you all did your best to distract them after they curiously poked their heads into the kitchen so Maria could hide the jar once again.

In retrospect, the alcohol didn't do you any favors. Your head was swimming a little by the time dessert was served and you found yourself inadvertently leaning into Joel's shoulder as everyone complimented your pie and he watched you adoringly while you waved off the praise.

The food was amazing, but combined with the drinks, you found your eyelids growing heavy as the party moved back into the living room and Maria took her daughter to bed.

"I think I'm going to get some air," you told Joel while everyone else got comfortable.

"You alright?" he asked, examining your face closely. You nodded.

"Just getting tired," you explained as you took a step towards the door, but he immediately put his glass down.

"Why didn't you say so? We can go home."

"No, it's okay-"

"You've been workin' so hard lately. You need your rest. Go get your things and I'll tell Tommy we're headin' out," he said, refusing to hear another word. And as much as you didn't want to tear him away from the party, you had to agree with him. The past couple weeks were physically draining and it definitely seemed like the exhaustion was catching up with you.

Once Joel announced your departure and everybody bid you good night, you each grabbed your coats and slid on your boots before heading outside. The brisk night air was a shock to the system and it helped wake you up a bit on the walk home. Joel wrapped his arm around your waist as you walked, holding you close to him, enveloping you with his warmth and when you inevitably reflected on that night, you would remember that moment as one on a long list of ways you were sending him mixed signals because you didn't pull away. Because as confused as you were about your feelings for him, you couldn't deny the attraction you harbored. And maybe it was partially your fault for not being stronger because you knew, you fucking knew Joel's feelings for you were far deeper than yours that night, and yet you still didn't step away.

When you arrived home and Joel fumbled clumsily with the door, you giggled, making him grin and his eyes light up at the sound before finally shoving the door open and flicking on a light. You shrugged off your coat and kicked off your boots with a sigh, the faint smell of apple pie still lingering in the air. You were happy to be in the comfort of your own home and eager to throw on your pajamas, but Joel led you into the kitchen first and poured you some water. You couldn't help but smile at how reminiscent it was from when he was sick and you did the same thing for him, so you took it and made sure to drink the whole thing while he watched with a pleased expression on his face.

"Did I tell you how beautiful you looked tonight?"

The glass was still pressed against your mouth, the last drops of water just swallowed, and you froze. Slowly, you lowered the glass to the counter and shook your head, unable to look away from his heated stare.

"Well, you did. Lit up the whole place. Prettier than all the other women," he said, fighting to remain still and not pull you into his arms. But he was losing that battle.

"Thank you," you said softly, forcing yourself to look away. It didn't deter him.

"I mean it. Couldn't stop thinkin' 'bout you. Talkin' 'bout you," he said, watching your face heat up as he blinked slowly. "Lookin' at you," he added after a quiet moment, and you laughed softly while you crossed your arms protectively over your chest.

"Joel..." you began, not even sure what you planned to say so you opted for staring blankly out the window just so you wouldn't have to look him in the eye.

"What, baby?" he murmured, taking a bold step forward and pinching your chin with his fingers. You dragged your gaze back up to him just to find his dark brown eyes all wide and filled with hope and tenderness as he stared down at you, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips, clearly displaying his intention but you still didn't step away. Your body wouldn't let you move.

"We're both drunk," you told him, trying to remain rational. Trying to stay clear-headed.

"Not that drunk," he quickly countered, his eyes still roaming your face, his fingers still pressing into your chin and you could feel your heart flutter wildly. Why on earth couldn't your mind catch up with your body?

You sighed, partially from the exhaustion, partially from the inability to properly express yourself but he took it to mean something else. He heard your sigh and thought you were finally giving in. That you were finally going to let him kiss you. Because why else wouldn't you have pulled away?

He leaned forward, his eyes slid shut, and although you should have known it was coming, it still surprised you. Your eyes stayed open wide as he inched towards you and finally at the very last second, you tilted your face to the side, causing him to press his lips against your cheek instead.

You felt his reaction before you could see it. His lips immediately tensed against your skin and his breathing stalled. Then his hand dropped from your chin and he leaned back, eyes no longer warm and inviting.

You tightly pressed your lips together in shame. "Joel, I'm sorry-"

"Don't be," he said quickly, cutting you off and backing away.

The hurt was evident across his face, although he tried to hide it by averting his gaze.

"I just don't think I'm there yet," you said after a long, tense moment. "I'm trying-"

"Yeah, I know," he replied harshly, turning on his heel and marching out of the kitchen. "I know you're tryin' to force yourself to love me. It's gotta be real hard, I get it," he spat, his voice so cold it made you shudder as he shoved his boots back on.

You choked back a sob as you watched him grab his coat.

"Where are you going?"

"Don't know," was all he said before flinging the door open and storming out, leaving you all alone in the entryway with tears slowly streaking down your cheeks.

What an absolute fucking idiot he was.

What was he thinking? That you would magically find him attractive again? Love him again? That he was worthy of your time and care and attention? After everything he did?

You didn't know, of course, but what else could it be, other than fate? Or karma? Or whatever it was, coming back and erasing all your memories of him to set things right? Because did he ever really deserve you in the first place?

No, definitely not. Not after everything he did.

His legs carried him blindly to the Tipsy Bison. It was a quiet night, and maybe had he been in the right frame of mind, he would have been surprised. Most of the town was cooped up the past couple weeks, under normal circumstances he would have thought it would be busier, but at that moment in time, he didn't care. He only cared about one thing: he needed to forget.

He motioned for Seth and he nodded in acknowledgment before pouring him his usual whiskey and setting it down. Joel snatched it up and immediately downed it with a wince before pushing the empty glass towards Seth.

"Another, please," he muttered before burying his face in his hands with a groan. Seth eyed him suspiciously before pouring his second drink and setting it back down on the bar.

Joel let the glass sit there a few minutes while he stewed in his anger. He wanted to blame you, but he couldn't. Not really. He knew it wasn't your fault but, fuck, he just wanted you back. He was so goddamn lonely that it made his chest hurt. He rubbed it absentmindedly before picking up his glass and forcing himself to take a slow sip. He had already drank too much at Tommy's and if he didn't want to wake up with a massive hangover, he had to slow down.

"Hey, cowboy," a familiar, flirty voice suddenly said from beside him. He tilted his head to the side and had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

"Angie."

She smirked and pulled up a tall barstool, scooting her way up with a little grunt that made his stomach clench as he watched her maneuver in her tight jeans.

"What's got you so blue?" she purred as she took a sip from her drink and crossed her legs, her foot coming dangerously close to touching his calf.

"Who said I was blue?" he asked gruffly before taking another swig of whiskey.

She laughed softly and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Kind of hard to miss," she said, resting her chin in her palm as she looked at him expectantly.

His eyebrows furrowed at her but she noticed the way the corner of his mouth twitched and she bit her lip playfully.

"C'mon, what's the matter? You can tell me, baby," she cooed, and he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

"Don't call me that."

Angie pouted and leaned closer, her breath tickling his ear when she whispered, "Oh, that's right. How could I forget? You prefer daddy."

"Knock it off," he growled, turning away from her and ignoring the stirring below his waist, but it wouldn't be that easy. It never was.

She rested her delicate hand on his forearm and his muscles twitched, but he didn't move. As much as he hated to admit it, he missed being touched. And in that moment, any touch would do. She smiled and slid her hand up his arm slowly, and he let her, his eyes fixed somewhere in the opposite direction as he tried with all his might to ignore it, to fight it, to stand up and fucking leave, but he couldn't do it.

"So tense," she murmured in his ear, and his eyes fluttered shut. "I can help with that, y'know." Her hand dropped from his shoulder to his lap and had Joel's eyes been open, he would have seen Seth's eyes widen in surprise before looking away. "We're real good at it, remember?" she continued, her fingers inching towards the seam of his jeans. But before she could reach between his legs, his hand grabbed her wrist.

"Stop it," he said weakly, forcing his eyes open to glare at her, but she just smiled sweetly at him and pulled her hand back.

"I need to use the restroom," she said, her voice sultry. "You remember where the ladies' room is, right?" she asked with a wink before sliding off the stool and swinging her hips as she strolled down the hall towards the bathroom. He groaned and rubbed his face roughly.

He wasn't sure how it happened. He wanted to blame the whiskey, he wanted to blame you, but at the end of the day it was all on him when he found himself shoving open the door to the women's room and crowding Angie against the sink, his mouth crashing down on hers hungrily.

It was only one tiny minute of weakness. When he realized his mistake, when he remembered her lips weren't anything compared to yours, when her noises were not the noises he wanted to hear, her touch not the touch he craved, he immediately stopped kissing her, pulling back and cursing under his breath.

Angie looked at him, her eyes dark and her cheeks flushed, then took a step forward but he held up his hand.

"No," he said a bit too loudly, the whiskey making his head swim as he stumbled backwards towards the door. She rolled her eyes and grinned.

"C'mon, Joel. When are you going to realize she's not coming back? You need to move on," Angie said sweetly. Too sweetly. "You deserve to be happy," she added, and he frowned when the enormity of what he had done dawned on him through his drunken haze.

"Stay away from me," he warned her, reaching for the door and yanking it open.

"Fine. But just remember: you followed me in here!" she shouted after him as he disappeared down the hall. He snatched his coat from his barstool and jogged towards the exit.

He had to get home.

The carpet should have been worn to the floorboards by the time Joel finally came back. You had been pacing around the living room, chewing on your fingernails nervously as you replayed the entire evening in your head. The guilt was fucking suffocating you. You couldn't help but feel like you were partially to blame, but you would have broken his heart if you let him kiss you without fully understanding how you felt first, and he didn't deserve that. Maybe once he cooled down, he would understand.

When you heard his slow, heavy footsteps walking up the porch stairs, your heart leapt into your throat. The door creaked open slowly, as if he expected you to be asleep and he was trying to be quiet, but when he closed the door and saw you standing in the middle of the living room, your arms wrapped around yourself, his face contorted into a grimace.

"You're still up," he said, voice a little raspy as he hung up his coat.

"Joel, I'm so sorry," you began, "I'm just so confused. I'm still trying to work out my feelings but I don't want to rush into something and risk hurting you."

He swallowed and hung his head in shame, unable to look at you.

"Please don't apologize," he whispered, but you kept going.

"Of course I'm going to apologize. I sent you mixed signals and I ended up hurting you anyway."

"I did somethin'," he blurted out, and you froze mid-sentence, waiting for him to elaborate. Silence filled the room, your eyes drifted around aimlessly before you sunk down onto the edge of the couch and tucked your hands under your thighs.

"What did you do?" you asked, your voice wavering when you realized he still hadn't looked you in the eye.

He took a steadying breath and propped his hands on his hips, his face still angled shamefully towards the floor. "I kissed someone else."

His words hung heavy in the air, your deep, ragged breaths the only sound filling the room as your tired mind tried to make sense of what he just said.

"What?" you finally asked, voice deathly quiet. He forced himself to look at you now, his dark eyes brimming with tears.

"It was a mistake-" he began, voice thick with emotion, tongue heavy and clumsy between his teeth, but you stopped him.

"Just now?" you asked incredulously, your stomach turning sour. Fighting the nausea back down with a harsh swallow, you spoke again. "You tried to kiss me, I shot you down and you just... went out and found someone else?"

"That's not what I left to do, it just happened-"

"Who?" you asked, your gaze stony as you continued to stare at him, anguish and regret flickering across his face.

"Does it matter?" he tried weakly, softly, but it just pissed you off even more.

"Yes," you hissed, slowly standing back up on now shaky legs. "Who, Joel?"

His throat bobbed and he shifted his weight and when he mumbled Angie's name, you saw red.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you whispered, quickly closing the gap between you and shoving him hard against the chest, causing him to stumble back in shock. When he looked you in the eyes, all glassy and cold and distraught, his blood felt like ice in his veins.

He was losing you.

"Please, lemme just explain-"

"What could you possibly have to say?!" you exclaimed, your body growing hot with rage. Hands shaking so badly you had to cross your arms to hide the tremor. "I was taking too long to fuck you so you went out and found a sure thing?"

"I didn't fuck her, but I could've!" he yelled back, an angry vein popping out of his neck at his sudden outburst. Your eyes went wide and you took a step back in surprise. He didn't know why he was yelling. He knew it wouldn't help, but he just snapped. "I never once pressured you to sleep with me! I gave you your space an-and respected your boundaries," he was flailing now, his thoughts scattered as he desperately tried to make sense. "But I'm a human fuckin' being and I got drunk and I was lonely and I made a fuckin' mistake! And I'm sorry, alright?!"

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. "You're lonely," you repeated, the words like poison on your tongue, and he frowned. "What about me? I'm lonely, too! You know what the first question is out of everyone's mouth ever since my accident?" you asked, glaring up at him, anger rolling off both your bodies. "They ask me how you're doing. You! Like this was some tragedy that only happened to you! But I lost fucking everything in the blink of an eye!" Tears began to burn the backs of your eyes now but you pushed on. "My world literally turned upside down in an instant and everyone just kept waiting for me to get with the program, including you!"

"That's not true," he said, shaking his head angrily, "I never pressured you to do anythin'!"

"It's the way you look at me!" you cried, wiping the tears from your cheeks. "You don't even realize you're doing it but you keep looking at me, expecting to find the woman you fell in love with but she's gone, Joel!"

You both fell silent, staring at one another, shoulders heaving as you each sat with the weight of your words.

"I don't care," he finally said, lowering his voice. "I still love you. I told you that first day. What we got is rare and special and I'm not givin' up on us."

"Then how could you go kiss someone else the first time there's a bump in the road?" you asked, tone hurt and dejected, then you turned and headed up the stairs.

"I told you, it was a mistake," he pleaded, following you. "I'm so sorry... wait, what're you doin'?" he asked when he realized he had followed you into your room. You were snatching clothes from the drawers and tossing them onto your bed, and that's when he really began to panic.

"I can't stay here," you said, disappearing into the bathroom. His vision narrowed and his legs became weak as fear flooded his veins.

"No," he whispered, but you didn't hear him. You were busy gathering a few toiletries from the bathroom and tossing them on the bed along with your clothes, but when you walked past him to get a bag, he grabbed your arm.

"Don't do this," he begged. You yanked your arm out of his grip and stepped back, glaring at him and he realized in that moment he would rather have you there screaming at him for the rest of the night than not have you there at all, so he kept talking. He kept pushing.

"Y'know, for someone who says she doesn't have feelin's for me, you sure seem to be pretty pissed off," he glowered, and your eyes widened. That's it, he thought, let me have it. "If you don't want me, if you don't give a shit 'bout me, then what the hell does it matter if someone else does?"

You gasped, his words like a punch to the gut. Like a blade to your heart. Without thinking, your arm swung back and your palm cracked loudly against his cheek, stunning you both into silence.

He wanted to rub the spot, to help soothe the pain with the tips of his fingers, but he resisted. Instead, he let his cheek redden so you were forced to see what you did.

"You think I don't give a shit about you?" you seethed once you found your voice, palm stinging at your side, eyes flickering between his eyes and his cheek.

"Sure seems that way," he countered, and your jaw clenched angrily as the next round of tears began to well up.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you yelled, your hands balling into fists at your sides. "How dare you. You made me give a shit about you, you asshole!"

You shoved past him and headed down the hall to the spare room in search of a duffel bag, but Joel was hot on your trail. If he let you leave, he would never get you back.

"The hell does that even mean?"

You whipped around, making him stumble backwards, your eyes wild and bloodshot. "You told me you would make me fall in love with you again! This whole time we've been getting to know each other, building up our relationship and you think after all that, after everything we've shared, that I don't give a shit about you?"

"Well-" he began, but you cut him off.

"I took care of you when you were sick. I sat next to your bed for a full week, waiting for you to fall asleep, making sure you had everything you needed," you said, your voice growing quiet as hot tears spilled down your cheeks. "You told me about your daughter. I told you about my brother," you whimpered, your voice cracking on the last word. Joel's face fell when he finally realized how broken you were, the full weight of his actions realized. "How could you say that to me?" you sobbed, burying your face in your hands, your cheeks hot and wet in your palms. Your head ached. Your heart ached. You needed this to end.

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it," he told you, stepping forward and pulling you into his arms. You only let yourself melt against his broad chest for a moment before you sniffled and pushed him away. Turning around, you snatched the bag from the ground and stormed past him.

"Tell me how to fix it," he pleaded as he followed you back into your room.

"You can't."

His head was pounding, throat scratchy and dry as he watched you pack from the doorway, his chest tightening with each article of clothing that passed through your hands.

"Please. Stay. I-I-I won't even talk to you if that's what you want, just please stay."

You paused, your eyes squeezing shut as you silently cried over your bag. "You want me to stay, Joel?" you asked, voice trembling, and even though weren't looking, he nodded.

"I'll do anythin'," he said earnestly, and you opened your eyes. Reaching for your journal, you flipped it open to a well worn page and tossed it on the bed. He frowned at it, confused, but stepped forward and picked it up.

"Then tell me what you lied about."

His eyes scanned the page, reading the four words over and over. Joel lied to me. No context, but he didn't need any. He knew.

You could see the conflict in his face as he tried to figure out a way around it.

"The truth. Or I'm gone," you said firmly, and when his eyes flicked up to yours, you saw fear.

He slowly turned around, the journal held delicately in his massive hands, as he sat down onto the edge of your mattress.

"Okay."

The shock made your tears slow to a stop.

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," he repeated, his tone somber as he stared down at your journal in his lap. "What's the difference now, anyway? You already hate me."

I don't hate you, you thought, but you remained silent.

"If I tell you, you promise not to leave?" he clarified, and you thought about it for a moment. What if it was something really bad? But you knew you wouldn't get the truth out of him any other way, so you nodded. You figured if you still left and ended up becoming a liar, then at least you would be even.

"I told you 'bout the Fireflies," he began, and you got the feeling the story was going to be long so you sat down on the bed.

"Yes."

"You, Ben 'n Lisa were all part of a group out in Salt Lake City," he said, his gaze pinned on the journal. "In a hospital. Doin' research."

"Research? I don't know anything about-"

"You weren't doin' the research. The three of you were just guards. Patrolmen. There were doctors there, and they were lookin' for a cure," he continued, then took a deep breath before lifting his chin and staring at a fixed point on your wall.

"Did they find one?" you asked, remembering that first day when Joel told you about the outbreak. You had asked him at the time if there was cure and he said no. That couldn't be the lie, could it?

"Well, they were close," he said, his brow pinching together. "This next part is somethin' that's gotta stay in this house, y'hear me?" he asked, finally turning to look at you. "Y'gotta promise me that no matter what you end up thinkin' of me, you can't tell anyone 'bout this part."

You didn't want to make that promise. Why would you, after everything he had put you through? But, still, you found yourself nodding slowly, then his next sentence knocked all the air from your lungs.

"Ellie's immune."

Your lips slowly parted as the shock coursed through you, your eyes slowly drifting down to the comforter. Your mind was blank except for Ellie's immune, Ellie's immune playing on a constant loop.

"It's why you didn't write anythin' else, I reckon," he explained, holding up your journal. "Didn't want anyone to find it."

You slowly began to put the pieces together. A research hospital. Ellie's immunity. They were close to a cure.

"The Fireflies thought they could use Ellie to create a vaccine," he said after a long pause. "And I took her to 'em. Took her right into the lion's den," he said with a dry chuckle. "Didn't realize til after they took her that they would've had to... kill her to get what they needed."

Your eyes darted up to meet his again as you listened, entranced.

"Nobody knows, okay?" he said, his voice wavering a bit. "Only Tommy. No one else can know. Her life depends on it, d'you understand?"

You nodded, still unable to find your voice, so he continued.

"When I realized what they were doin', that they would have to kill her, I just..." he trailed off and scratched his chin, looking away, eyes distant. "I lost it. It's the only way to describe it."

"W-what do you mean?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

"I killed alotta people," he said, voice cold and detatched, "alotta fuckin' people. Whoever got in my way, I just... didn't think twice. 'Til you."

You inhaled sharply, almost forgetting you were somewhere in that hospital.

"Me?" you squeaked.

"You didn't see my face," he said, his voice beginning to shake. "None of you did. The three of you were together. You surrendered. Had you face down on the ground with your hands behind your head. Told me you were plannin' on ditchin' the Fireflies anyway. That you wouldn't come after me." His hand trembled in his lap and he made a fist.

"You weren't the first ones to say that to me, but you were the first ones I let live."

You pressed your palms into your face, trying to quell the ache behind your eyes as you rocked gently back and forth on the bed, heart thundering in your chest, blooding pumping too fast. The exhaustion was too much. You could hardly make sense of what he was saying.

"You almost killed me," you said, more of a statement than a question, your voice muffled through your hands.

"Yeah." He watched you carefully, trying to read you, desperately searching for some small glimmer of hope underneath all your rage and confusion.

"Then what?" you forced yourself to ask, pinching the bridge of your nose.

He ticked his jaw to the side and looked away.

"Then... Ellie 'n me came here. Started over. Tried to forget," he sniffed, pulling at a loose string on his shirt. "Then the three of you showed up couple months later. Scared the fuckin' shit outta me, but none of you seemed to recognize me."

"Because we never saw you," you said, and he nodded.

"I didn't speak to you for over a month. I was so scared you'd recognize my voice or somethin', but I just couldn't stay away from you," he said, his eyes softening now. "Then that night at the bar happened. When you came up to me and-"

"Yeah, I remember what you told me," you replied, not eager to relive that story at the moment.

"Then the rest is history. We started messin' around. You didn't know who I was for a few months, then I finally told you."

"After you were already fucking me," you said coldly, and he winced.

"After I fell in love with you."

You sat back and rubbed your eyes. You had so many questions. What was your reaction when you first learned who he was? If you stuck around, you must have seen something in Joel that made you feel safe. Why did he spare you? Was it only because you couldn't identify him? And how much did Ellie know?

"Please say somethin'," he begged after a few tense, quiet minutes.

"What do you want me to say?" you asked him, your shoulders sagging forward, limbs too heavy. "You want me to forgive you? You want me to say I understand?" He shook his head but you kept talking.

"You spared my life just to break my heart."

He turned away from you as his face crumpled. "I'm gonna fix it," he said, his throat tight and voice thick as he fought off the tears that were threatening to spill down his face. "I'm gonna make it right, if you just-"

"Can you go, please?" you asked quietly, "I have nothing else to say and I'm fucking tired."

He looked over at you but you refused to look up, your puffy eyes fixed blankly on the floor. His gaze drifted to the bag and clothes littering your bed and he asked, "Are you stayin'?"

You didn't answer. You just slowly stood up and flung your comforter back, some of your clothes falling into a heap on the floor but you didn't care as you crawled into bed and turned your back to him.

Begrudgingly, he stood. His eyes flicked around your room nervously, his fingers fidgeting at his sides while he chewed on the inside of his cheek, struggling to come up with the right words to say.

"Go!" you sobbed from underneath your blankets, hiding from him the tears that were soaking your sheets.

So, he left. Not because he wanted to, but because he caused you enough agony for one night, and as much as he wanted to stay and beg on his knees for forgiveness, it would be the selfish thing to do. Instead, he went to his bed and stared at the ceiling, barely sleeping the entire night because his body jerked awake at every little creak the old house made, wondering when he woke up, if you would be gone for good.

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A/N: Yes, there will be a happy ending 😘

[mariasont]

Okay , so a smutty Spencer x reader fic where is very alternative with tattoos and piercings. Maybe she works with the team as an entomologist or something idk BUT she always wears her contacts and one day she comes in thick black frame glasses. Spencer goes feral, he's never seen her in glasses before and he just kinda drags her into a hall closet and just "keep the glasses on" there's a lot of fanfics about the reader going feral seeing Spencer in glasses for the first time but what if it was reversed.

Framed Fascination

A/N: omggggg i loved writing this, you just know spencer would sooo be a sucker for a woman with tats and piercings, so canon

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING xoxo

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x alt!fem!reader

warnings: 18+ minors dni, glasses kink, praise, p in v, dirty talk, degrading sort of, office sex

wc: 2k

When you began dating Spencer, it raised a few eyebrows. Spencer Reid--reserved, a bit awkward, and endlessly knowledgeable--had ended up with someone who they thought was his complete opposite. And to that he would always say, "while the prevailing research suggests similarity is more common in relationships, there's an interesting phenomenon where sometimes, the very things that differ between two people can create a complementary dynamic, much like how two puzzle pieces with different notches fit."

At times, you would point out your differences solely to prompt this response. But, in truth, aside from your outward styles, you shared more similarities than not. Your tattoos and piercings were the first details Spencer noticed and quickly became his favorite as you strode into the morgue on a particularly demanding case. You were immersed in explaining how arsenic disrupted the body's functions, but Spencer was lost in the visual narrative of your ink, his gaze lingering on every etched symbol and shaded figure. From that moment, he was wholly engrossed, and vowed to eventually explore all the unseen tattoos that your clothes kept from view.

Spencer may have had the whole 'nerdy boy-next-door' aesthetic down to a science, but you? You took pride in being called 'intimidating', knowing it was just a first impression. You knew that beneath that surface lay as Spencer would say, 'a cinnamon roll'. Spencer seemed to see through it from the beginning, which is why he didn't hesitate to ask you out as soon as the case closed.

In the span of eight months, your life had been transformed into its healthiest chapter with Spencer as the culprit. He filled every day with thoughtful gesture--surprise art museum dates, breakfast in bed, flowers that would mysteriously find their way to your desk, notes you'd find tucked inside your coat pockets. In fact, if you had seen it in a cheesy rom-com, he probably had done it. You had been tackling each day with a little spring in your step.

Just like today--you bounded into your office humming—you were humming as you went over paperwork. Tasked with consulting for the consumer safety department, your focus was zeroed in on the pervasive issue of phthalates creeping into beauty products. You adjusted the unfamiliar weight of the thick black frames perched on your nose--an odd sensation since you habitually opted for contacts--as your eyes dragged over the papers.

The hum of the fax machine broke the silence, and you swiveled in your chair, a smile dawning as you recognized the documents from last week's BAU case--giving you a chance to steal a moment with your boyfriend.

Paperwork in hand, you made your way to the BAU office, the click of your heels on marble floors keeping time with your quickening pulse. The bullpen was a whirlwind of activity as you greeted Morgan and Prentiss with a nod and smile, your gaze sweeping through the room until it landed on him. 

"Hi there, handsome," you greeted with a playful lilt in your voice, your fingers rapping gently against the wood of his desk.

"Hi, sweetheart--," he began, but his words trailed off as his eyes met yours. There was a pause, a momentary lapse in his ever-flowing stream of thoughts, as he took in the sight of you.

Glasses? He couldn't recall you ever wearing glasses, yet there they were, and the effect was undeniable. The sight sent a wave of unexpected thrill through him--a visceral reaction that left him speechless, his lips parting in awe. 

Spencer's throat cleared, a subtle sound amid the bullpen's activity. His gaze flickered around the room, a silent plea that his colleagues were too engrossed in their work to notice the way he practically undressed you with his eyes. "Since when do you wear glasses?"

"Since I nearly scratched my eye out trying to get my contacts in this morning," you said with a laugh, though the action of straightening your glasses was more of a nervous tic.

His stare was unyielding--intense and almost piercing. It unsettled you slightly as you studied his expression, your head tilting inquisitively as he said nothing else. 

"Well, uh, anyway I have to drop this off to Hotch," you murmured, your voice trailing off as you felt the weight of Spencer's penetrating gaze. 

You lingered for a heartbeat too long, hoping for a word, a smile--anything. But nothing came. With a shaky breath, you turned away, hands trembling ever so slightly as you handed the paperwork to Hotch. You whisked yourself back to the comfort of your office. The was weird, right? I mean, sure, Spencer had never been one for being overly affectionate in public, but he at least had more to say than that.

You pushed the nagging doubts to the back of your mind, focusing on the monotony data and figures that sprawled across your reports. He was probably just having a bad day, too maybe theoretical thoughts brewing in the beautiful mind of his.

The hours crawled by, each minute punctuated by the drone of the office--uninteresting reports, pesky coworkers, and the persistent buzz of thoughts circling back to Spencer. When it was an appropriate time to take your lunch, you pushed your laptop aside with a little too much eagerness, hands diving into your bag for your food. 

But before you could do that, a soft interruption at the door caught your attention. Your head snapped up, meeting Spencer's gaze as he leaned causally against the frame of the door.

He stood there, watching as you glanced up at him, the rims of your glasses framing your eyes in a way that made an involuntary shiver down his spine, his gaze lingering on your face. You appeared tired, yes, but the image of you like this had been imprinted on his mind all day, rendering his work secondary to the thought of seeing you again. 

"Spence, hi," you greeted, a sweet smile blooming on your lips as you peered up at him. Your brows knit together slightly; his visits were rare unless case-related. "I was just about to take my lunch, wanna join?"

"No," he replied with a swift shake of his head, the corners of his mouth twitching into a knowing smirk. "Could I borrow you for a second?"

Your gaze returned to the lunch that lay before you, untouched and suddenly unappealing. Letting out a small sigh, you nodded. "Sure," you replied, still trying to piece together Spencer's odd behavior today.

He tilted his head back subtly, a silent cue for you to follow him. You obliged without hesitation, following after him, your steps echoing his through the hallway. Your confusion mounted, etched into the deepening furrow of your brows with each corner turned. 

"Spencer," you said, a giggle escaping your lips. "I trust you're not taking me down some ominous hallway to meet my untimely end?"

"Actually, it is an interesting fact that the majority people meet their 'untimely end' at the hands of someone they love." 

"Great, thank you for that, I think that's my cue," you joked, pivoting away in an attempt to make a dramatic exit. But Spencer's reflexes were quick, his grasp secure on your wrist as he steered you into the nearest supply closet. The small space muffled your surprised oomph as you nearly collided with a stack of supplies.

You stumbled into the warmth of his chest, your glasses skewing comically as you steadied them with a fingertip. "Spencer! What has gotten into you?"

"You," came his growl, rough and urgent, while his hands frantically sought your legs, pinning you against the wall.

A soft moan slipped through the surprise of parted lips as his lips found yours. Your fingers tangled in the soft locks of his hair, pulling him closer, your mouth meeting his with the same intensity. 

Your laughter mingles with the kiss as you pull back, lips brushing. "Not that I'm complaining, Agent Reid, but someone is definitely going to catch us."

His eyes meet yours, equally amused as he pins your hands over your head. He makes quick work of open-mouthed kisses on your neck, your body instantly melting into his as his teeth scrape along your sweet spot. "Don't care."

His lips trailed back to yours, his fingers fumbling to push your skirt up to your stomach. You let out a surprised gasp into his mouth, finding the sudden intensity of him incredibly hot. He pressed his thumb into your clit as you dug your fingers into the nape of his neck, your head lolling back as you all but thrusted into his hand. The room swirled with heat, your glasses misting up. You reached for the pesky frames, but his fingers intercepted, pining them against your chest.

"Those stay on, sweetheart." The words tickled your ear, intimate and close, as his fingers traced through your slick folds, coaxing a contented pant from you.

"That's what's got you all worked up, Spence?" You moaned out as his fingers glided over your skin, now slick, drawing a line of warmth up your body. 

He settled his thumb on your tongue, shutting you up as he grabbed a handful of your ass. You wrapped your lips around it, savoring the taste as your eyes locked with his over the foggy veil of your glasses. His gaze held a quiet pride as he smirked. 

"Drove me crazy seeing you like that this morning." He said as he ground his body into yours, his erection settling on your stomach. "Makes you look so fuckable. Couldn't focus on anything else."

Your mouth vibrated softly around his thumb, muffled as he drew it away with pop. He makes quick work of undoing his belt, shoving down his pants and boxers just enough to release his length.

Your mouth watered at the sight, your body instinctively lowering to your knees, but his hand was there stopping you with a firm, "No time."

He pinned your shoulders to the wall with his body, his mouth crashing with yours with desperate need. Your mouth fell open into his as you felt his length press into your opening, his fingers holding your panties aside.

"You feel so good, sweetheart."

You don't think you would ever get over the feeling of him inside you, the way he stretched you out just right. You let out an unrestrained moan as he proceeded to pump inside you, his movements ruthless.

His palm sealed over your lips, a sudden barrier that sent warmth spreading across your face, glasses clouding rapidly, obscuring your view. "Quiet, baby. You want everyone to know how much of a slut you are for me? Letting me fuck you in the office?"

You all but sobbed against his palm, your hands fisting the material of his sweater as he continued to abuse your pussy with deep strokes.

"Sp-Spence, please baby," you managed to breathe out as he released his hold on your mouth, grinding against him in an attempt at friction with your sensitive clit.

"What do you need, sweetheart?" He questioned, almost condescendingly as his fingers traced your cheek gently, a stark contrast to the way he pounded into you. "Need me to take care of you?"

"Please," you choked out.

"You're so good for me, baby." He said, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier as he pressed his thumb to the part of you that ached most. You let out a sob of relief as you ground against his movements, the familiar coil in your stomach beginning to wind up as you clutched at Spencer's face.

"Spencer, shit, 'm so close," you babbled, tears welling in your eyes as each of his thrusts seemed to urge the ache.

"Go ahead, baby." He moaned as his you felt his thighs twitch against you. "Come on my cock, sweet girl."

His words were all you needed to push you off the edge, your back arching against the wall as your legs shook, threatening to collapse as a wave of pleasure washed over you. He came shortly after you, his form yielding to gravity as his head nestled into the crook of your shoulder, both of you panting softly as you tried to catch your breath.

After savoring a few heartbeats of content, he gently disentangled himself from you. His fingers deftly rearranging your skirt, with a touch so soft, so different from his demeanor two minutes ago. 

"Guess I need to wear the glasses more often, huh?"

A soft laughter bubbled up from him, his fingers lightly grazing under your eyes, brushing away the stray smudges of makeup. "Please do."

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales 8

Summary: Acknowledging the bond between them creates a challenge Reader wasn't prepared for.

Content Warnings: Jealous!Azriel, Slight NSFW; Mentions of Death and War.

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

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I wish we could stay like this forever: The first rays of sunlight peeking through the drawn curtains, the lightweight comforter warm from the large body at my back. The scent of jasmine and citrus lingers on one side of the sheets, night-chilled mist and cedar on the other. The tether in my chest warms with every steady heart beat against my spine. Sleep threatens to pull me back under, contentment a yawning precipice in which I dangle dangerously along the edge.

I want nothing more than to close my eyes as soon as they open. I wish time would still and there would be no demands, no threats over our heads, no Empire to ruin these precious few moments of peace. But the stomping and shouting of guards outside the door brings all thoughts of bliss and peace to a screeching halt. There very much are threats over our head and an Empire out there doing its damndest to ruin everything that is good in this world.

I force myself to sit up, to throw off the warm comforter and the arm still looped over my waist. Force my body to move, to not linger in the early morning light, to not roll over and trace the swirling patterns of my companion’s tattoos over the firm planes of his chest.

There will be other mornings.

Rhys is gone. Cassian still snores from his bed, half hidden in the shadows. Azriel sits up with a grunt beside me. The slight tremor of disappointment that runs down the tether that links us 

tells me he’s not thrilled about the arrangement either.

If I had more time, I’d be a little more mortified about the drool I feel crusted to my cheek, or the way my hair is sprouting out the side of my head like one of Anise’s vines. “Shit! It’s late!”

Azriel’s hazel gaze flicks to the door. “We wanted to give you as much time as possible to rest.”

My heart constricts painfully tight in my chest. Last night was an ordeal, yes, but I have no physical wounds, not like they do, and no one has offered them the same luxury. I want to kiss him. Want to crawl back into bed and into his lap, tangle my fingers in the thick locks of his hair and kiss him until we can both forget how awful the last couple of days have been. I want to lose myself in him, let him lose himself in me until there is no longer all this shit between us. I want to know what the bond might feel like if we had the time to explore it properly. Instead, I lean forward and give his scarred hand a squeeze.

“Thank you.” And before he can even respond, I’m sprinting for the secret door. 

Rhys already has it open. It looks like he’s been watching the door to make sure the guards don’t try to come in before I’m gone. There’s no time to share anything other than a conspiratorial nod before the darkness of the tunnel envelops me and the door locks shut behind me. 

I have to sneak past Cook as he gets the stove lit for the day, his back turned as I sprint from the cellar, the noise of the door opening only covered because he keeps banging logs against the old iron doors to make them fit. The Guards have made collecting the right size firewood difficult, as they’ve been stealing his carefully crafted supply to make fires to keep themselves warm during the night shift.

Thank the Mother and every god of luck we have that no one sees me run down the hall and back into my room.

There is still a little bit of the Raven’s blood on the wall. I find myself shuddering as I race past it to get to my closet. The Senate Meeting is in an hour, maybe less. What I would give to have wings!

I throw on the first dress I can find and dip into the bathroom to fix my hair. Shit I’m going to look awful! At least I can blame some of it on the ride over, but Father will never let me hear the end of it. Hell, if Brannagh and Amarathan don’t beat him to it.

I wrangle my hair into a braid that I wrap around the back of my head and pin in place with a gold clip that’s sharp enough to stab someone with, just in case. I shouldn’t be totally unarmed. Scrambling, I remember my Mother’s blade in my vanity drawer, and I lose precious seconds finding a way to hide it in the extra fabric tucked into the gold belt around my waist. 

Anise meets me at my bedroom door, looking solemn. “I looked into those other gladiators like you asked.”

I loop my arm through hers. “Walk with me, please.” Her stiffness tells me she’s still mad, but she obliges me.

“The Attor is always top of the list, you know this.” She says with a sigh. At least for now, she has decided to pretend to tolerate whatever nonsense she thinks I’m getting into. I will take this fragile peace while it lasts.

I shiver. “Hard pass. What are their other options?”

“Senator Thessian has three Elven archers who have never been beaten.”

Archers leave too many variables. Especially since last time they’d flooded the arena and the Elves had won by finding a perch on some driftwood and slowly picking the competitors off one at a time. They need someone who can match their physicality with a sword, regardless of the obstacles in the arena.

“Too many uncontrollable variables.”

She sighs again as we inch closer to the front doors, and the Guards that stand waiting. “Senator Kallias just acquired an orc from the Western Wastes. He is untested, but his staff says he paid a pretty coin for it.” 

Better. I like those odds a little more.

I kiss her cheek as we reach the front door. “You’re wonderful, Anise! I will find a way to thank you later.”

She frowns at me as her weathered hand squeezes my arm. “You shouldn’t go alone.”

In earshot now, a young Fae guard says, “She will have a squad after the events of last night.”

I fight back the urge to roll my eyes. A squad of males loyal to my Father. I’m just as likely to be dragged off the horse and murdered in the road by them than another Raven. A thought that does make me uneasy. I could, probably, hold them off on my own, but truth be told, now that I’ve been forced to stop and take a breath, I do still feel shaky. Training and muscle memory keeps me composed, but last night was a lot.

It will cost me precious time, but the idea forms easily, and I turn to Anise. “Good thing I have a few gladiators to protect me.”

Her frown deepens. “I am not comforted by that.”

I pull free of her and turn to the guard. I can’t bring Rhys with me; bringing the figurehead of a known rebellion into a Senate meeting would be grounds enough for Father to take my head here and now. I can’t bring Cassian either, he’ll need every precious second he can get for that leg to heal. “Bring Azriel to me.”

The guard hesitates, clearly taken back. 

I keep walking towards the stables. “Quickly, or it’ll be your head I throw on the chopping block for making me late.”

That does the trick.

I bite back a grin as I make it to the stables in record time and instruct Grayson, a wiry, half dryad stable boy, to prepare two horses. By the time the Guard brings Azriel, I’m settled in the saddle. 

“The Emperor will not like this,” the Guard begins.

“I did not ask for your opinion.” I state, using my best courtly voice. Mother always used to tell me I sounded just like my Father. It had always felt like an insult, but at least it has its uses.

Besides, the way Azriel grins as he swings into his own saddle is enough to ease the discomfort. I think it’s a flicker of pride I feel down the bond from him, but I’m not totally certain. Perhaps I’m imagining it, but I sit a little straighter in the saddle regardless. I want to make all of them proud. I want them to know I can do this, that I’m not some fragile little girl. I can handle what they’ve asked of me.

We head out before the Guard are totally ready, giving us a bit of space between us and them. There isn’t exactly room to talk at the pace we set, but I appreciate the breathing room all the same. At least, for now, it doesn’t look like they’ve been instructed to stab me in the back. 

The ride to the Capital is a blur all the way up until we’re in the city once more. The crowds are significantly less than yesterday, but there are still crushed roses and streamers in the streets. Worse, the crucifixes still stand, the Illyrian bodies still pinned. 

I nearly bite through my tongue with how hard I’m clenching my jaw. Some of those males were still alive yesterday. None are today. There is no obvious intent to remove them either, to offer a proper burial. People walk past like they don’t notice the carrion coming in to pick the bodies apart.

Azriel remains stiff and silent beside me. I try my best not to look at him, to not make it obvious that I am checking on him now that the Guard have finally caught up.

I do not breathe any easier once inside the Palace. The place feels like it should have heads on spikes posted at every entrance. All the glittering gold pillars and sparkling fountains feel out of place in a spot built upon the blood of so many innocent lives. I never liked it here, but more and more this place is starting to give me the same anxiety I’d have walking into a dragon’s lair.

The Guards follow close behind, as I once again hold the chain around Azriel’s throat. It feels heavier today, the metal hot from the sun. 

“You’re welcome to leave the brute with us, Highness,” one of them sneers. “We’d watch over him carefully.”

I’m still debating how much time it would take me to strangle the male with the chain as we reach the Audience Chamber. 

“Ignore him,” Azriel huffs in my ear. As soon as we’d gotten off the horses he’d taken his position behind me, close enough that my hip brushed his if I turned even a little. Maybe it’s a little too close for the story we’ve been selling, but it puts him between me and anyone trying to stab me in the back like a giant shield and he knows it. I don’t like that he doesn’t have armor to protect him, should something happen, but we simply haven’t had the time to find any. A situation I’ll need to handle before we leave the city.

The Chamber doors are still open, by some miracle, and bits of conversation float towards me as I enter. All of which suddenly halt as soon as the gathered group of elites realize who I’ve brought with me. 

I square my shoulders, even as the heat of Azriel’s withering glare skids across my shoulder. He’s very expressive today, and I have a sinking feeling that’s on me. Our proximity makes the bond relax, not so taut between my ribs any more, but it also heightens emotions. My protectiveness mounts the longer we’re together, I catch myself leaning towards violence anytime somebody looks at him wrong and from what the nymphs used to tell me, it’s usually worse for males.

Today will be interesting. 

We walk down the center of the room, towards the throne where my Father lounges, being fanned by two slaves with palm fronds. Amarantha already sits to his right, drinking from a goblet of wine, her mood sour. Both their eyes narrow in on me, then Azriel, as the crowd dramatically parts, like we have the plague.

I give a brief curtsy to my Father as I take the seat next to him. A seat that has long been empty and was more for show than use. Nothing my Mother ever said in these meetings came to pass. The rest of the senate seats are filled by males, Amarantha and Brannagh the only exceptions. 

“Be seated,” Father calls out, waving a hand in irritation. 

A servant comes with a tray of wine and fruits, and despite the rumbling of my stomach, I wave it away. I’d like to not test my luck today; I’m just as likely to be poisoned as I am stabbed and even Azriel can’t do anything if I ingest arsenic. 

The Emperor leans over in his seat, gray eyes sharp, jaw clenched tight. He’d never hit me in front of so many people, but that doesn’t mean I’m safe from his wrath either. 

I brace myself, hands folded gently in my lap, even as Azriel tenses from his perch behind my seat. 

“So good of you to show up,” he snarls.

“I had an interesting visitor last night,” I say and I hate the way my voice shakes. 

“So you brought a known rebel into my council meeting in retaliation?” He hisses. 

There’s a heavy layer of wine on his breath and it takes every bit of training to keep myself from trying to scoot further out of his reach. If he’s been up drinking, that’s a sign we’re moving in the right direction, he’s so off his game he’s unravelled, but that makes him dangerous. There is no telling what he could do next and my first impulse is to curl into a ball and make myself as small as possible.

“I questioned my safety in the hands of your guards on the empty roads over here,” I say, digging my nails into my palms to get the words out. 

“But not with this savage?” He gestures with his chin towards Azriel.

All I can see is red. If I had not used so much energy to kill the Raven last night, my powers might not be slumbering so deep beneath my skin now. For that I am grateful. I do not need one more thing to worry about today. 

“Their interests are in keeping this deal for their people, that’s hard to do if I’m dead,” I retort through my teeth.

“We’ll discuss this later,” he snarls.

My hands shake in my lap as Azriel’s shadow makes its way around my ear again, murmuring softly in a strange language as it rubs itself against my temple soothingly. It is an effort to breathe evenly and I do my best to turn my attention away from my Father and to study those in attendance today instead. 

Thessian, Kallias and Beron sit on my right. Eris stands behind his father’s seat, serving as a guard today, and the auburn haired male winks at me when my gaze passes to him. I hope that means he did that research I asked him for yesterday.

Azriel’s hand tightens on the back of my seat with just enough pressure I hear the metal groan. Thankfully, no one seems to notice but me. 

On the opposite side of the room sits Dagdan and Brannagh, their seats pushed together instead of giving them the five feet of distance all the other chairs have, just so no one is close enough to throw a punch if things get heated, as it often does. Next to them are senators Helion and Tamlin. Helion studies Azriel intently over the edge of his goblet of wine, but I can’t tell if it’s genuine interest or the same disdain everyone else has been throwing his way. 

Tamlin broods silently in a stack of parchment in his hand, quiet without Lucien to balance him out. 

Directly across from us are some of the few Senators who were not previously Lords of Prythian, as it was our biggest conquered province. They’re also the only ones on the Council who aren’t Fae. Giais is the only Elf. Ancient and ethereal, he’s been on the council since my Great Grandfather, though he doesn’t look a day older than me. Acacius had once held Amarantha’s title, but the Goblin had lost an arm in one of the last battles of the Giant War, and had been given a seat on the Council in his retirement. Maximus, who’s self-proclaimed title is Great Lord of the Dragon Shifters; he wears no shirt, but his entire top half is drenched in gold--gold rings with giant gems atop his long fingers, golden bracelets from wrist to elbow, a dozen gold chains in varying lengths and a belt, all catching the light and nearly blinding anyone who looks too closely at him. He’s the youngest male here, with the exception of Dagdan. The only seat empty is Senator Romulius’; the Nephilim away dealing with an uprising in his adjoining provinces. 

There are no Humans or Giants on the Council. No Nymphs or Dryads. It used to be more diverse, but as Father’s paranoia grew, so did his prejudices, and the Council became smaller and more segregated as time passed. 

“Who shall start today’s session?” Helion calls out as the chamber quiets and the doors close. 

It’s like being sealed in a tomb. I wish I’d said yes to the wine, I think I might risk being poisoned just to not have to sit with the swirling anxiousness in the pit of my stomach. 

Father gestures to Amarantha with a grunt that tells everybody we’ve found him in the middle of one of his moods. The quiet shifts to something more uneasy, shared glances passing between the senators. They all know this means they must tread carefully. 

“Tax season is upon us,” Amarantha says, her voice carrying through the antechamber. “Are there any concerns we need to discuss?”

Tamlin waves his stack of parchment in the air. “My province is still recovering from last year’s tax season. Our prisons are full of debtors. My advisors are organizing things as best they can, but rumors of…” he pauses, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as his eyes flick to my Father. “...unrest are spreading. I would like to request a heavier presence of the Praetorian, just to ensure things go smoothly, if they can be spared?”

“Why should your inability to lead your people be our problem?” Acacius snarls. “Every other province has managed to reign in its citizens but you.”

“I would hardly call the situation in Illyria reigned in,” Helion says over the edge of his goblet. 

Azriel tenses, wings rustling behind him. It takes everything in me not to turn and take his hand.

“Illyria is an outlier,” Amarantha snaps. “One that has been dealt with.”

Father’s head swivels to look at Azriel with the same air of an owl getting its sights on a mouse. A shiver runs down my spine as his eyes narrow in on my mate. 

“Was it dealt with, Shadowsinger?” 

The chamber quiets, every eye landing on Azriel. He keeps his composure near perfect, save for the hand still gripping the back of my chair with enough force to dent it. 

“Aren’t the crucifixions testament enough?” He growls through his teeth. 

Father grins wickedly. “Since my daughter is so certain she needed you here with her, why don’t you go ahead and tell this council exactly what happens to provinces that do not comply with our laws? Perhaps Tamlin needs a reminder about why he should keep his people in line?”

Tamlin frowns, hand tightening around the stack of parchment.

“What provinces?” Azriel snaps. “There is nothing left of Illyria but ash. It is a graveyard of women and children.” His voice breaks on the last word and down the bond comes the flash of a memory: A small body crumpled on scorched earth, a blood splattered doll clutched in its too small hand.

My stomach shoots into my throat.

Amarantha grins on the other side of my Father, pleased with my mate’s discomfort, pleased with her efforts of destruction in the name of the Empire.

“Sons must pay for the sins of the father.” Dagdan wins more than a few accolades for the sentiment. Beron goes as far to salute him with his wine glass.

“You must have known this would happen?” Brannagh counters. “Surely you knew the cost of your rebellion would be their heads? This is the price of rejecting the Empire and its protections.”

I glance around the room, looking for anyone to argue, anyone to challenge them. Helion shoots me a sympathetic look, but he says nothing. Eris shifts his weight behind his father, but he won’t look my way. They might be uncomfortable, but not enough to challenge them. Not enough to take a stand. We truly have no allies. 

“You have never been hungry,” Azriel says, his voice low. The white-knuckled grip on my chair tells me he’s trying his hardest to keep his voice down. The shadow curled around my ear moves with the agitation the rest of them have to feel, even in their hidden perch behind his wings. “You have never been without clothes. Without a roof. You have never gone without clean water, without people to tend to your every need. You have never known what it is to crawl for your basic necessities and then have them ripped from you purely because the people over you could. My people were dying. As are yours-”

“That’s enough,” Father says dismissively.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep back the growl that threatens to slip past my teeth. How can he be so flippant about it? So careless? I have always known him to be cruel but I hadn’t realized how truly heartless he is. How heartless they all are as they laugh off the dismissal like Azriel is beneath them. As if his story is nothing more than a piece of fiction and he a worthless storyteller.

My hands ball into fists in my lap, power awakening in my chest, bubbling up like a wave, ready to wash over everything in this godsdamned room--

Azriel’s hand settles on my shoulder, squeezing gently in warning.

The Council goes back to arguing uselessly, forgetting immediately that Azriel is even here. It is for our benefit in the long run, I suppose, but I can’t get past it. How can they all be so blind?

Azriel’s hand slides down my shoulder slowly, rubbing a soothing line down my spine until he feels my breathing even out, until I unclench my fists in my lap and he’s sure I won’t explode. I tamper down on my power like I always do; always trapping it down beneath my skin so that no one notices it’s there. My shoulders slump. Why didn’t I say anything when I had the chance? Why do I always sit here uselessly?

Maybe I am no better than they are.

The topic shifts to clearing clogged trade routes. Thesian offers his daughter in a political marriage to Kallias’s son as if bartering items of clothing. The marriage is arranged in a matter of minutes, without either of their consent. It’ll be for the good of the Empire, that’s all they care about.

Helion turns the conversation to imports on wine for a while after that.

I feel myself slipping back into my hollow shell. My voice escapes me, buried with my powers until I feel nothing. Until the words fade in and out of my ears, eyes vacantly held on a spot on the wall. They talk around me like I’m not here, like it doesn’t matter that I’d ever left. Unaware that all of their problems are so petty and stupid when there are bodies of desperate men rotting in the street as we speak. 

I want to see this whole damned Empire burn.

My thoughts remain on this one point for so long I don’t notice time slipping away until Father announces the meeting over and waves us all out. 

My movements feel stiff as I finally stand. How long have I been clenching my shoulders? My teeth?

Azriel follows, chest against my back, as I move robotically towards the exit, and dart into a quiet adjoining hall. Father will be around shortly, it is not like him to let me escape without further incident, but I just need a moment to take a breath. 

“How do you do this?” I whisper as the door shuts behind us. “How do you not explode every time they fucking speak?”

Azriel puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me around to face him. “Usually I imagine how it will feel to drive my blade through Hybern’s throat.”

This close to him I’m eyelevel with his collarbone. I have to look directly at the collar around his neck; the skin beneath pink from being rubbed raw over and over again by the iron. My hands reach for it instinctively, as if I have any power to take the pain away.

“But lately…” he shakes his head as one hand leaves my shoulders to catch my wrist as I fiddle uselessly with the collar. It’s not coming off without a key and I have nothing in my arsenal to make it easier to carry.

Useless once again.

“Lately I just worry that he’d take it out on you, if I stepped out of line, and I can’t risk that.”

The raised edges of his scars are a stark contrast to the soft, smooth skin of my wrists. I have no battle scars, no obvious signs of my Father’s abuse; my skin is unblemished and soft in a way that reminds me exactly why Cassian said I was a pampered princess. I’ve never had to do anything this hard. Never had to fight for what I wanted.

“It’s not like I don’t deserve it,” I blurt and he reels back a step like I’d hit him.

“Don’t talk like that,” he snarls.

“Cassian was right about me,” I return. “I’ve never had to work for anything in my life. I’ve never stood up for anything. I always shut up and shut down and look the other way. I should have done something before. I should have done something now!”

“You are doing something,” he says carefully, hazel eyes darting to the door, conscious of where we are and who might be lurking just outside.

“Not enough.”

He steps back into my space so he can cup my cheek. Damn me and my fragile resolve but I lean into that gentle touch like it’s my lifeline. He’s so warm and comforting and that broken, touch starved thing in me leans in like a moth to flame, so desperate for even a hint of affection. I hate myself for it. Hate that this is all it takes for me to take a breath. 

“We have to take it slow,” he bites out. “We have to move carefully. We are under so much scrutiny. I know that it is hard, but you did exactly what we need you to do today. You have played your part. The time for action will come later.”

“I feel useless,” I confess. 

“Hate to drag up bad memories, but you killed a guy last night,” he counters. “That’s far from useless.”

“That needed to be done.”

“So does this,” he assures. 

I sigh and lean my head down against his chest. His heartbeat is steady and even against my skin. Breath warm against the back of my neck. I wish I could melt into him, let him consume every bit of my being until there was nothing left of me.

Azriel wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me flush against his chest. My body short circuits, frozen for a moment as I try to comprehend what he’s doing. I don’t remember the last time somebody hugged me. Yes, last night he’d slept with an arm around me, but that is different somehow. I don’t immediately know what to do with this. Last night had a purpose, I’d needed the security to sleep. This was in comfort. And no one had comforted me like this in years. Not even Anise when my Mother had died. 

His embrace is all encompassing, strong arms tight around my middle. Something in me cracks open and tears pool in my eyes as I slowly work up the courage to wrap my arms around his middle, conscious of where his wings sit in the middle of his spine. 

The bond hums in approval, or maybe that’s his shadows, more of them than the one curled around my ear move to caress my arms and back.

A breath stutters out of me, trapped by the lump in my throat.

“We will beat him,” he promises into my hair, lips brushing the top of my head. “I can take a few punches on the way to that victory, Princess.”

I tighten my grip around his waist. “Not if I turn them to mist, you don’t.” The words are comically muted by his shirt, but they draw a chuckle from him all the same. The sound is rich, like melted chocolate and I’d do anything to hear it again.

“Vicious, little thing,” he tuts.

I work up the resolve to pull my head out of his chest so I can look up at him. “I’ll be whatever you need me to be.” Whatever it takes, no matter the cost, I will see this collar off him, all of them; I will see his people free. 

He practically has to duck to look me in the eyes at this angle, but that intense hazel gaze goes straight to my mouth. Heat flashes down the bond, a glimmer of desire so intense I’d think I might have imagined it were it not for the way his tongue darts out to run over his own full lips. It feels as if we share a breath, a heartbeat. I meant the words in a very literal sense, for the sake of this mission, but I think I might mean them in other ways too. 

He leans in and I feel his heartbeat stutter in his chest. Or maybe that’s mine. I cannot tell us apart anymore. What is him and what is me is suddenly very intertwined.

In contrast to the firm planes of his body, his lips are sinfully soft as they brush tentatively over my own. I lose all sense of time and reason as I lean up on my toes to close the distance between him, to finish the kiss.

And then the door to the hallway opens.

Time comes in a blazing rush and I suddenly remember where the hell we are as we jerk away from each other like we’d been thrown. 

Eris saunters in with his thumbs looped in the golden belt around his trim waist, grinning like a cat. There’s no way he didn’t see us.

“There you are,” he purrs. The shadows of this hidden servant’s hall suit him, bathe his sun kissed complexion in dark hues that make his amber eyes glow like coals. There’s a shade of gold dust in his unbound auburn hair. Everything about the Autumn heir seems to glow, even in the shadows of the world. “I had a feeling you’d be hiding in one of these secret places. You always did like them better.”

I don’t know how to explain myself. I just start smoothing my hands over my skirts, trying to find some semblance of control as my head spins. He can’t tell anyone what he saw! Azriel’s dead if does.

“Just needed to collect my thoughts,” I say, voice uneven.

Amber eyes flick to Azriel and roam over him slowly. I can’t tell if it’s admiration or that look Eris sometimes gets as he decides how much of a challenge a fight would be. Honestly, both those looks are pretty much the same. Eris has always toed the line between flirting and fighting.

“And his?” It’s teasing, not judgment, that much I can tell, but by the way Azriel’s wings open and shut behind him with a snap says he doesn’t share the understanding. 

“Eris,” I warn.

He shrugs as he comes to stand in the space Azriel had just held. I don’t miss the snarl that flashes across my mate’s features, or the way his hands clench and un-clench at his sides. He can’t do anything to Eris, not without risking his head. He knows it just as much as Eris does, which is why the male keeps stepping into my space, testing what he can get away with. 

“Relax,” Eris tuts. “Who am I going to tell?”

“You want me to make a list?” I retort. 

Eris shakes his head, long locks of hair kissing his high cheekbones. “Now now, what fun would that be?” 

Fun. Eris might be a bastard, but he is not cruel like his father. Beron would sell out his own mother for a chance at power, but Eris? Eris likes to play cat and mouse. He likes to collect secrets and trade with them. His influence in the court is strong not because he’s paid for it, but because he knows enough to get people to move in the ways he wants without having to lift a finger. Crafty and cunning as a fox; he’s dangerous, but he’s not an enemy, not yet.

“What do you want?” I sigh.

He grins, teeth perfect in his face. “I heard you’re looking for a husband?”

Azriel actually growls at that, stalking towards, shadows slipping out from behind his wings.

Eris rolls his eyes at him before turning back to me. “Have you decided on one yet?”

The obvious dismissal, or perhaps the blatant disregard to the danger he’s in, makes me pause. Why is he playing with fire like this? Is he really that confident Azriel won’t rip his head off his shoulders?

“I’m not on the decision committee,” I say, but I keep my eyes on my mate, a hand raised in his direction, silently begging him not to do something stupid. 

The gaze that was so focused on my mouth just seconds ago drops to my hand and he stills, teeth clenched so hard I can see a tick in his jaw. A shadow snaps angrily behind him, like they’re fighting the grip he has on them. 

“I should think your word would have some sway,” Eris muses.

He can’t be serious? “You want to marry me?” 

“Most females swoon under such an implication,” he starts.

“I thought you preferred males?” I counter.

He grins at that and I am not so blind that I don’t understand why people swoon when he gives them a few seconds of his undivided attention. “I don’t discriminate.”

We’re getting off subject.

Azriel may have allowed me to call him off the attack, but that doesn’t stop him from taking up his position at my back again. The rise and fall of his chest as he tries to steady his breathing is hot and heavy against me, I’m suddenly very well aware of his size compared to mine. The thin line of his restraint is fraying, worse than it was in the Council Chambers. 

“Fine, I will pose the suggestion to my Father.”

The bond flares with an anger so hot it seers my insides. I can practically taste Azriel’s rage as it floods down the tether between us. 

“Good, then this will be our little secret, won’t it?” Eris purrs, smug expression shot in Azriel’s direction. 

Gods they’d kill each other if I wasn’t physically standing between them.

“Yes,” I concede. How has this day gotten so far away from me?

He slides his thumbs back in his belt and strides towards the exit on the other side of the hall. “Oh,” he throws over his shoulder, “by the way, you’ll want to ask for Kallias’s Orc in the arena. It’d be the best match-up for your little pets.”

Azriel is shaking at my back, shadows unfurling from behind his wings like snakes, bathing the room in darkness as Eris opens the door. 

“I look forward to our future, Highness.”

Azriel explodes as the door shuts behind Eris, shadows lashing against the walls so hard the lights flicker. His wings snap open, apex talon striking the wall and leaving an angry slash in the paint. His chest rises and falls rapidly, breath rasping out of him like he can’t get air in fast enough. 

I spin to face him, taking his face in my hands. He has to get this under control or someone else is going to come running down the hallway. “Azriel-”

“No,” he chokes out, scarred hands gripping my wrists like a vice. “You can’t!”

Panic floods down the bond so fast it sweeps away all that rage like a tidal wave, ice filling my veins. I’m losing him and fast.

“You can’t!” He repeats and the ground shutters beneath his feet. 

I panic, worried about who else might be close enough in the hallway to hear, and do the only thing I can think of to get his focus back: I surge up on my toes for leverage and press my lips against his. It’s messy, and not at all how I wanted this to go, but it does the trick. His shadows still, their hissing cut off like they’re trying to wrap their ethereal heads around what just happened. The ground stops shaking. 

Azriel’s eyes widen, hands un-clenching. For a moment he freezes, just as I had when he’d hugged me a minute ago. And then he’s on me, hands tangling in my hair, pushing me back against the wall as his lips slide over mine. His tongue lashes behind my teeth, desperate and hungry. He kisses like a male starved, like he’s trying to get the very air from my lungs. He loops an arm beneath me and lifts, a shadow helping guide my legs around his waist as he kisses me again and again and again. 

Now we’re going in the wrong direction again. This is not the place for this!

Mother help me, I’m not sure I have the control to tell him that though. Especially not as he pulls away for the briefest of moments, eyes so dark they’re almost all pupil, nostrils flaring. 

“Mine,” he growls, dipping his head to press hot, open mouth kisses along my jaw and neck. 

Shit! I knew going into it that our growing proximity, and maybe the fact that we’d both acknowledged the bond last night was going to start causing some problems, but I didn’t think it would be this bad this fast. I didn’t think I’d have such a hard time trying to think rationally about it either. 

We have to stop. We have to get back out there before this situation gets worse than it already is. But my body doesn’t seem to know that. Hell, the bond doesn’t seem to know that. It purrs and glows between us, warm and bright in the contact of our bodies. 

My fingers tangle in the thick locks of his hair as he nips at the juncture of my neck and shoulder. If I’m lucky, the neckline of my gown might just cover any mark he’s leaving. Maybe.

“Azriel,” my body arches into every kiss. My skin is on fire. I need more. I need him everywhere. I don’t know if his name on my lips is an admonition or plea. 

His hips rock unconsciously against mine, searching for friction, and holy gods is he hard! My mouth falls open at the contact, even with the layers between us, he’s bigger than I imagined he would be. 

Azriel’s lips trace back up my neck. “My mate,” he murmurs into my skin. I’m losing him to the bond, to his instincts, the primal aspect the nymphs warned me about taking over. I want it to. I want to know what would happen if the immaculate control he’s held since I met him were to slip, but I can’t. Not here. The door feels like it’s suddenly made of paper, as if anyone could walk by and see us through it.

No one will be as forgiving as Eris.

The thought is sobering, like a bucket of ice water in my veins. We can’t do this here.

“Azriel,��� I start and he groans into my neck, hips rocking into me once more as if I’d said something dirty and not simply his name. The sound makes heat shoot right down to my core and I clench my eyes tight to try and ground myself. One of us has to be in control here. I don’t know for the life of me how that ended up being me.

“We have to stop.”

His lips find mine again, desperate and needy and he moans into my mouth like this is the best thing he’s ever had. “Don’t,” he begs. “Don’t offer to marry him.”

I glide my fingers through his hair. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, kissing my chin, the corners of my mouth, everywhere he can reach like he just can’t stop himself. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I should have been listening for the door. I shouldn’t have gotten us caught.” 

The words fall like he can’t stop them. “I’ll find a way to get around it. I’ll deal with him. Let me deal with him. Don’t…” he shakes his head, goes in for another desperate kiss. “Please. You can’t do this.”

I cup his cheek in my hand and he tilts his head to kiss my palm. “Eris is a snake-” his gaze darkens when I say his name, shadows hissing angrily. “But for now, let’s not make an enemy of him.”

His teeth flash angrily, a growl rumbling up his chest. Heat flares between my legs at his outright possessiveness. Still, I force myself to unwind my legs from around his waist and he, begrudgingly, sets my feet back on the floor. The ache between my legs is uncomfortable. The bond feels like it whines at the loss of contact.

“No decisions have been made,” I promise. “Besides, hearing me suggest it might turn my Father away from the idea entirely. At least, to that end, I can’t say I didn’t try.”

Azriel’s hands leave my hips to fix my rumbled skirts in an attempt to collect himself. He looks a mess! Hair disheveled, lips kiss swollen, eyes dark. I doubt I look any better. “Nothing is happening today.”

“I won’t let anybody take you from me,” he vows.

My heart clenches in my chest and I can’t stop myself from placing one last, gentle kiss on his lips. He chases after me once more like we weren’t just aggressively making out. We’ll have time for more later, when it’s safe. When nobody can take him from me.

I grip his scarred hand tight and place it on my chest, over my heart, in promise. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to make sure no one takes you from me either.”

I mean it. No matter what it costs, no matter what deals I have to make, this male is mine. No one in this damn Empire is going to take that away from me.

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

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[damneddamsy]

falling | joel miller x fem!oc

I N T E R L U D E

warnings: mentions of suicide and rape, trauma, suicidal thoughts, pregnancy, childbirth, blood, post-natal depression. just heavy maternity topics altogether, but also soooo much fluff. a little bit before the next chapter 👀 also, yes, I'm fine, I'm just exploring what I can do :)

The following is a series of audio and video recordings belonging to one L.REED recovered from their residence.

L.REED PREGNANCY TRACKER AUDIO LOG #1

(The static crackles. A breath. Then a sniff—quick, sharp, like she’s trying to get herself under control. The mic picks up the soft creak of wood, and the rustle of fabric as she shifts.)

“It’s… ten-thirty-two in the night. August third.” (A pause, her voice stiff like she’s reading from a script. Then, softer—like admitting it to herself as much as the recorder—) “And I think I...”

(Silence. Then another slow breath. Hesitant, unwilling.)

“I mean, I'm um, in my living room.” (A beat.) “And I have just found out I am pregnant.”

(The words sit there, utterly unwelcome. She sniffs, a wet sound, then lets out a short, uneven breath like a laugh she doesn’t feel.)

“I know how it happened. I know what my body is capable of, what the biology is, how it works, what I—what I couldn’t have stopped. But knowing doesn’t change anything.” (Another beat, like she’s swallowing down a jagged marble.) “I cannot fix this. Cannot stop it. I have no say in this. None.”

(Her voice shakes on the last word, and she inhales sharply like she’s trying to stop it from happening.)

“I just…” (A sniff, another breath, her voice almost inaudible—) “I just wish I knew what the hell to do now.”

(Silence. Not empty. Suffocating. She shifts again, restless, like she can’t stand the feeling of being in her body.)

“I’m so scared. And so... alone. But I can't have anyone near me, not with everything I am now.” (The smallest her voice has ever been.)

“I think I’m—four months in, maybe more. My stomach, it's…” (A soft exhale, like she’s looking down at it, touching it, struggling to accept it.) “It’s getting bigger every day. The baby is growing fast. I feel it when I sleep, when I roll over, when I move. It's in there. Real, alive. Something I didn’t ask for.”

(She stops, swallowing hard before forcing herself to go on.)

“My body—it doesn’t want this. It knows it doesn't belong to me anymore. I can feel it. It’s rejecting food, rejecting rest, rejecting reason. I—I am so tired, I can barely think, but my mind won’t shut off. I keep trying to get back onto research, to make sense of my life but I can’t focus, I can't sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t stop—” (Her voice catches, and she presses her lips together. A second passes before she forces the next words out.)

“I can’t forget. But I also can’t remember. Not all of it. Just—these pieces. Bits that crawl in when I least expect. And when it comes... I cannot move. Breathe. I am helpless to escape it.”

(She exhales sharply, frustrated, like she hates herself for saying it.)

“Maria, the leader of this new commune, brought a doctor home. She said the baby will be born around mid-January.” (A pause. Then, the tiniest scoff, that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so resentful.) “That’s five months. Five months until—” (She stops. Another breath.) “Until this is real. Until I have to face this.”

(And then her voice shifts—tightens, sharpens like she’s trying to force steel into it.)

“But it’s not mine.” (The words come fast, desperate, like if she says it enough, she’ll believe it.) “It’s not. I know it’s not.”

(She inhales too quickly, voice trembling as she goes on—rushed, frantic—like she’s trying to outrun a danger that’s catching up to her.)

“I can’t do this. I can’t. I'm going to stain the poor thing, I'm going to ruin it. I can’t be a mother. I can’t care for it, I can’t love it, I—I don’t want to. How could I?” (Her breath stutters, her voice turning quiet, broken—) “Not when every time I look at it, all I’ll see is them.”

(A silence. Her breathing is uneven now, rough around the edges. When she speaks again, her voice is barely above a whisper.)

“I still hear them.” (A lull, thick and trembling.) “At night, in the hallway. I think it's them. The shadows. Their footsteps, their laughter. I think I'm going crazy. I can't stop reliving it. I thought it was over the moment I burned that place. I thought I was safe. That they were gone.”

(She swallows, breath shaking.)

“I still smell them on me. It reeks.” (A horrible, suffocating admission. Then nothing.)

(Silence. The static hums, filling the empty space. And then, a sound—tearful, muffled. She’s crying. But she won’t let herself fall apart. She won’t.)

“I feel them everywhere.” (The words barely make it out. Like they weren’t meant to.)

(Then—one deep, rattling breath. Too big for her lungs, like she’s struggling to contain everything inside her.)

“It takes everything in me not to throw myself off that dam. Easy, isn't it? One jump, you fall, your bones break, you deserve every bit of the pain, and eventually you drown. Calm.” (Flat. Hollow. A simple truth.)

“Were it not for the tiny human depending on me...” (Her voice is small again. Furious. Tired. Fading.) “And until it’s out, I have to stay.”

(Silence. Long, awful silence.)

“I can’t love it.” (A raw confession. A wound.) “But I can’t kill it either.”

(Another silence. She sniffs hard, then inhales slowly, forcing the air into her lungs.)

“I have to stay alive.” (A breath. Then another.) “At least until this baby is out of me and safe.”

(Click.)

X

L.REED PREGNANCY TRACKER AUDIO LOG #2

(The static clicks on. A breath, like she’s convincing herself she’s fine before she speaks.)

“It’s… ten-sixteen in the evening. September the eighth." (Her voice is steadier than the last recording. Detached, almost clinical, like she’s just logging facts.) “I’m in my living room.”

(A longer pause. A shift of fabric, like she’s adjusting, trying to get comfortable. Then—)

“I’m five months in now. More than halfway.” (The words land heavier than she expects. Another pause, like she’s thinking about it too much. Then—quieter—) “I’ve gotten used to the bump. It’s just… there. Part of me now. Stopping me, restricting me.”

(Another inhale, then a sigh, frustrated.)

“But the food—god. I just can’t eat.” (The words come out sharper, like she’s sick of repeating herself, sick of struggling.) “Nothing stays down except eggs. And I hate eggs now. But it’s the only thing I can stomach, so I eat them. Every damn day. Maria jokes that I've gone through most of Jackson's egg produce this month.”

(A quiet lull. A shift, and then, softer—like she’s speaking more to herself than the recorder—)

“Y'know, I hate that food is a necessity to the human physiology. That my body demands it even when I don’t want it.” (Another beat. Then, bitterly—) “Like I don’t have enough things forcing me to keep going.”

(Silence. Then, her voice drops lower, a heaviness creeping in.)

“My research has stalled. Not that it matters. I stared at the board for days now, and nothing.” (A sharp laugh.) “I’m a disappointment anyway. A waste of space. My parents left this world thinking they were handing their life’s work to someone capable. Someone who’d do something with it. Carry it forward.” (A swallow.) “Sorry, Mama. Sorry, Daddy. I blew it. I failed you.”

(Her voice stays even, but it's cracked at the edges, barely holding together.)

“I’ll be joining them soon enough. Incomplete, inadequate. Useless.”

(Silence stretches. Then, she exhales, long and controlled, like pushing that thought out of her lungs.)

“Now, Maria won’t leave me alone.” (Flat. Matter-of-fact.) “Neither will her husband, Tommy. He’s… alright. Nice, even. But they keep coming by. With food. With medicine. With advice I don’t want. They think they’re helping.” (A humourless snort.) “They won’t listen when I tell them to stop and leave me alone.”

(A pause. Then, quieter—reflective—) “Maybe that’s why they keep showing up. But I don't need their hope. I just need to stay alive, stay away and have this baby.”

(Another pause. A change in her tone—slightly lighter, curious.)

“Tommy told me today that the house across from mine isn’t empty after all. Says his brother has been living there for sometime now. Joel.” (She repeats the name, testing it in her mouth, unfamiliar.) “Said if I needed anything, I could go to him.” (A scoff.) “Like that's happening anytime soon. I don't need anything from anyone. I just need to... think.”

(Silence. Then, there's a difference in her voice—unsure, reluctant.)

“But… I’ve been watching him.” (A quiet, almost amused breath.) “Not in a way that's intrusive. He's doing it in plain sight. Wasting away, like me.” (A soft exhale, like she’s shaking her head at herself.) “He just—he has this routine. I haven't understood it yet.”

(She shifts again like she’s glancing toward the window as she speaks.)

“Every night, he sits on his porch with that guitar of his. He plays. Sometimes he sings.” (Another pause. Then, softer—) “It’s… nice. Simple.”

(The words linger, like she didn’t expect to admit them. Then, quieter—almost like a secret—)

“It helps. It calms me.”

(Another silence. The mic picks up a faint sound—her fingers rubbing against fabric, an absent movement, thoughtful.)

“I feel the baby kick when I listen.” (She exhales, almost like a laugh—small, tired, but real.) “Maria says that’s a good thing that the baby is kicking. That it means it’s healthy.” (Then, neutrally—) “I don’t care.”

(And yet, she doesn’t sound entirely convinced. Then, softer, quieter—like she hasn’t let herself think this before—)

“But I guess it’s nice to know it’s happy inside me. That I can still...”

(Another pause. Her next words are barely more than a whisper—like she isn’t even sure she wants to say them out loud—)

“That there’s something about me it likes. Even if I'm much worse than those Infected out there.”

(Silence. Then, the click of the recorder shutting off.)

X

L.REED PREGNANCY TRACKER AUDIO LOG #3

(The static clicks on. A deep exhale, then a groan, voice laced with exhaustion.)

“My back has been killing me. I think it’s splintering apart every time I move. Which means my baby is getting bigger by the day. And happier, too, apparently.” (A tired laugh, warm despite itself.) “Kicks all through the night—doesn’t let up for even a second.”

(A beat. And then, quieter, softer—like she’s only just realizing it herself—)

“I really like it. I like thinking about it, rather than the nightmares. How it might feel to hold the baby. See it smile at me.”

(Silence, just for a second. Then—another small, breathy laugh, almost amused at herself.)

“I mean, yeah, I can’t sleep when I think of this, but… I stay up. Just listening. Feeling it move. And when I talk—like right now—ooh—oof, okay, I felt that one.” (A giggle, surprised, unguarded.) “Yeah, okay, I know you’re in there, baby. I'm listening. You having fun? Spacious enough for you?”

(Barely more than a whisper—like it’s a thought she isn’t meant to say out loud—)

“Why do you like me so much?”

(A beat. Her voice turns dry, self-deprecating—like she’s brushing it off before it can settle too deep.)

“Huh, guess you haven’t met me yet. You'll hate me just as soon.”

(Abruptly lighter—like she’s trying to reroute her own thoughts before they get too serious.)

“So, I’ve been eating more. Craving more, actually. Blueberries. Mashed potatoes, mostly. Which is good, carbohydrates are energy. Good for the baby. I've had so much of it, I swear I might give birth to a sack of potatoes instead.” (A small, wry chuckle.) “Baby doesn’t seem to mind, though. I've put on twelve pounds, easy. I feel so large.”

(Silence for a moment. And then, her voice shifts again—subtly different now. Thoughtful… curious.)

“Oh and, well. My neighbour’s made some progress. It's always nice to see.”

(A hint of amusement now, almost teasing.)

“Finally combed his hair. Patched up his shoes. Got himself a nice shirt. And—get this—he played my favourite song the other day. Handy Man.” (A small exhale, almost a sigh.) “I even sat out on the porch steps just to listen. He’s got a good voice. A real singer's voice. Maybe he was once upon a time.”

(A pause, and then—quieter, like she’s saying it more to herself—)

“Baby and I went wild for it. We hear him sing every night now, without fail.”

(Silence lingers this time. When she speaks again, her voice is different. Not playful anymore. Not light.)

“I didn't ask, but Tommy tells me Joel’s been through hell. That he's still going through it.”

(Silence lingers, stretching out like a thread pulled too tight. Then, a sharp inhale—one that shakes, just slightly, before she steadies herself.)

“Yeah. That’s something we’ve got in common in this awful world.”

(She exhales, but it’s not relief. It’s bitter, sitting on the back of her tongue.)

“I hate that we do. Some arbitrary, lonely, bitter man... and me.”

(A pause. Not empty—just full of things she doesn’t want to think about. Full of everything she’s been trying not to feel.)

But it's creeping in any way.

She’s spent so long trying not to really see him. Just some man with a permanent scowl and a slouch that almost looked like he was reverting the evolution chart back to ape. The kind of grief that takes the pressure out of a man’s steps, that hollows him out so bad you start to wonder if there’s anything left inside at all.

It was easy to ignore. To dismiss. Just another ghost of a person.

But then—then she started watching.

Not on purpose. Not at first. She’d catch glimpses—him sitting on his porch, fingers idly plucking at the strings of his guitar, eyes staring out at nothing, lost in some place she wasn’t sure he’d ever come back from. Sometimes that pretty little girl would stop by, sit with him, and talk to him. Joel barely ever spoke. But he listened to her, hanging onto her every word.

And then Leela started listening, too.

And the more she listened, the more she saw. How he still went on patrol, and still did what he had to. How, despite all that he carried on his shoulders, he never let it slow him down. How he walked around like a man who had no reason left to live—except he was still here. Still moving, existing, even when it looked like it hurt.

She saw herself in that, and she hated it.

Because he had already given up. And she hadn’t. Not fully.

So, the words slip out before she even realizes she’s saying them. They sound strange. Foreign. Like they don’t belong to her...

“I don’t want to die.”

(She swallows. The admittance has been buried under months of fear, exhaustion and numbness.)

“If that man can do it, just live for the sake of it, why can't I?”

(It's harsh. She means it.)

“So, not dying just yet. I'm going to have this baby and I'll make it work. That's what I do best. I am not a quitter.”

(A deep inhale. Exhale. Like she’s setting a task down. Or maybe picking that task up.)

“I have too much left to do in this house. I have to finish what they started. I'm not giving up.”

(A pause. Then, almost like an afterthought—)

“For my parents. For their legacy. For me. I will not die.”

(A soft clearing of her throat. Getting back to the facts now.)

“It's eight-twenty-two in the evening, November the second. I'm in my living room. Seven months in. Um, Leela signing off.”

(Click.)

X

L.REED PREGNANCY TRACKER AUDIO LOG #5

(The static clicks on. A deep, shuddering breath. Then another. It’s slow, controlled—like she’s fighting to keep it together.)

“Uh, eight months now. Ow... Eleven pm, I think. Kitchen. December nineteenth, right? God, my D-day's in three weeks. I just get cramps more often now.”

(She exhales, sharp and strained.)

“It’s not bad. It’s just—” (a shifting sound like she’s trying to find a comfortable position) “—it’s like having my period. Constantly. I can't believe the shit women have to go through.”

(Another breath—this one shorter, hitching slightly at the end.)

“So, Maria’s sentenced me to bed rest now. Tommy comes by every day to check on me. I’m… I’m so grateful for them. But I really don't need anyone to...”

(A deep breath. Then, suddenly—)

“Ooh—” (A small, startled sound, not quite a groan, but close.) “Yeah, there it is. Comes and goes. I've got to start tracking that, too.”

(A long silence follows. Just static humming in the background. When she speaks again, her voice is quieter—faintly distracted, like her mind has wandered somewhere else.)

“But I’m doing okay. I think. I’m eating more. I’ve tried to move around a little, to cook for myself, but…” (a breath, then a tired huff of laughter) “…my garden is overgrown. Like, completely. It’s a jungle out there. And the house…” (she sighs, deeply, the weight of it pressing down on her words) “I keep seeing everything that needs to be fixed. Loose floorboards, dusty windows, and a leaky pipe in the kitchen. I’ve let it go to hell. Daddy would be furious.”

“I guess I’ve been too busy… I don’t know. Baking a baby? Surviving?”

(Another shift, a slight creak of whatever she’s sitting on.)

“I set up a nursery. Because the baby needs space to feel at home.” (Her tone is vague. Then, wryly—) “Heh, a nursery. If you can even call it that.”

“It’s just my old crib. In the nearest room.” (A beat.) “That’s it.”

“I wanted to do more. I really did. But it was hell just getting that stupid thing up the stairs. Had to drag it, inch by inch. Thought I was gonna throw up halfway through.” (She lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh, but it fades quickly.)

“God, this baby’s gonna hate me so much.”

(Silence. Just for a second. Just long enough for that thought to settle.)

“And what’s even scarier than that? The actual birth.” (Her voice tightens. She doesn’t want to say this, but it’s been sitting in her head for too long, and now it’s coming out whether she wants it to or not.)

“I've been warned that it’s going to hurt a lot. That it's not just a simple push.” (A breath. A hand, maybe, pressed to her stomach—may be pressing against a cramp, maybe just needing to feel the realness.)

“Like bones breaking. That’s what they say.” (A quick inhale.) “That there's going to be a lot of blood and mush. That it could last hours. The 'labour pains'. A whole day. That when it happens, I’ll need to find someone, fast. Get myself to the clinic. That I’ll need help.”

“But what if I don’t?”

(Her voice is smaller now. Fragile. Like a crack she’s been trying to plaster over, finally starting to widen.)

“What if something happens? What if it starts in the middle of the night, and I can’t get to anyone in time? What if I… what if I die? What if I die without ever seeing my baby? What if I die without finishing my research?”

(A sharp, unsteady inhale. Then silence. Heavy, pressing down on everything.)

“There was this nice old woman who came over.” (Her voice is different now, like she’s remembering, and grounding herself.) “She told me that plenty of women have done it on their own. That it’s a matter of strength and love. That I have nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t know if I believe her. The thought of blood and guts is scaring me.” (A breath, then, like she’s forcing herself to say it—) “But I have to be ready. Just in case.”

(A long pause. Then, quietly—like she’s reminding herself, she’s willing it to be true—)

“I know I won’t be alone. There are people here around me now. Joel from across the street. The old couple next door. Maria. Tommy.” (A beat. A swallow.) “But… on the off chance?”

(Another pause. Then, softer—like a vow, like a promise, like she’s holding onto it with both hands.)

“I’m going to fight like hell.”

(Click.)

X

L.REED PREGNANCY TRACKER AUDIO LOG #6

(Click. A beat of silence. Then, her voice—soft, thoughtful, almost hesitant, like she doesn’t know why she’s saying this out loud.)

“It's December the twenty-second. Nine-seventeen in the morning. Um... Joel came by my place.”

(A pause. Then, quieter—almost to herself—)

“I don’t know why I feel the need to log that. This is supposed to be about the baby, not…” (A sigh.) “Whatever. It's not like anyone's going to hear this.”

(Then, the faintest hint of a scoff—amused, self-aware—)

“He was only here for, what, two minutes? Less than that? Just long enough to hand me some food. Tommy couldn’t bring it over—something about the Christmas celebrations in town. So, I guess Joel got stuck with it. Poor guy.”

(A beat. A shift in her voice, like she’s turning the memory over in her mind, inspecting it.)

“It’s different, seeing him up close. I’ve been watching him from across the street for months—just glimpses, shadows, the sound of his guitar carrying over, entertaining us. But when someone’s right in front of you, you see things you didn’t before.”

(She exhales, thoughtful.)

“He’s taller than I thought. Very... big.” (A soft, almost breathless chuckle, like she’s realizing how ridiculous that sounds.) “I don’t know why that surprised me. He looked tiny from all the way here.”

(A pause. Then, slower, like she’s piecing it together as she speaks—)

“He’s got more silver in his hair than I realized. I'm guessing he's around fifty. And this scar, right on his temple—looks like a bullet just barely missed him. He smells like sweat and dirt and old clothes that’ve been worn too many days in a row. And his eyes…”

(She trails off for a second, then swallows, trying to find the words.)

“They’re thin. Sad. Not in an obvious way, but—” (She exhales, frustrated, like she’s mad at herself for not explaining it right.) “—they turn down at the edges. Could be from age the way Daddy was, or could be from grief. Maybe both. He's seen too much.”

(A quiet halt. Then, abruptly—)

“He’s handsome, right? For his age.” (A beat. Then, drier—) “Not that I’d know what the hell that means. The only men in my life are Daddy and Tommy.”

(A change. Something smaller now. More personal.)

“He didn’t even knock.” (Another breath, like she’s thinking back on it.) “Wouldn’t have, if I hadn’t seen him standing there and opened the door first.”

(A pause.)

“He asked about me. The baby, I mean.”

(She says it softly, like it means more to her than she wants it to.)

“It was… weird. Having him there, asking me. S'like watching something from a distance for so long and then suddenly finding yourself in the middle of it.”

(She inhales.)

“He nodded. And that was it. Just turned and left. Now I wished I'd talked a little more. I'd like to be his friend.”

(A beat. Then, softer, almost like a realization—)

“And this morning, the snow on my pavement was gone.” (A faint, barely-there smile in her voice—) “He did it for me.”

(Silence stretches for a moment like she’s sitting with everything she just said. And then, almost too soft to hear—)

“Sweet, sad man.”

(And then, barely above a whisper—)

“He saved my life without even knowing it.”

(The static runs for a while. Click.)

X

The first wave of labour pain came like a shockwave. Sharp, deep, untimely.

Leela sucked in a tight breath, stiffening, clutching the edge of the sink as a dull ache bloomed low in her belly, deep in her bones. Her nightgown stuck to the backs of her thighs, damp, and—

She looked down. A thin stream of fluid ran down the inside of her leg, spilling onto the marble floor. Clear. Warm.

No. Her heart lurched. Her mind reeled, scrambling for numbers, for weeks, for the dates that made sense—four weeks early.

“No,” she whispered, gripping the sink tighter.

She wasn’t ready. The baby wasn’t ready.

Another wave of pain slammed into her. Worse. Like the baby inside her was twisting, pushing, trying to force its way out between her legs. She gasped, curling forward, forehead pressed against the mirror. Her reflection blurred in the fog of her breath.

Was she dying? Was the baby dying? Had she done something wrong?

Breathe. Breathe, she repeated to herself. It was probably just another cramp. Although it felt worse than usual.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to remember Maria’s voice. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

She counted. She breathed. She thought through the haze, clutching the one that mattered.

Get help.

Joel.

The name came without hesitation. She didn’t question it.

Leela stumbled out of the bathroom, one hand gripping the swell of her belly, the other steadying herself on the walls as she made her way down the stairs. She barely felt the cold wooden steps beneath her feet—just the pulsing, unbearable reduction to her thighs. Another contraction hit before she reached the bottom, and she collapsed onto the last step, twisting her ankle with a strangled sound, curling into herself.

Too fast. Too fast. Slow down.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. She wasn't prepared. Her baby was going to die, she was going to kill this baby—no.

She was saving this baby. The baby was going to live today.

She gritted her teeth, forced herself upright, and half-ran, half-fell toward the door. The night hit her like ice shards, the biting winds slashing through her thin clothes. Snow stung her bare feet, but she didn’t stop, didn’t think—just kept moving.

One house. Just one house. That was all she needed. And the baby will be safe.

She barely made it up the porch steps before the next contraction sent her crashing to her knees.

Leela gasped through the pain, body curling forward, forehead pressing against the frozen wood. She couldn’t—couldn’t—stay here. Couldn’t do this alone.

With the last of her strength, she reached up and knocked. A polite knock, at first. Stupid. She was past politeness now.

“Please help me.” Her breathless voice barely carried over the wind.

Nothing.

Inside, something crashed. A bottle? A chair? He was there. He just hadn't heard her.

So, she knocked again, harder this time. Her whole fist. Faster. Desperate.

“Joel. Please.” Her voice wavered, although louder. The next contraction was coming, she could feel it rolling over her, pulling her under—and then, from inside—something shattering onto the floor. A glass. A plate.

“I said fuck off!”

A thundering snarl, slurred and dangerous.

The force of the yell startled her back, her sore heel slipping on the icy porch, sending her stumbling into the railing. The world tilted, and then—pain.

She crumpled onto the cold wood, a ragged sob ripping from her throat as the contraction slammed into her.

She tried to breathe. Couldn’t. Tried to move. Couldn’t. Her body was locking up, shaking, curling in on itself against the cold. No one was coming. Completely alone.

She had to leave. She had to go. Joel wasn't coming.

But—she had no energy to make it to the next house.

The wind had already swallowed her footprints by the time she stumbled back through her front door. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she collapsed, the door swinging shut behind her with a dull thud. Cold. The floor was so cold. Or maybe that was her. She couldn't tell anymore.

Her eyes tracked up the daunting stairs that led right up to the washroom. Somewhere warm and clean.

She cried out. “No.”

She couldn't go up there. She couldn't move.

Her fingers dug into the floorboards as the next wave of pain tore through her, blinding, all-consuming, like her body was being ripped apart from the inside out. She gasped, legs curling in, a sob clawing its way up her throat.

She couldn’t do this.

She needed help.

But there was no one. Joel had sent her away, possibly passed out drunk. No one else was awake. No one knew. Of course—it was Christmas Eve. Everyone would be up at the square, raising their cups in celebration.

She pressed her forehead to the floor, breath shuddering against the wood. It hurt so much. It was too much.

And still, the baby kept coming.

The contractions came in surges, pulling her under, like dark waves on a cliff, and stealing the air from her lungs with every swell.

She lost track of time. Minutes. Hours. An epoch.

Her body wasn’t her own anymore. No, it was ravaged by the pangs and pangs of shooting pain. It was something else entirely—a force of nature, unstoppable, breaking her open, splitting her apart.

She couldn't stop trembling. Somewhere in the haze of pain, she thought of her mama. Her mama never got to do this; it was why she got her. She thought of the women who had done this before, utterly alone, on dirt floors, in darkened rooms. She thought of how she’d sworn she would never be one of them.

And yet—she was.

She whimpered, nails scraping weakly against the wood. “Please, baby. Please don't do this to me.”

She couldn’t do this. She had to do this.

The next contraction ripped through her, and she screamed. The sound barely made it past the walls. The winds outside devoured her cry for help.

She had to move.

Leela’s hands shook as she crawled across the floor, belly sagging, breath uneven. Her body felt alien, now it really didn’t belong to her anymore—just another one of her machines grinding itself down to dust, gears forcing, and bent on one purpose. Pushing this child out.

Her head swam. She was soaked in sweat. Every muscle in her body clenched and burned.

Get up, Leela.

She made it to the kitchen on sheer instinct, her knees bruising against the tile, ankle smarting, fingers scrambling at the counter.

Something soft. To sit on. To lie on. A towel.

Her hands closed around one. She fumbled to turn on the tap, let the water run warm, and then laid the cloth on the floor. The heat bloomed through the fabric as she slogged onto it, already improving the sensations.

Okay. Okay. Think.

She was alone. She was doing this alone. It was okay.

Her arms trembled as she lowered herself down, lying back, spine flat to the floor, trying to find some way to ease the vicious fire tearing her open.

She was gasping, sobbing, whispering half-broken things under her breath—prayers, curses, for her mother. Mostly her mother. She imagined her looming over her, holding her hand, stroking her hair, telling her she was so brave. It felt good, until it didn't.

“Please, please, please...” she begged no one.

Another contraction hit.

Her entire body seized. The pain was a wave—no, an earthquake, this time, tearing through the core of her. This may have broken a bone in her ribs, she was sure of it.

She clenched her jaw so hard she thought she might crack a tooth.

A sound ripped out of her. Somewhere between a wail and a growl. She didn't even know what made sense anymore. Breathing? Dying? Choking?

She was splitting apart. She knew it.

But it wasn’t stopping. She couldn’t stop it.

She pressed her head to the floor, chest heaving.

Think, Leela. Think. You know what to do. What?

She had to push.

Yes, push. She’d heard it before, the doctor had specific about that, she knew the basics, but now—now it was real. Now it was her body, her baby, her pain.

She adjusted her legs, her back arched off the floor. She sucked in a gasping breath, readying herself. She shook her head, and everything else out. She was saving this baby. She was saving her baby.

“Push,” she breathed.

Another shockwave of agony rolled through her.

Push. Push hard.

She nodded, “okay, okay,” and braced herself. Breathed in through the nose, out through the mouth. Again, and again, until she felt like she was ready.

And she pushed.

A scream tore from her throat. The pain was unreal, as if her insides were tearing open. Pulverizing. This was torture.

“I can't, I can't,” she sobbed.

She let her head fall back against the floor. Panting. Sobbing. Wishing death upon everyone in this fucked-up world. Wishing death upon her drunk neighbour, Joel. Wishing death on Tommy and Maria for not being here. Wishing death upon everyone but her child.

Her body felt too weak, too small to hold so much pain, so much life.

Push, Leela. Save the baby.

But she kept going. Over and over, she pushed and pushed, between sobs, between minutes that stretched into eternities. Between the waves of contractions that seemed to shorten and shorten. Seconds. Cried for her mother so hard, she must've heard her from the heavens. Cried hard for anyone, someone to come help her.

And then—a movement deep inside. A twist. Another deep breath, and she pushed, another scream storming these empty hallways.

A ripping, a world-ending agony, a slip, and a sudden, unbearable release.

And then—a wail. Light. Reedy. Shuddering. Alive.

Leela groaned with the spasms. Her body was ruined, quivering from pain, from exhaustion, from the unthinkable, unbearable weight of what she had just done. She had done it.

She gasped, her head rolling back against the cold floor, her chest rising and falling in ragged, disbelieving breaths.

She had done it. She had done this all by herself.

Her breath caught, and for a moment, everything else vanished. The cold floor beneath the towel. The ache in her bones. The pulsing, raw wound inside her. All of it... gone. Just for a fleeting second. It was over. She was alive. Her baby...

Another cry—louder, stronger. Needy.

Her hands, trembling so violently she could barely feel them, fumbled downward, searching.

My baby. Where's my baby?

Then there it was. Warm. Tiny. Slick with blood and life. All hers.

She nearly collapsed over the baby as she gently lifted it to her chest, curling her body around it, sheltering, shielding, warming.

So small. So ridiculously, beautifully small.

A shuddering breath tore from within her. She pressed her forehead to the damp, wriggling heft in her arms, her baby. Her baby. Her whole life.

She wept, her body trembling with it, the last remnants of pain and terror and exhaustion spilling out of her in waves. It was over, she was okay now.

The storm outside raged on. Time was lost to her, meaning, too. The wind howled, the snow fell, and the world went on. But here, in the quiet, in the warmth of her own arms, her own home—she had survived.

Leela didn’t know how long she stayed like that—hunched over the tiny body in her arms, shaking, holding, not letting go.

It could've been more and more eternities. But finally, it was the cold that finally snapped her out of it. The wetness soaked through her clothes. The sweat cooled on her skin. The lingering ache clawed through every inch of her.

She blinked down at the baby's little feet, her breath hitching.

I should look at my baby.

The thought terrified her. For months, she’d been carrying this thing, this life, this... stranger.

She had felt it move, twist, push inside her. She had known it was real. But she had never seen it. It was hers, she knew that much. Her little baby.

Her arms loosened, just enough to shift the child. The tiny body squirmed, legs kicking weakly, the cry dwindling into a soft, hiccupping whimper.

Leela’s fingers, still trembling, moved on their own. Swept gently across damp, wrinkled skin at the soft, beating chest. Over the little fingers. A little clenched fist. And then—a face.

Oh.

Leela’s breath left her all at once.

“Hi, baby,” she whispered.

Her baby blinked up at her, squinting, face scrunched in the effort. Big, beautiful, brown eyes. Her arms curled tighter, drawing the tiny body closer, nudging the baby’s warm skin against her own. She ran her fingers through the wet wisps of dark hair and smoothed a shaking hand down the curve of a round, soft cheek.

Her baby made a sound—a tiny sigh, a noise so small, so utterly fragile that Leela broke.

“Hello.” A laugh—small, disbelieving, almost hysterical—escaped her lips. She made this. She had done this all by herself. The baby blinked at her, yawning, face still scrunched in that newborn way—like she was confused by the world.

Leela understood the feeling. She swallowed, throat raw from screaming, her fingers still tracing over delicate features. The button nose. The furrowed brow. The teeny tiny mouth. The soft fuzz around her cheeks.

She should be saying something. She should be feeling something. That spark of love. That spark of want, to protect, to keep.

Instead—there was nothing.

Her fingers barely twitched when they ran along the baby's arm again, the damp skin cooling now, sticky with blood.

She should cut the umbilical cord. She should clean it. She should wrap it up. She should keep it warm. She should—do something.

Her hands quivered as she shifted, trying to brace herself against the slick, cool tile. Her limbs were shaking, still too drained, but she forced them to move.

She knew where they were. The scissors. Leela let out a shuddering breath and half-crawled, half-dragged herself toward the stand, the floor sticky beneath her, her own blood and fluids trailing behind.

The baby let out a sound—a whimper, a breath against her. She shushed the baby, rocking it on instinct. “I'm still here. Ssh.”

Leela gasped through her teeth, reaching, reaching, finding. Her fingers fumbled against the metal. Grasped the handle. Slipped them into her grip.

Her breath came fast, too fast.

She pressed the scissors between the cord, hesitated.

It was so pale, twisted, true. This had been her lifeline. The little softness that had appended them together for months. Somehow, she didn't want to do it. Her vision blurred—would the baby even be hers anymore? Would it still know her?

She pressed the blades closed. A soft, wet snip.

A sharp pulse of pain tore through her stomach, a wetness slipped right out, and she sucked in a breath. Leela flinched, gasped, and held herself up. The baby gasped before it wailed another strident, shaking cry.

There. Done. Her baby was separate from her now. Their one unit, broken apart.

Leela swallowed hard, vision swimming in tears, limbs shaking. The scissors clattered to the floor.

Her chest ached as she held her child. Not from love. Not from relief. Just the echoing emptiness within her. She was just an empty vessel now, clinking around, making noise.

The baby sighed, its breath hot against her skin, and Leela blinked, staring down at it.

She had imagined this moment. Imagined some heaven-sent burst of happiness. Imagined weeping in relief, with gratitude. Imagined love so strong it would knock the breath from her lungs. Imagined kisses pressed to ten tiny fingers, imagined a warmth so bright and overwhelming it would banish all the dark things inside her. Imagined that something inside her would wake up, ignite, change. That she would feel like herself again.

All she felt was exhaustion. She was just so, so tired. And soon, the thought came and went too fast to hold onto.

I shouldn’t have done this.

Her breath caught. She squeezed her eyes shut.

No. No, don’t think that. You’re disgusting. You're evil.

But she could feel it, creeping in at the edges.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Just love it. Love your baby.

The featherlight weight in her arms was heavy. Too heavy. She had to hold on. Make sense of her commitment.

She swallowed thickly and tried to whisper, barely above a breath, “You’re real. And mine.”

The baby stirred, a soft, sleepy noise leaving it.

Leela waited again. Anytime now. The warmth, the love, the connection. That the sound would evoke whatever was dormant in her. She was sure of it.

It didn’t come. Not even a little.

Her poor baby deserved better. Better than an impaired, stained, sick, disgusting, unloving mother.

Her arms curled tighter around the baby, almost desperate, still apologetic.

“I'm sorry,” she cried softly. “I'm so sorry, baby.”

But some notion of sound registered in her ears. The dull thud of boots on her porch. The hesitant creak of a door opening. A pause.

And then—“Holy shit.”

Leela didn’t lift her head, but she heard him. Tommy.

His boots hit the floor hard, fast—tracking the smeared trail of blood, of fluids, of everything that had poured out of her, dragged behind her like a crime scene.

Tommy's breath caught. A beat passed, and suddenly, he was moving.

His voice was a sharp inhale, half a curse, half a prayer. “Jesus—Leela.”

She barely had the strength to lift her head, but when she did—just the smallest movement—relief broke in her chest. They weren't alone. They had someone here. Someone was here for them.

“Tommy!” she sobbed.

He was already dropping to his knees.

“Okay, alright, I gotcha—” His hands were warm, gripping her shoulders first, then moving—checking, searching. His voice and breath were frantic. “My god, just how long—? Never mind, never mind. You’re okay. You’re okay, sweetheart. I gotcha.”

His eyes landed on the baby. A sharp, shaken breath, like he didn't know if he was happy or devastated.

Leela felt her own body shake, from exhaustion, from shock, from everything. With careful fingers, Tommy pulled his jacket from his shoulders, bundling it in his hands before reaching out.

“Here, honey, let me—let me take the baby off you for a second.”

Leela hesitated. Just for a moment. Then, without even realizing she was doing it, she let him.

Her baby was pried away from her, leaving her cold.

Her breath shuddered out of her chest as she fell back, half-conscious, as Tommy cradled the tiny, fragile thing in his hands.

The silence stretched. What did he think? Was the baby healthy? Did anything look weird? Was it still breathing normally? Was it choking? Was it safe? Was it hungry?

“Christ,” Tommy whispered, his voice breaking. “Look at you, beautiful. You wanted to see your mama that quick, huh?”

The baby let out a soft, breathy noise. A laugh or a sigh? A sound too small, too new to understand. It made Leela break out a tired grin.

Tommy’s face softened. “Hi, girlie,” he murmured, breathless. “It’s your Uncle Tommy. Oh, she's perfect. And so strong."

“Girl?” she whispered. She hadn't even thought to check.

Tommy nodded, still half-dazed, his thumb stroking over the baby’s tiny, blood-slicked fingers.

“Yeah,” he breathed, and his hand found Leela’s hair, damp and clinging to her forehead. He swept it back, easing her for a moment. “You did real good, mama. And you did it all alone. Fuckin' superhero.”

Leela let out something between a laugh and a sob. Her body slumped back to the floor.

“I can't move,” she rasped, her voice breaking.

Tommy nodded once, sharp. “Right, here’s what I’m gonna do,” he murmured, devising. “I’m gonna quickly wash the baby, then I’m carrying you upstairs. Maria’s on her way and she's gonna clean you up. We’re gonna take care of you, alright?”

Leela just nodded. Because what else was there to do?

She had survived. Her baby girl had survived. She had brought this life into the world.

Now, she had to figure out how to keep going.

X

L.REED PREGNANCY TRACKER AUDIO LOG #7

(Click. A beat of silence. Then a breath—shaky, slow. When she speaks, her voice is raw, worn thin, like she hasn’t used it in days.)

“I’ve shut them all out. Locked the door. No more Maria. No more Tommy. No more—anyone.”

(The quiet hum of static. Then, softer, almost to herself—)

“If they see it—if they see that I don’t love her the way I should, they’ll take her from me. And I’ll be alone. Alone with the pain. Alone with the shadows in the hallway.”

(A sharp inhale.) “I can’t let that happen. She’s mine.”

(A long pause, then a slow, exhaled breath.)

“Day nine. January fourth. Baby girl is... still healthy. Maria said she’s too small, but—she’s here. She's okay. She’s breathing. I’m nursing her, constantly. Every two hours. Sometimes less. She sleeps, she feeds, she excretes and repeats. I thought—”

(A wry, breathy laugh, humourless.)

“I don’t know what I thought. That she’d do more? That she’d be awake, that she’d—hold my hand? That she’d know me? Smile, laugh, something.”

(A beat. When she speaks again, her voice is quieter, duller, more clinical. She's speaking facts now.)

“But no. She doesn’t know anything yet. I understand that her brain development will be slow. Her motor skills will take time to come in. She is gaining knowledge, and she's intelligent. She tracks the light, she knows crying is a catalyst for food. Now, everything she learns, she’ll learn from me.”

(A breath. Like that is just now sinking in.)

“And I—I am—”

(A beat. A breath chokes in her throat. Then, a whisper—raw, broken—)

“I am bled dry.”

(A sharp exhale. A sniff. She presses on, voice more distant, detached.)

“I eat when I can. Throw up more often than not. Try to sleep, try to think sometimes. I scratch twenty integers on the board and try to satisfy it as a functional equation. My brain and body—it’s still not mine. It’s just... a machine. My baby's machine. Warm flesh, arms to hold her, her nutrition source. She doesn’t love me. She only cries when I’m gone.”

(A sigh. A sound—barely there. Like she might be rubbing at her face, at her tired, sleepless eyes.)

“I want to love her. I want to… know her. But I look at myself, and I don’t—” (A sharp inhale like she’s swallowed a bitter pill.) “I don’t recognize the person anymore. My body, my face—it’s all... wrong. I'm fat, weak, and can barely hold myself up.”

(She moves around, fabric rustling, the sound of creaking, like she’s leaning against a wall, trying to hold herself up.)

“My stomach is soft now. Loose, almost. There are marks, these pale lines like something clawed me open from the inside. Because something... did. My breasts leak, my thighs scrape each other—so alien—and my down there—”

(Another pause, but this time it stretches—too long—before she speaks again. When she does, the words are hushed, like a secret she’s afraid to say out loud, even in the privacy of this recording.)

“I can’t imagine a man loving me now. Not that I ever could before, but now—” (Her breath wavers.) “Now it’s impossible. I am not a woman anymore. I'm a ruined mother.”

(Then, soft—barely audible—)

“I feel like a monster. A monster who can't love her own child.”

(A deep, shaky breath.)

“But... I will try. I have to. I can’t let her go. She’s—keeping me sane. Giving me a reason to wake up. A reason to exist that isn’t research. She needs me. And I—I need her.”

(A swallow. A deep, slow inhale.)

“It’s... symbiosis. We are symbiotes. Like the inside of the Infected—she’s this incredible, complex brain. I’m the infection.” (A beat.) “Yes, always the infection.”

(Another silence. Then, barely above a whisper—)

“But it will work. In some time, it has to.”

(So soft it almost disappears—like a prayer, like a plea—)

“Please, let this get better. Please.”

(Click.)

X

L.REED PREGNANCY TRACKER AUDIO LOG #8

(A long pause. The faintest sound of static, like she’s hesitating, maybe rubbing a finger over the mic. Then—soft, almost disbelieving—)

“This man… Joel. My neighbour. He’s here. In my home.”

(Another pause, like she can’t quite believe it herself. A rustle—maybe she’s moving, pressing the heel of her palm against her temple, thinking.)

“I thought—” (A breath, quick and shallow, like the memory unsettles her.) “I thought he was gonna put his boot through my ribs. The way he looked at me at the door that night—” (She exhales sharply.) “He hates me.”

(Quieter—like she’s marvelling at the absurdity of it all—)

“And now he’s upstairs. With… Maya.”

(A sound, soft and unexpected—giggle. The kind that sneaks up, breathless, like it doesn’t quite belong.)

“Maya. My baby’s name is Maya.” (She tries the name again, savouring it.) “My daughter. I’m her mama.”

(A slow exhale, tone shifting, tired but full of quiet wonder.)

“Maya. Such a pretty name. I think it was my mother’s. Or my sister’s? I can’t remember.” (A beat. Then, softer—wistful—) “But they were beautiful. Just like Maya.”

(Another silence, stretching. Then, a little lighter, like she’s almost smiling—like she’s trying to smile—)

“Joel said it rhymes with Leela. That Maya looks just like me.”

(There's fondness there, or confusion, or she hasn’t quite figured out what it is yet.)

“Every time he’s near me, I expect myself to bolt. Run the other way. But I don’t. I just—” (A breath, slow, searching.) “I just want him to stay.”

(She stops like she’s startled herself. Like she hadn’t meant to say that out loud.)

“Not with me. Just… in the house. Breathing. Silent. A friend.”

(The last word is strange on her tongue. Like she’s testing it out, seeing if it fits. It doesn’t, not really. Not yet.)

“He’s a good man. A darling man, even.” (A half-snort, like she knows how ridiculous that sounds, but it's true.) “Nothing at all like the hotheaded ass he looks like. He isn't drunk anymore.”

(A sigh, long and slow, like she’s falling and doesn't want to admit it.)

“He's fixing that crib for her. He’s so good with Maya. So natural, like he’s been a father forever. He's bonded with her so easily. And I think—” (A swallow.) “I think my baby loves him.”

(Her voice tightens.)

“She smiled at him today.” (Then, lower—hurt, guilty, and in between—) “She’s never smiled at me. That's alright. At least she's feeling good. She has someone who loves her.”

(Silence. A stretch of it. Then, something fragile, almost apologetic—like she’s saying it to the air, to herself—)

“My daughter has the prettiest smile. Like a little blooming sunflower.”

(Another pause, something thick caught in her throat. A sniff. Then, shifting—pushing forward, changing course.)

“But Joel—” (A breath, bracing.) “Yeah, he does not like me.”

(A rustle. Maybe she’s pressing her hand to her face, rubbing at her temples, like saying it out loud makes it more real.)

“In fact—” (A quiet laugh, humourless.) “He called me a coward to my face. He's not wrong. I'm the coward who couldn't die. I'm the coward who can't love her baby. I am a coward for asking him to take my baby away. But I... I'm just so exhausted.”

(The words land heavy like they’ve been circling in her head for days, refusing to leave.)

“He watches me. Glaring. Every time I try to nurse Maya, every time she cries, every time I—” (She exhales, sharp, frustrated—at him? At herself?) “Like he’s waiting for me to mess up. To choke up. To drop her.”

(A pause. Then, bitter—resentful, defensive—soft.)

“And I get it. I do. Would anyone let a monster near a baby?”

(Silence. Thick, oppressive. Then—quieter, almost thoughtful—)

“But he doesn���t ask questions. Not like Maria. Not like Tommy. He doesn’t push. He just… is. He brings me food. He tells me to sleep. He has taught me to hold Maya.” (A breath, settling in tired and resigned.) “I’m grateful for that.”

(A long pause, like she’s trying to decide if she wants to say the next thing out loud.)

“I just hope he doesn’t leave soon.”

(It is creeping in at the edges. It's bitter, knowing.)

“Not for me. Not for anything to do with me.” (She exhales, sharp like she’s forcing the truth out before she can swallow it back down.) “It’s Maya. It’s always Maya.”

(Her voice tightens. Not angry, not quite. Just… something else. Aching, raw.)

“He doesn’t care about me. He barely looks at me. But he looks after my baby. Holds her like she's his own. That's all I want.”

(A breath. Then, a half-laugh—small, almost embarrassed, almost resigned, like she can’t believe she’s about to say this out loud.)

“He’s too useful around here.” (A beat. Then, even quieter—like a confession, like she shouldn’t want it but does—)

“I want to keep him with Maya always.”

(Silence. Then, a quiet click.)

X

L.REED HOME VIDEO #1

(The screen wobbles, unfocused, a mess of pivoting shapes and the worn floorboards of the home. A voice, low and grumbling, cuts through the static—)

“Jesus. Is this thing on? Shit’s fucked.”

(Laughter—delicate, chiming—before another voice, lighter, teasing, cuts in—)

“Joel, just—” (a giggle, the sound of movement, a blur of fingers reaching for the camera) “Give it here. I'll do it.”

“No, no, no—go to her, darlin’. I got this.”

“You’re shaking it.”

“I ain't shakin’ it. It's the damn camera.” (A pause, more rustling, moving.) “Just go.”

(The camera swings wildly before settling, focusing—somewhat shakily—on Leela. She’s sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, in summer clothes, the warm glimmer of lamplights catching on the sharp edges of her face. She looks… younger. Softer. Happier. It's obvious, it's the love glow. There's a small smile playing at her lips, her eyes full of distinctive excitement as she glances toward Maya.)

“Okay.” (She starts, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, her voice turning sunnier, less factual.) “It’s September the eighth. Maya, aged nine months. Living room. The time is… seven-twenty-two in the evening. The temperature is—”

(A low chuckle from behind the camera—dry, amused—before Joel cuts in—)

“The hell are you doin’?”

(Leela frowns at the lens, scratching at her forehead, clearly exasperated.) “I’m… stating my controls.”

(Joel snorts.) “What, you sendin’ a rocket to the moon? It’s a goddamn home video. Just go to the kid.”

(Leela rolls her eyes, muttering—) “So unsystematic.”

(The camera tilts and refocuses—Maya’s in the frame now, sitting in the middle of the floor, a toy horse clutched in her tiny hands. She’s all soft curls and chubby cheeks, her dress a blur of little embroidered flowers. She blinks up at her mother, wide-eyed, then over at the camera, grinning when Joel snaps his fingers to get her attention.)

“Over here, baby girl. Here.” (His voice is softer now, coaxing.)

“Da-da, hi!” (Maya squeals, all four teeth and dimples, her tiny hands slapping at the carpet in excitement.)

“There's that winning smile. Hi.”

(Leela laughs, reaching out to smooth a hand over Maya’s curls.)

“Oh, you look so pretty. What is that you're wearing?”

(Maya clutches at her dress, scrunching it up in her little fists, bouncing where she sits.) “S’flowers. Dwess... flowers.”

“Wow. I don't have one like that.” (Leela coos, her face softening. She holds Maya's little hand between her index and thumb.) “Okay, okay—Maya, can you tell your da-da what you ate today?”

(Maya blinks, considering this. Then—)

“Mama.”

(Joel huffs out a quiet chuckle from behind the camera. Leela tries again, biting back a smile—)

“No, no, baby—what did you eat?”

(Maya grins, showing off all four tiny teeth.)

“Da-da.”

(Joel outright snorts this time, shifting the camera slightly as he zooms closer. Right on Maya and Leela's faces.)

“I've got bite marks to prove it.”

(Leela groans, nudging Maya's arm playfully.) “Maya, listen to Mama. What was it you ate, love? Was it… blue…? A berry?”

(Maya’s whole face lights up in recognition, and then—)

“Booooo-berries.”

(Leela bursts out with a giggle. Joel chuckles low in his throat.)

“Did you get that?” (Leela beams, glancing up at the camera, her elation clear.) “She said it!”

(A pause. Then—Joel curses under his breath, the camera jerking to the left.)

“Shit, I think I forgot to hit record.”

(Leela's head snaps up, eyes wide.) “Aw, Joel, c’mon.”

“I told you, darlin'—”

(Cut to black.)

X

L.REED HOME VIDEO #2

(The camera hums to life, adjusting, focusing. A golden afternoon spills through the windows, warm light pooling over the wooden floors. The soft strum of a guitar filters through the room—enduring, unhurried—followed by a low, familiar voice.)

“Yes, I'll admit that I'm a fool for you… Because you're mine, I walk the line…”

(The camera shakes and zooms in—Joel sits on the floor, legs stretched out, the guitar balanced against his knee. Maya sits between his legs, tiny fists tapping at the base of the instrument, her chubby fingers drumming against the wood in wild, uncoordinated beats. Every few seconds, she squeals, as if she’s part of the song, as if she knows she belongs in this moment.)

(Off-camera, a quiet laugh.)

“You’re a natural, baby girl.” (Leela teases, zooming in on the way Maya bounces in place, her curls bobbing, her wide, toothy grin bright enough to rival the sunlight.)

(Joel breaks off mid-chord, glancing up sharply. His brow furrows, like he’s just realized he’s being filmed.)

“Hey, get that thing outta my face.”

“But it’s your birthday video.”

“You're two days early.”

“I already turned on the camera, Joel. Go with it.”

(A sigh. He eventually sets the guitar aside, lifting Maya onto his lap, resting his chin lightly on top of her head. His fingers roll at her tiny palms.)

“Fine. Whaddya want?”

“Okay, first off—state your name, age, date, and time.”

(Joel gives the camera a flat look.) “I ain’t one of your science experiments.”

“Just do it.”

(Another sigh, this one profound. He rubs a hand down his face, muttering—)

“Can't believe this... alright. Joel Miller. Fifty-six. September the twenty-fourth. And it’s… I dunno, one in the afternoon. I am still waitin' on those greasy-ass cheeseburgers I was promised.” (Joel winks.)

(Leela muffles small giggles) “Patience is a virtue. Now, what’s your birthday wish this year?”

(He scrubs at his eyes, exhaling through his nose.) “Jesus, Leela.”

“Say it.”

(A hum. Joel shifts, adjusting Maya on his lap. When he finally answers, his voice is quieter, like he’s not sure he wants it caught on record—)

“Makin’ it to fifty-eight.”

(Leela hums.) “Okay, what... do you think about your birthday present?”

(Maya smacks at his cheeks before he can answer, her little hands patting at his stubble like she’s trying to figure out what it is. Joel huffs, catching her wrist before she can shove her fingers in his mouth.)

“My what?”

“Can’t believe you forgot. Think fast.”

(A set of keys flies through the air. They bounce off his chest, jangling, but his reflexes are still quick—he catches them before they can hit Maya.)

(The camera tilts and spins. Leela comes into the frame now, just her eyes, unfocused, wearing that playfully serious expression, her lips pursed like she’s pretending to take notes.)

“Signs of cognitive decline. Memory loss and poor motor functions.” (She shakes her head.) “I might have to look into that later.”

(The camera spins again and focuses back on Joel. He's glaring at her.)

“Cognitive... you big dork. You’re lucky I’m holdin’ the kid.” (He lifts the key, squinting at it, realization dawning.) “So, the Maranello is really all mine now?”

(Leela laughs, shifting the camera slightly, catching the way Joel’s eyebrows lift, just a fraction.)

“All yours. Surprise!”

(Joel exhales, rolling the key between his fingers. He looks back at her, a little sceptical.)

“And what, we’re supposed to ride out on the I-22 till the sun sets? You realize I can't drive the thing anywhere?”

“Sounds like a steady date.”

(Joel snorts, shaking his head, but there’s peace in his face—softer, fondness—that he doesn’t bother hiding this time. He glances at Leela, opening his mouth to say something, but...)

(The camera tilts again, zooming in on Maya. She’s sucking on her fist now, watching the two of them.)

“One more.” (Leela coaxes, voice gentle.) “One last present. Maya, look at Mama. Like we practised, okay? Happy…”

(Maya blinks, distracted, then grins at Joel. She curls and uncurls her fingers, rocking back and forth.)

“Da-da, comma, comma, comma.”

(Joel snickers, adjusting her in his arms. He points back at Leela, forcing her attention. He wants to hear this present right now.)

“Your mama’s talkin’ to you, baby girl.”

(Maya glances at Leela, her tiny hand lifting, fingers wiggling in a wave.) “Hi, Mama.”

“Hi, baby.” (Leela laughs.) “Okay, you have to say it now. Happy…”

“Happy!” (Maya chirps, delighted.)

“Birthday.”

“Bo-day!” (She claps, bouncing excitedly in Joel’s lap.)

“Da-da.”

“Daaaaa-da.”

“Yay.”

(Joel grins, wide and real, lifting Maya up in the air, to which she squeals. He presses one, two, three kisses to her cheeks. With a voice like molasses for his little girl—)

“Thank you, sweetheart.” (Then he glances at Leela behind the camera.) “You're gettin' big party favours.”

“Can't wait.”

(The screen lingers, blurring at the edges when it meets with the light, the sound of laughter filling the frame—soft, real, warm—before the camera finally cuts to black.)

X

R. THESIS AUDIO FILE – L. REED - #241

(A burst of static. A faint click as the recorder whirs to life. Then—silence. Not complete, but close. The soft rhythm of breathing.)

“Okay.” (A pause. A sharp inhale, like she’s readying herself.) “Okay. This is—this is me. Leela. Age thirty. The time is eleven sixteen in the evening, on November twenty-third. Basement. And this is real, working, undeniable proof.”

(The rustle of paper. The scrape of a pen tapping against something solid. A controlled breath, like she’s holding back—excitement, disbelief, a feeling bigger than both.)

“I have solved it.” (A beat. Then, sharper, firmer—) “I solved the Riemann Hypothesis.”

(Silence. Then a small laugh—half-breathless, half-shaken, like she still doesn’t quite believe her own words.)

“I don’t even know who is gonna listen to this.” (Another laugh, quieter now.) “I guess I don’t care. I just—I need to say it. I need it to exist somewhere beyond my head, beyond these pages. I have just solved the goddamn Holy Grail of Mathematics.”

(More rustling. Paper shuffling. A faint scratch of pen against the margins, like she’s still working, still checking, still making sure.)

“I don’t even know what that means anymore. A hundred and fifty years ago, it would’ve changed everything. Even just twenty. It would’ve rewritten how we understand numbers, patterns in the universe, and how we predict and solidify prime distributions. Gene sequencing, theoretical physics, rebuilding our quantum computers, our shitty communication systems—it was the missing key. We suddenly have a roadmap to the structure of numbers. To the future.”

“And I-I think... I think, and I might be wildly mistaken, but if Cordyceps follows some sort of biological network or pattern with our neurons—in terms of protein folding or catabolism—I assume disease modelling relies on prime-based arithmatics. That would mean safer genetic research. That means a possible...” (Her voice falters slightly, like she’s thinking too fast, trying to hold onto a world that doesn’t exist anymore.)

“And now?” (A short, bitter laugh.) “Now it means nothing. The world ended anyway. Nature, unlike the infection, has run its course.”

(She exhales hard, like trying to steady herself. Then—softer, slower—she speaks again, like it’s fragile.)

“I don’t know if I should tell her. If she'll even understand. Of course not, she can't even speak.”

(A shift—fabric moving. A sound—small, barely there—someone breathing, a rustle of movement.)

“My Maya.” (Her voice is cautious now.) “She’s asleep. She’s got her hand curled up against my neck, and she does that thing—” (A breath of amusement, faint but warm.) “—where she scrunches up her nose when she dreams. She's my darling.” (A soft chuckle.)

“She doesn’t know the world used to mean things like this. Used to have things like this. A world where proving a theorem could change the future, where it could make you matter.”

(A lengthy pause. When she speaks again, her voice is lower, like it’s delicate and in her hands.)

“My parents spent their whole lives chasing something they could leave behind. Mama—Jesus, Mama—I think she loved this problem more than anything else in the world. She used to say it was poetry, that it was—” (a breath, remembering, then softens—) “that it was the closest thing to God she’d ever seen.”

(A swallow. Then—firmer, like she’s gripping something real.)

“They didn’t get to finish it. But I did.”

(A change in sound, the creak of an old chair, the faintest shuffle—someone moving in their sleep? The pattern of breathing remains the same, undisturbed.)

“And now what?” (A small, wry exhale.) “What the hell do I do with it? The world it belonged to is gone. The journals, the universities, the mathematicians who would’ve lost their minds over this—it’s all gone.”

(Silence stretches long enough that it almost feels like the recording has stopped. But then—softly—)

“But my parents aren’t.”

(The sound of fingers drumming against the table. Rhythmic. Thoughtful.)

“They lived for this. Died for this. And now it’s done. They deserve that. Their work deserves that. I deserve that. And if no one’s left to care—then I’ll care. I’ll make sure it exists. That it doesn’t just die here with me. This is their legacy. I have given too much, lost too much.”

(A long inhale. The softest stirring—fabric rustling again, the faint creak of old bedsprings, a body curling closer. A tiny sound—so small, so sleepy—Maya moaning in her sleep.)

(Leela’s breath hitches. Then, lower now—almost a whisper—)

“I have to tell Joel tonight. My pragmatist. He's the first person who has to know. It's always him. I just... I love him so much. He matters to me more than any proof in this world. More than any equation or legacy. I hope he loves me, too.” (A small laugh, tired but real.) “He’s not gonna understand a thing. Gonna tell me I’m crazy. And maybe I am. But I think—I think I have to do this. I have to get this out there, out of Jackson. Joel will know what to do; he always does.”

(A long pause. The sound of fabric shifting again. Then—faint, barely above a whisper—)

“This is far from over. Because I have not just solved any equation. I have proved that humanity is not done yet. We prevail.”

(Click.)

X

L.REED HOME VIDEO #11

(The camera jolts to life, static crackling before the lens steadies. The frame is tight on Ellie’s face, her grin wide, her freckles vivid under the glow of the living room light. She holds the camera at arm’s length, angling it just right.)

“This is Captain Ellie Williams to ground control. It is officially time to… paaaaarty!”

(The camera pivots wildly, zooming in and out like at a chaotic rave, the frame cutting to Maya. The toddler bounces on her feet as the camera goes all over, hands flailing in pure excitement, her curls bouncing with her. She giggles, caught up in Ellie’s energy.)

“Yeah, baby’s got moves. Shake it, shake it—uh-huh, uh-huh. Yeah, go, Maya. Go, Maya.”

(Maya claps, delighted, then reaches for the camera with grabby little hands, eyes bright and pleading.)

“Pease, gimme, Evie!”

“You wanna see it?” (Ellie waggles the camera, teasing.)

(From off-screen, Joel’s voice cuts in, dry, unimpressed—)

“Ellie, do not give her the damn camera. She’s gonna break it.”

(The screen tilts, spins, refocuses. Now it captures the living room—the warm, homey clutter of it. Joel and Leela are curled up on one couch, Joel’s arm stretched lazily along the back, fingers just brushing Leela’s cheek and temple. Across from them, Tommy and Maria lounge on the other sofa, relaxed, a drink in Tommy’s hand.)

(The camera zooms dramatically in on Joel’s face, the frame locking onto his beard, then his nose, then back to one irritated eye. In an exaggerated deep voice—)

“Joel, the Contractoooor.”

(Joel exhales sharply, shooting her a look.)

“Shut that thing off. We’re talkin’ here.”

“You’re such an assh—”

(Static. Black screen.)

—

(The footage stutters back to life—more static, a blur of movement as Ellie fumbles the camera, laughing.)

(Ellie in mock horror—) “Oh no, we lost transmission! Lieutenant down! Ground control, come in!”

(The screen whips around, a mess of limbs and floorboards before it lands back on Maya, who is now dramatically collapsed on the rug like a fallen soldier. She peeks up, eyes squinting, then throws herself fully onto her back, arms splayed out.)

(Maya giggles.) “Noooooo!”

“We have a casualty, people. The baby’s down! Baby lieutenant fought bravely, but it was just too much dance power!”

(Maya, caught up in the game, dramatically sticks out her tongue. The camera shakes as Ellie cackles, zooming in close on Maya’s sprawled-out body.)

(Ellie narrates solemnly.) “Gone too soon. Alas, she shook it too hard, too fast. We will remember the too-young Maya Miller. I will avenge—hey!”

(A hand suddenly snatches the camera from Ellie’s grip—Joel’s hand, big and firm, filling the frame as he yanks it away.)

(Joel grumbling) “Alright, that’s enough bullshit from the two of you.”

(The camera shakes as Joel turns it on Ellie, flipping the interrogation around. She blinks, caught mid-laugh, then scowls. Maya sets off into a whining, screechy cry which is silenced by Maria, who sweeps her up into her arms.)

“Da-da, no!”

“Give it back, Joel!”

“Yeah? How d’you like it?” (The camera zooms right into Ellie’s freckled face, awkwardly close.) “Feels real fun, don’t it?”

(Ellie shoves at him.) “Ugh, you suck.”

(The screen wobbles again, and suddenly, it shifts—click—now the camera is facing Joel, who does not know how to hold the camera properly. His thumb partially covers the lens, and he’s squinting at the screen like it personally offended him.)

“The hell is this shit? Didja break it?”

(Ellie, off-camera, laughing.) “Fucking move your thumb, man!”

“Ain’t my fault this thing’s built for tiny-ass hands—”

(Static. Black screen.)

—

(The footage stutters back to life, the lens slightly smudged, making the warm glow of the living room blur at the edges. The angle shifts as if someone’s adjusting the camera, propping it up on the table. Murmurs of conversation spill through the speakers—low laughter, the clink of glass, the distant, delighted squeals of Maya as Ellie entertains her.)

(Then, a new face fills the frame—Tommy. He squints into the lens, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leans in, his voice a lazy drawl.)

“Damn thing even on?” (He taps the side of the camera like it’s an old radio, then glances to his left. The camera shifts as he picks it up and leans into Maria’s side, burrowing his face against her neck to press a slow kiss to her skin.)

(Maria laughs, tilting her head away as she swats at his chest.) “Save it for later, cowboy.”

“Ooh, slow your roll, partner. Gonna make me blush." (But his eyes drift past her, locking onto something else across the room. He snorts, suddenly grinning, and spins the camera in that direction.)

“Would you look at that? My favourite lovebirds.”

(The frame tightens on Joel and Leela, curled up on the couch. Leela is murmuring to him, her cheek pressed against Joel’s shoulder, her fingers idly stroking into his hair. She looks up at him as she speaks, soft and unguarded, and Joel is just gone. His eyes are half-lidded, his head tilted slightly in her direction, his arm lazily curled around her shoulders. Every so often, without even thinking, he leans forward, brushing a slow kiss to her ear. Like breathing. Like habit.)

(Tommy whistles low, off-camera.) “They’ve definitely done the deed.”

(Maria hums.) “I knew that weeks ago.”

(Joel’s head snaps up, eyes narrowing as he glares at them from across the room.)

“I heard that, fucker. The hell is wrong with you?”

(The camera zooms in, catching the way Leela immediately buries her face in her hands—and into Joel’s shoulder—while he groans, rubbing a hand down his face like he’s questioning every life choice.)

“Alright, alright, since we’re all cosy now—tell me somethin’.” (Tommy adjusts the camera, fixing the focus on them.) “What do y’all like about each other?”

(Leela peeks out from behind her hands, blinking at him.) “What?”

(Tommy’s voice comes from somewhere off-screen, laced with amusement.)

“Yeah, c’mon, indulge us.” (The lens adjusts, sharpening.) “Y’know, since some people in this house refuse to talk about their damn feelings.” (The camera shifts in Joel’s direction.)

(Joel just glares at it.) “What are you tryna pull? Turn that thing off.”

“Hey, don't be such a sourpuss.”

(Joel doesn’t meet it. He’s now staring at the ceiling, hands templed on his nose, like he’s willing divine intervention to strike Tommy down where he sits.)

(A soft hum of agreement from Maria, somewhere nearby.) “It’s a good question. I wanna hear it.”

(Leela glances sideways at Joel, hesitation flickering in the crease of her brow. But that set of her mouth—small, teasing—suggests she’s not entirely opposed to this game.)

(She tilts her head, the motion easy, natural.) “You go first, Joel.”

(The footage picks up the sound of Joel sighing. His shoulders roll back as he glances toward her out of the corner of his eye. One hand moves—rubs at his jaw, then drags down the back of his neck. The camera catches the exact moment he exhales, muttering—)

“Well, Leela’s... goddamn smart.”

(Off-screen, Tommy groans, the camera giving a small, jostled shake like he’s throwing up his hands.)

“C’mon, man. That’s what you’re goin’ with? Everyone and their mother knows that.”

(Joel shrugs, his mouth twitching like this whole conversation is exhausting him.) “Well, she is. Her brain is so big and weird. She even speaks in nerd real cute.”

(The lens catches the quick flicker of a smile as Leela nudges his knee with hers. The camera wobbles slightly as Tommy shifts again, leaning forward.)

“That’s it? Nothin’ else, just her big brain?”

(Joel exhales, shoulders stiffening. He really hates this. Then—without looking at her—his voice dips lower.)

“She’s got a good heart. She cooks like a mad scientist, and her food is downright sinful.” (A pause, a shift in his expression, reluctant—then, almost reflectively—) “And... she's beautiful.”

(The camera picks up the way Leela blinks at him. Joel rubs the back of his neck, gaze fixed somewhere near the floor.)

“She's really beautiful.” (A beat.) “Could watch her all day if I could. Just being. One smile and...” (He shakes his head with a small grin.)

(Silence hums through the speakers—just for a second before the camera lurches slightly. A blur of motion as Maria smacks Tommy’s arm, a flash of her grin as she hums the wedding march—)

“Dum-dum-da-dum, dum-dum-da-dum... there's really no saving him now.”

(The camera refocuses just in time to catch Leela still watching Joel, an unreadability in her eyes. Her lips part slightly like she wants to say something—but before she can, the lens wobbles again, a brief static crackling as Tommy clears his throat.)

“Alright, honey, your turn.” (The camera steadies on Leela.) “What do you like about big ol’ grumpy over here?”

(Leela, still looking at Joel, tilts her head. The footage picks up the flicker in her eyes—affectionate, thoughtful.)

“Hmm.” (She drags out the sound, considering.)

(The camera catches Joel shifting beside her, his hand twitching slightly against his knee. His voice—grumbled, almost embarrassed—murmurs—)

“Just say my face and get it over with. I'm tired.”

(Leela laughs—the sound clear through the speakers, genuine. The camera catches the way Joel’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile and losing.)

“Well, I like when Joel plays his guitar.” (Her voice is softer now, the corners of her mouth still curled upward, loving gaze on him.) “I love that he's an artist at heart, the exact opposite of me.”

(The footage picks up the way Joel clears his throat, fingers twitching against the fabric of his jeans.)

(Leela hums, quieter now, more thoughtful.)

“And... I love when he's with Maya.” (The camera zooms slightly, catches the shape of her smile, the certainty in it, the careful way she speaks—like she’s weighing every word.) “She loves him. And he loves her, too.”

(Joel swallows, gaze dropping to his entwined hands.)

(The footage shifts slightly as Tommy clears his throat, the camera adjusting with a jostled movement.)

“Alright, alright.” (His voice, still light, but gentler now.) “You heard it here first, folks. The mean man’s a big ol’ teddy bear.”

(The camera shakes slightly as Joel tips his head back against the couch, groaning.)

“Jesus Christ, Tommy—”

(The lens steadies, framing Leela as she laughs, reaching for his hand. The footage captures the way Joel naturally laces his fingers through hers. He lifts it to his lips—)

(The screen flickers. Cut to black.)

X

L.REED HOME VIDEO #14

(The footage wobbles before settling, the lens clouded with the faint smudge of tiny fingerprints. Maya’s face wedges the frame—round cheeks, big curious eyes, the softest scrunch of her nose as she pokes at the camera, inspecting. A chubby hand reaches, pressing directly against the lens, smearing a blur of warmth and colour across the screen.)

(Muffled giggles. The grainy recording shakes slightly as Maya shifts, little fingers gripping at the edges of the camera. The background is soft—white pillows, blankets, the low glow of a bedside lamp casting everything in golden hues.)

(A blur of dark hair enters the frame, then—Leela, tilting in, resting her cheek against Maya’s head, her voice sing-song and sweet—like she's sharing a secret.)

“What is baby Maya doing?” (The camera jostles as Maya shifts, little hands still gripping the device.) “Is she making a video? Is she Maya Spielberg? What are you looking at?”

(Maya’s mouth opens in a wide, toothy grin, giggles bubbling up from her throat. The camera shakes with her laughter, tiny hiccuping sounds breaking up the quiet.)

“Is that Maya’s smile?” (Leela’s fingers brush gently over her lips.) “Big, big smile? Look at her big girl teeth. And her cute little nose...”

(Maya throws her head back, her giggle turning into a full-blown squeal, arms flapping wildly in delight. The footage shakes, unfocused for a moment, before a low, familiar voice rumbles from somewhere off-camera—tired, amused—)

“Don’t work her up before bed, darlin’.” (The footage tilts slightly, catching a glimpse of Joel’s veined arm as he shifts somewhere out of sight.) “Can’t get her to sleep without pullin’ a muscle.”

“Oof, Daddy's in a mood again.”

(Joel sighs gruffly.) “Daddy has to wake up early but is distracted.”

(Leela laughs softly, shifting Maya onto her lap and pulling her close. The camera steadies just enough to capture the moment as she presses their cheeks together, her voice lilting—warm and full of affection.)

“C’mere, baby.” (She tilts her head, looking directly into the lens.) “Wow, Maya looks just like Mama. Mama's hair, Mama's skin, Mama's eyes.” (A gentle kiss to Maya’s temple, a soft murmur—) “Can you gimme a kiss?”

(Maya hesitates for only a second before turning, pressing a wet, tiny kiss against Leela’s cheek. The screen wobbles as Leela laughs, delighted.)

“Oh, that’s a big kiss.” (She nuzzles in closer, rocking slightly.) “Now, can you say ‘I love you, Mama’?”

(Maya makes a sound—soft and sweet, a garbled attempt, not quite words but close.)

(Leela gasps, grinning.) “Oh! Almost! That was so good!” (She brushes her fingers over Maya’s cheek, teasing—) “Do you love Mama more or your Da-da?”

(Before Maya can respond, a hand—large, rough—enters the frame, pinching at Leela’s cheek, pulling playfully. Joel’s voice rumbles, equal parts exasperation and affection—)

“Fair play.”

(Leela swats at his wrist, half-heartedly.) “Ah-ow.” (She rubs her cheek dramatically, throwing Maya a conspiratorial look.) “Did you see that? Big bad daddy.”

(Joel grumbles.) “Sure, I'm the bad guy.”

(Maya squeals, bouncing in place, eyes bright—) “Mama!”

(Leela stills slightly, looking down at her, like she can't really believe it.) “Me? You love me?”

(Maya beams, pressing a small, chubby hand to Leela’s cheek.) “Mama, Mama.”

(The camera shakes as Leela gathers her closer, pushing her lips to Maya’s forehead, eyes closing briefly as she whispers—soft, whole, like it’s the easiest, truest thing in the world—)

“I love you, too, Maya. Mama loves you so much.”

(The screen lingers for a moment longer—the softness of them, the quiet hum of contentment. Then, a small static pop—black.)

X

R. THESIS AUDIO FILE – L. REED - #242

(A soft click. The hum of the recorder comes alive, accompanied by the faintest rustle of fabric—Leela shifting, settling. A sigh, deep and measured, like she’s leaning back. Maybe the wall. Maybe Joel.)

“This is my final log for the R. hypothesis documentation.” (A breath.) “I’m not stating any benchmarks. No primes, no numbers. None of that matters anymore. Not tonight. I'm done.”

(A soft exhale—she’s smiling.)

“The night is sweet. My daughter, who will turn one this month, is sleeping. I am safe. My skin feels clean. I have…” (A small, almost sheepish laugh, barely more than a breath.) “Made love... to the most perfect, cynical, gentlest man on this planet, who apparently loves me, too.” (A muffled snicker—like she’s covering her mouth, shaking her head.) “That’s personal. Joel doesn't like to flaunt. So, off the record, okay?”

(She sighs again, slower this time. Something moves—her tone, her posture, her thoughts.)

“I keep thinking about how the last ten years of my life have been… numbers.” (A breath.) “A set of variables and primes. A world so little I could carry it between my palms, hold it in my mind.”

(A faint rustling—her fingers tracing, maybe the fabric of Joel’s shirt.)

“I stayed in Jackson. Cremated my parents. Lived. Died. Survived. Delivered a baby girl.” (A long, slow inhale. A quiet realization.) “Found a partner I love and trust.”

(There's no sadness. It's simply final.)

“And the thing is… I did it. I proved it. Every part of it. I took the step to live, and I finished what my parents started. I reached the end of the proof. And I thought—” (She exhales.) “I thought I’d feel… bigger. Massive. Like the sky should crack open, like humanity should turn its head and finally, finally listen.”

(She laughs—not bitter, not regretful, just… acknowledging it.)

“But it won’t. It never will. Because there’s nowhere to send it. No one left to care. No world left to change. I think this is it.”

(A beat. A quiet moment where she lets the truth sink into her. Then—a softer change. A lighter note.)

“And I’m okay with that. I accept it now.”

(The creak of the bed. A shifting weight—like she’s leaning back, closing her eyes.)

“I don’t need anyone to hear it. Because I did it. I solved it. And maybe it’ll never matter, maybe it dies here with me.” (A slow breath, controlled.) “But I know. I know what I achieved. And Joel does. My new, small family does. And Maya will someday.”

(A quiet hum. More static of the recorder. An anticipatory breath—like she’s structuring her thoughts before speaking.)

“It's strange... how do I put this? You know, a function is defined by its inputs and outputs. A system or machine is shaped by its limitations. A theorem is valid only if every variable holds true.”

(Leela’s voice is quieter, warmer now.) “For ten years, my variables were singular. A closed set—isolated, self-contained, unworkable. I measured my life in absolutes, limits and intersections. And then…”

(A long pause. Her voice softens.) “The equation changed.”

(An infinitesimal sound—the murmur from Joel, deep in sleep.)

“Dare I say more complicated? New inputs and outputs. New limitations. A system with unknowns. And somehow—against every probability—”

(Her voice quiets, like she’s reaching the final line of a proof, the last, inevitable step.)

“It balanced.”

(A slow inhale. A hand smoothing over fabric, maybe Joel’s arm.)

“One woman. One child. One man. The sum is still whole. My system works. The theorem is valid.” (A beat.) “That's a good enough proof for me.”

(An understanding silence. A breath. Certain. Absolute.)

“This is Leela, signing off. If you listen to this, know that I'm still trying despite this. I am going to fight like hell to put my findings out, even if it's a long shot. Please help me prove what I've left behind, in case I don't. Prove that we haven't lost yet.”

(Click.)

X

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[feelmyskinonyourskin]

Judex, Judicum, Infantem - Chapter 3

(Eventual)Reader x Matt Murdock x Frank Castle

previous chapter | next chapter | series masterlist | my masterlist

gif by me (tumblr is making gifs that i upload extra potato quality lately and I'm not happy about it at all)

summary: You're feeling lighter and freer now that you and Matt are seeing each other, only to have it all come crashing down when Frank strolls back into your life. When you go to tell him you're pregnant, it doesn't go as planned.

warnings: SMUT/18+ (don’t interact if your age is not in your bio or I will block you!) AFAB Reader. No use of Y/N. Mention of pregnancy. Fingering, unprotected P in V. Pet names. Angst.

a/n: This is gonna be the last chapter with the flashback parts, so thanks for sticking through it if that style was confusing!

w/c: 2,940

Still a few weeks earlier

It was far too comfortable in your bed to even think of opening your eyes, let alone getting up and starting your day. The glow of the light streaming in from the morning sun was warm against your skin and encouraged you to burrow further under your plush duvet. The way Matt’s fingers also sleepily danced at the waistband of your panties while he lazily kissed at your neck and pressed his body against your back didn’t help you to fight the urge to stay in this blissful state of near slumber all day.

“Come on sweetheart, let me in. Just a little bit before I have to go.”

His voice was husky. Still shaking off the sleep as he cooed in your ear between haphazardly placed presses of his lips to the skin where your collar bone met your neck.

You couldn’t help but grin, rolling your leg so that your knee bent towards the ceiling, allowing his gentle hands to easily access you.

“Matty.” you cooed in a whispered plea

“Shhh”

You arched your back as he finally swiped a finger through your already drenched core, still leaking the mix of yours and his fluids left from just hours before.

In the few days since you and Matt had gone out, things heated up quickly. You’d woken up with him in your bed three nights this week and any notions of keeping things casual and taking it slowly had gone out the window. At least sexually, that was. You still were holding him at an arm's length emotionally and you were sure he’d complain about it if he weren’t so busy spending so much time between your legs making you both feel good.

Preening at his touch, you softly whined when he inserted two fingers into your heat, loving the way they scissored and explored inside you.

Fuck, he was so good at this. Using his heightened senses to read every clue your body gave and bring you to levels of pleasure you couldn’t have fathomed were possible.

It was a slow climb this morning, each of you allowing hands to explore sleepily for a long time. Eventually, he had you flat on your back, nestled comfortably between your thighs as he gingerly pumped into you. He moved as if there was no rush, no world outside that needed your attention, despite the impending threat of each of your morning alarms and the responsibilities of the day that awaited. Just the two of you and the warm glow of morning.

It was pure ecstasy when you reached your peak, shuddering under the weight of him as your heat contracted in slow steady pulses in a drawn out orgasm. He moaned into your mouth as he felt you clench around him, so wishing this could be the only way he needed to spend his day, but also chasing his own release, spilling inside you unable to resist giving into how good you felt fully anymore.

A satisfied hum escaped his lips as he collapsed on top of you, nestling into the crook of your neck while you stroked his back.

You were so content in the moment. Happy to hold him close and revel in the bliss of it all.

Until his phone beeped out, his morning alarm cutting through the rosy haze you were both in.

Still, the two of you remained snuggly as you prepared for the day, unwilling to be away from each other’s touch for too long.

“You know, we could try that Indonesian place down in Chelsea that Mahoney always raves about.” Matt said, sipping at his coffee while you packed up your bag for the day

“I can’t tonight Matty, I have the gala, remember?”

“Oh shoot, that’s right.”

You didn’t think it was possible for him to be any more handsome, but his still kiss bitten lips cracking into a groggy smile as he stood in the morning glow in your kitchen certainly had you considering calling off for the day and dragging him back to bed.

“You know, I could go with you. As your date? I shouldn’t be in court past five tonight if you want some help charming those donors.”

“Thank you for the offer Matt, but I think showing up with you to a work event when we’ve been going out for less than a week feels very much like putting a label on this. Which I thought we were trying to avoid.”

You could tell from the way Matt ran his tongue along his teeth that he was not thrilled with your continued stance on the state of your relationship. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be seen in public with him, actually quite the opposite. God, how you’d love to know what it was like to be his truly and fully; to show up to the gala and let the world know that someone thought you were special. Worthy of being with. Not just someone but Matt. You could feel yourself already falling faster and harder than you’d ever planned. In fact most days, Frank was just a whisper of a name that echoed in the back of your thoughts. But you knew if you let yourself jump head first into this, whatever was still lingering in your heart about Frank would inevitably bubble up to the surface and ruin things. Plus, you expected Matt to eventually grow bored of you, a handsome and successful lawyer like himself had plenty of options. You were sure he’d find someone better than you eventually. Best not to let yourself fall too hard and end up hurt again.

You also couldn’t deny the disappointment you felt at losing the opportunity to see Matt all dressed up for a black tie event; knowing he’d probably spend the entire evening schmoozing and charming you and showing off.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you deflected, trying to defuse his mood “I also really do not want to hear it from Colleen if I show up with you on my arm. She tries to set me up with every even moderately hot dude we see because she thinks I’m too lonely or something and I just do not want her to even have a smidgen of notion that she’s right.

“Fair. Honestly, I don’t want to hear it from her either.”

Matt put his coffee mug in your sink before making his way to you and giving you a quick kiss.

“Maybe you can make it up to me though, let me cook for you at my place on Friday?”

“Mmm you cook?”

“I do.”

“You any good?”

Matt scoffed at your question, letting his eyes roll as he playfully smirked and drew you into his arms.

“I haven’t ever heard any complaints.”

“Yeah? What are you gonna make for me?”

“I have a shrimp scampi recipe that’s my go to. You’re gonna love it, sweetheart.”

“I like shrimp scampi.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s a date.”

The gala was a great time, even without Matt’s presence. You were exhausted though when you finally walked through the door of your apartment shortly after midnight. Wasting no time, you kicked off your shoes and changed into something comfortable. Just as you were about to shut off all the lights and head to bed, you heard a thud come from your fire escape.

You had joked with Matt earlier about Daredevil one day maybe making an appearance late in the night, but with him being vague about his stance as a vigilante lately, you didn’t think he’d actually commit to the joke.

With a roll of your eyes, you made your way to the window, unlocking it and tugging it open.

You weren’t expecting to see Frank standing there instead.

“Jesus! Frank, what are you doing here?”

“Sorry sweetheart, didn’t mean to scare you.”

The tender way his eyes scanned you nearly had you crumpling to your knees. Frank always looked tired, but right now, only bathed in the light of the city and hastily shoving his hands in his coat pocket, did you realize how broken he looked. As you took in the sight of him before you, all the feelings you’d been pushing to the side in the days since you’d seen him last came flooding in. A burning welled in your eyes and the lump in your throat only grew by the second.

A week and a half was not a long time to go without hearing from Frank usually. But this was different. Things had shifted between the two of you after that night.

The way your gaze tore down and away from him broke his resolve, coming to stand before you in one large stride and leaning into the window sill to gently take your face in his hand.

He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t bring himself to. Instead he kissed you fiercely, not like the heated and desperate kisses you shared last time, but soft and full of yearning. As if he was trying to throw every apology he couldn’t back up with true action into his kisses.

It didn’t take long to get you inside. He didn’t bother to break his lips away from yours as the two of you bumped around your dim apartment until he found your bedroom.

The measured way he undressed you and laid you down consumed you with an understanding; this was his goodbye. His 11 o’clock number in the story that was the two of you. Not unprepared by the heat of the moment like last time and the awkwardness that followed, but carefully planned to take you apart and put you back together as a parting gift.

But still, you allowed it all to happen. To let the car crash just to stand in the glow of the flames to keep yourself warm, if only temporarily.

Frank’s skin was heated as he pressed his bare chest against yours, clinging to your skin in a desperate attempt to keep you as close as physically possible. He shuddered softly and nuzzled his carved nose into the dip of your collar bone, gently tugging at your thigh to pull your leg up as he pushed inside you slowly.

“Fuckin’ Christ, baby.”

All you could do was whimper quietly and hold on while he made love to you, trying so hard to enjoy the moment and not overthink.

And as the two of you laid there in the mellow afterglow and you dozed off in his arms, limbs still tangled together and covered in a light sheen of sweat, you let yourself finally hope.

Maybe he’ll stay.

But when you woke up, still in a daze of pleasure, the cold sheets beside you let you know; Frank was gone.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Now

The abandoned warehouse smelled mustier than usual thanks to all the rain that had fallen on New York this past weekend. It made you sad to think that this is how Frank lived, only surviving in cold, barely habitable hideouts, only eating canned food and plotting his next hit. You made your way through the echoing hall, bobbing and weaving through the doors and tunnels as you navigated. After your last encounter, you were certain you’d never see him again.

Now things were different.

Matt handled the information that Frank was the other potential father to your child shockingly well. You knew many a conversation needed to happen about how you all wanted to proceed further, as well as you finally getting the full story on their history. Matt agreed to let you have the space to tell Frank the news on your own though. You were tempted to text or call him but knew it would all go unanswered anyway. So, you came here to tell him in person.

You finally reached the door you were seeking, covered in chipped paint and rust from years of neglect. Trying your hardest not to startle him, you knocked just loud enough so that he could hear you.

“Frank?”

No answer.

Just in case Frank was hiding in a corner with a weapon or something, you gingerly turned the handle and poked your head in slowly so he had plenty of time to see it was you.

But the room was too dark to see anything. When you flipped on the light switch, you swore you heard the sound of your heart dropping.

The cold concrete room was mostly empty. Free of all Frank’s gear; his carefully organized supply of guns and amo, his stockpiled perishable grocery supply, the ratty mattress on the floor. All gone. All that remained were a few shelves and lockers; cleaned of all the things that once sat in them, and the worn metal desk; which had on top of it only one thing.

Frank’s old Marine sweatshirt.

It wasn’t odd for Frank to move locations from time to time. You tried to calm yourself with this information and stop from jumping to the worst case scenario as you reached in your back pocket and retrieved your phone.

You only had the number of his latest burner. The calling tone only rang out once before there were three beeps and a robotic voice spoke.

“We’re sorry, but the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected.”

It was as if a landmine went off in your heart, sending splatters of veins and ventricles into every direction of the cinder block cave. All at once it felt as if the room was spinning and your knees wobbled. You picked the neatly folded clothing article off the desk and held it close as you choked out a sob and crumpled to the floor.

Frank was gone. No note. No way of contacting him or finding him. Just gone.

And you were pregnant. And there was a very good chance the baby was his.

And you loved him.

Your heaving cries stopped just as suddenly as they started when you heard footsteps behind you. They were slow and clearly being intentionally loud enough for you to hear.

“Frank?!” you cried out, whipping your head around to see him enter the abandoned hideout.

But Frank was not standing there, ready to pick you up off the floor and comfort you.

Matt’s lips pursed in a grimace as he crossed the room toward you, tightly gripping his cane. His expression read of pity for sure, but also with an air of “I told you so and I really wished I would have been wrong” to it. It took him little effort to lift you off the floor and pull you into his strong embrace as your tears flowed once more.

“You said you were going to let me do this alone.” you coughed out

“I know. But I was waiting just down the hall, listening. I needed to hear how this went. To make sure you were okay.”

“Frank wouldn’t have hurt me.”

“I know, sweetheart. But I didn’t trust him to not be an asshole.”

“Well it doesn’t matter anyway. He’s gone.”

“I know.”

Another wave of tears washed over you. You breathed out Matt’s name out in a plead, decibels below a whisper so that only he would ever hear. His lips came to press softly into your hair as he comforted you. Nuzzling into his strong hand as he cupped your face, he reassured you over and over.

“Shh. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Running his fingers along your cheek to wipe away the tears, Matt pressed his forehead to yours as he heard your breathing finally begin to even out.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise. You and I. Well do this together.”

“What if it’s Franks?”

“I don’t care. I don’t.”

“I can’t hear your heartbeat but I know you’re lying.”

“I’m not. You and this baby; I’m going to love you both and we’ll be a family. We don’t need Frank to complicate that.”

Love

The word sent an icy dagger into your heart. Could he? Could you ever? You took a step back, wiping the last of the salty droplets from your cheeks.

“You sure you don’t want a paternity test?”

The chuckle Matt released reverberated in the echoing space. He shook his head, moistening his perfectly pouty lips before speaking again.

“I’m sure.”

“I thought a lawyer would be smarter than that.” you said with an attempt at a smile, albeit a melancholic one

“You know sweetheart, my dad died when I was young. He made a stupid decision and left me all alone. And my mom wasn’t in my life, well not in the way I needed her. But that’s even more complicated...”

It shocked you a little bit that Matt Murdock had not always been a charming, smart-mouthed, successful lawyer; but at one time had actually been a scared little boy who had been hurt by the world. The way he tilted his head up in the dim fluorescent light as he swallowed thickly, recounting his family history, made you wonder how much there was to his story and if he’d be willing to tell you sometime.

“Anyway, they both chose to leave me in their own ways. I didn’t have them there when I needed them most. And I promise you right now, I will not repeat their mistakes. I will not let this child; our child, feel abandoned.”

The way he said ‘our child’ lit a glimmer of hope inside you like seeing a lighthouse through a storm. Matt’s earnest sincerity made you actually believe him, if only a little bit.

“Okay. We’ll do this together.”

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[kamiversee]

˗ˏˋ My Love Note ´ˎ˗

8 | for you to say

❧ Synopsis | In which Choso Kamo, your asshole of a best friend, starts to change after you get involved with a rather cheeky cashier, Gojo Satoru.

❧ Content | language, fluff, tension, lesbo vibes (heh), etc.

❧ Word Count | 5k

❧ Pairings | Choso Kamo x f!reader & Gojo Satoru x f!reader.

| Chapters mlist |

——Here’s the thing, you can go a decently long time without even laying a finger on Choso. Yet when it comes to the man in question touching you or feeling the need to, things are quite different.

Speaking of different, everything is different after that night you spent with Choso.

For starters, you do everything in your power to avoid Gojo at all costs. It’s not that you didn’t want to see the guy or anything but, every time you ran into him, his hands would be all over you and he’s such an attentive man that when your body is covered with hickeys your best friend left on you– it’s hard to manage properly without being caught and questioned.

As such, things become a bit of a battle between who gets your attention more. At home, you’d run into Choso and he was all over you within seconds, snaking his arms around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent like it’s the only thing keeping him sane, and planting these needy little kisses against your skin.

Then there was Gojo who was basically the same except you had to deal with him whenever you were out. You couldn’t really avoid him on campus because he seemed to be everywhere and whenever he saw you, he’d drag you off to the nearest secluded place, and then his lips were on yours before you even realized. And with Gojo, it’s hard because it almost feels right to kiss and make out with him.

Gojo is truly indescribable for you. Being around him just gives you this entirely different feeling in your chest in comparison to other people you’ve been around. And although deep down you kinda disliked how whenever you were around him things started to always lead to the same thing– his lips on yours, his hands exploring your body, etc… you can’t say you hated it.

It was rather excessive though. Whether it be in that cafe storage room, his car, his apartment, your place (when Choso wasn’t home), or anywhere else, things with Gojo always resulted in him touching and kissing you.

Then, the thing with Choso is that it all felt so wrong in contrast to things feeling ‘right’ with Gojo– and in the weirdest way, it was like a good kinda wrong. You didn’t hate his touches or his kisses either but it made your body burn with guilt. Even so, it’s not like you ever pushed either of the men off of you. 

And on top of that, only Choso was aware of the fact that you were basically switching back and forth between him and Gojo but, he didn’t seem to care.

Sure, he said slick shit like, “Think he would be mad if he knew you let me do this?” while having you pinned to the living room couch, grinding his semi-hard cock down against you instead of finishing the movie you two were supposed to be watching but, what can you say? Choso has a weird way of seducing you.

It’s all in the way he teases and taunts you, the way he’ll piss you off just to ‘make up’ for it with a sensual hug and an ‘apologetic’ kiss– all of which always leads to something more. Never sex though.

You took that one morning with Gojo as a warning. Perhaps the universe had been trying to tell you something at the time and whatever it was, you weren’t going to ignore that sign and go and sleep with Choso again. Yeah, you and Choso make out and you let him dry hump you every now and then but you always find some sort of excuse to make him stop (or just tell him to stop and he does).

Choso doesn’t question it either. It’s like he was satisfied with the fact that he could even get you to the point where you had to tell him you couldn’t sleep with him. He seemed content with his privilege of kissing you alone, knowing that every time you go out to hang with Gojo, you’re probably still thinking of him since it all makes you feel guilty.

It’s a bit fucked up, sure, but Choso doesn’t care one bit. Whatever the two of you had going on, he liked it and didn’t want it to end. You could go out and do the same with anyone else but it didn’t matter, Choso knows you’ll still come home to him at the end of the day.

A real problem only came about when the relationship between you and Gojo finally progressed. 

· ───────── · ꨄ · ───────── ·

October had rolled around and whatever you had going on between the two guys was still happening. Somedays you let Choso be all over you and other days you let Gojo be the lucky guy. Then there were days where you just didn’t want either of them all over you but still, you were switching from guy to guy and you couldn’t really escape that fact.

Now, the month of October is a particularly important month to this story because that’s the month when you finally decide to start putting your foot down with Choso. No, you didn’t completely stop letting him flirt with you and touch on you but things would only go so far.

To put things in perspective, you hadn’t had sex since that night with Choso. It was almost like you couldn’t. You had opportunities to do so with either of the guys at any point but with Gojo, there was always a hickey on you that you didn’t want him to see, and with Choso, you didn’t want your guilt of it all to consume you even more than it already was.

You juggled all this rather well up until the end of that fall month, or, more specifically, up until the day before Halloween.

It was yet another Friday afternoon and you and Gojo were currently seated inside that lovely cafe he works at. The establishment was rather lively but Gojo was taking his break and in doing so, he decided to sit with you while you study on your laptop for some test you have.

There wasn’t much talking between the two of you at the moment but neither of you minded the lack of speech, it was comforting to simply be in one another’s presence. Given that, Gojo was pretty occupied on his phone since the last time he’d said something to you, tapping away at his screen just as you were on your laptop up until he glanced up at you with that little glint in his eyes.

You barely get the chance to acknowledge his gaze on you before his mouth was opening, “Hey, are you busy tomorrow?” Gojo questions as he clicks his phone off and places it down, leaning in a bit to really gain your attention.

You’re slow to lift your eyes from your laptop and to his face but when you’re finally looking at him, he smiles at you. “Uhm, I don’t think so, no. Why? You wanna do something?” You reply and quiz in return before sitting back in your seat.

The sudden conversation was a perfect distraction from the draining schoolwork in front of you so you were silently thanking Gojo for talking again, even though his rambling does get on your nerves from time to time. “Yeah, actually. There’s this party tomorrow, wanna go with me?” He offers.

Brows lifting in curiosity, you reach for your nearby latte and question the man further, “Isn’t tomorrow Halloween?”

“It is,” Gojo nods as he moves to rest his cheek against his knuckles.

You’re quick to put two and two together, “So, is it a Halloween party?”

“Yeah, a costume party,” A smile spreads across his face and you can tell he’s clearly excited about this.

“Ohh, sounds fun!” You exclaim. Gojo watches the way your eyes light up whilst you begin to ramble on a bit from there, “I can’t really remember the last time I went to a party buuut dressing up and dancing for a few hours with you doesn’t sound so bad.”

Almost in awe, his smile deepens and those dimples of his begin to present themself, “Yeah?”

You nod, “Mhm, what’re you gonna go as?”

“Not sure yet,” Gojo shrugs and his eyes fall on your lips wrapping around your straw as you take a sip of your drink, “I was gonna go shoppin’ tomorrow for somethin’.” He hums casually with little to no attempt to avert his gaze.

Nodding again, you swallow your small sip and swipe your tongue across your lips, “The chances of you finding anything good on Halloween night is really slim, y’know that right?”

He can’t help but smirk before lifting his gaze to your eyes, “Nahh, I have my ways.”

“Uhuh…” You muse skeptically, “Well, I don’t know if I’ll be able to find anything decent so-”

“We can go costume shopping together, silly girl.” He interrupts.

A smirk plays against your lips, “Y’know Satoru, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a thing for spoiling me…”

Gojo is quick to laugh at that, “Huuuh?” He breathes out dramatically, “What on earth makes you say that?”

“When you invited me to that gala, you offered to buy me something to wear then too,” You remind him, narrowing your eyes ever so slightly as you both smile at one another.

“Okay, perhaps I like buyin’ you things,” As he says that, he goes to elaborate a little more– explaining how he likes seeing the way a woman’s eyes light up whenever they’re given the opportunity to having things purchased for them. And when it comes to you specifically, Gojo is more than happy to buy you anything you could ever think of. 

You steadily move to shut your laptop and focus yourself on the small talk with Gojo, happily listening to him go on about how much he’d love to watch you try on different outfits for him. 

As the conversation carries on, you soon begin to think back to the start of the talk– the Halloween party. “Okay so, who’s party even is this?” You ask once the laughter from whatever Gojo’s last silly comment was dies down.

His brows raise a bit, “Uhhh, that’s a good question actually.”

You scoff, “You don’t even know who’s hosting the party you planned on attending?”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal and glances away in thought, “Nono, I know whose party it is, I jus’ forgot her name.” Gojo explains, his eyes steadily landing on something somewhere behind you, “I think it was-”

“Hori!” Some voice shouts not too far behind where you and Gojo are seated, “Please, shut up about the guy for just one second.”

Naturally, given Gojo’s lack of finishing his statement and the way his eyes are locked on something behind you, your first instinct is to turn back to the source of the voice and person in question– Hori.

Once your eyes land on what he’d been looking at, you spot two women walking toward the rather long line at the register, your eyes quickly moving to study the faces of the two individuals.

Blonde hair is the first thing you notice, accompanied by the prettiest doe-brown eyes (second to Choso’s when he’s pleading for something from you) you think you’ve ever seen. You almost couldn’t take your eyes off the woman despite her looks being rather generic. Perhaps it was the amount of pink she was wearing or the picture-perfect smile plastered across her face but either way, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away just yet.

Next to her was a, noticeably short, woman with deep violet-shaded long hair, bangs, and a large unique scar running across her face. Now she was gorgeous. She had this pretty bow accessorizing the back of her hair, was noticeably stylish, and-, well, despite the frown on her face, she was quite the sight for sore eyes.

Your heart practically thumps out of your chest when you and her meet eyes from across the cafe for a mere moment.

“Utahime please, jus’ hear me out for a second longerrr,” The blonde exclaims in an attempt to gain her friend’s attention once more, “He hasn’t texted me back in like, three days but-, I’m telling you he’s interested in me!”

The darker-haired woman, who you now mentally note as Utahime, shakes her head in disapproval, “Guys are really simple, y’know. If he hasn’t texted you in three days, he’s probably not as interested in you as you think he is.”

“But he is,” Hori whines, “I was even with him the other day trying to get him to come to my party, and he-”

“That’s her,” Gojo suddenly says to you, breaking you away from your eavesdropping and earning a turn of your head. The rest of that bubbly blonde’s sentence goes unheard as your attention is set back on the man in front of you.

You blink, “Which one?”

Gojo’s expression seems dimmer than it was moments before, “The loud blonde one, Hori,” He explains with a nod of his chin toward her.

“Oh,” You hum in response.

Something about that name seemed familiar but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it just yet. Hori. Where had you heard that name before? It feels like you should know who she is but you’ve never even seen the girl ‘til now so-

All at once, it hits you. Hori, the name of the woman who’d texted Choso that one morning. She’s the same person you think Choso’s been hanging out with a couple of times lately. 

You spend a moment longer thinking about her and how small of a world you seem to live in with the way everyone’s connected up until the sound of your name slips from someone’s lips. Blinking out of your thoughts, you’re quick to glance back yet again and listen in on the person who’d just uttered your name.

“That’s her name right? That one girl he’s always walking around with??” Hori asks Utahime blindly, having not noticed you sitting not that far away from where they’re standing in line.

Utahime groans, “Could you be any louder,” She huffs before nudging her ignorant friend on the arm.

Hori blinks, “Wha-” She’s cut off by Utahime nodding her head in your direction, “Ohhh!” 

“Idiot,” Utahime sighs and then glances at you, meeting your gaze for yet a second time and making you swallow thickly.

Her stare is unwavering, as if making eye contact with you doesn’t bother her in the slightest. Meanwhile, you’re quick to revert your eyes back to Gojo and whatever he’s saying to you.

Despite your eyes on him, your ears can’t help but twitch as you continue listening in on the conversation taking place between Hori and Utahime, “Damnit, she’s even prettier than I thought she was,” Hori mumbles to herself.

Utahime shrugs, “Bit of an understatement but, alright.”

Looking to her friend, Hori tilts her head, “Huh? What do you mean ‘understatement’?”

“I mean,” Utahime clicks her tongue, “She’s kinda h-”

“Oh my God, wait, is that Gojo with her?!” Hori interrupts rather loudly as her feet move seconds later and she begins to approach the two of you.

Left alone, Utahime groans while she keeps her place in line and watches her friend skip over to you and Gojo.

“Gojo! Hi!” Hori greets as she stands to your right and Gojo’s left, smiling brightly at the man.

You move to quietly sip on your latte as your eyes travel back and forth between the two– noticing that the normal sparkle in Gojo’s eyes is gone completely.

“Hey,” He hums, his voice filled with a clear disinterest in wherever the conversation was going.

Hori is so clearly oblivious to his soured mood due to her presence because her smile only widens, “You never answered my text,” She says casually before tilting her head, “Are you coming to my party tomorrow or not?”

“Uh,” Gojo breathes out, glancing at you, “That depends.”

The woman raises a brow and slowly follows his gaze to you, making you stiffen as all the attention lands on you. You gulp, “D-Depends on what?” You ask, confused as to why he’s staring at you like he needs your permission or something.

He doesn’t move his eyes from yours for even a second, “Are you gonna come with me?”

You never really answered him earlier, although it was implied so, you just shrug, “I dunno,” Your eyes flicker over to Hori, “Am I invited?”

Hori just stares at you for a moment, her eyes all over your face and the way you’re staring up at her. You can’t really tell what she’s thinking since she has this airhead look on her face so your brows furrow after a moment of no response.

To which you lean a bit closer and blink a few times, making her snap out of her little daze, “Y-Yeah, of course! Anyone can come-, sorry. I just-,” She smiles and looks down for a moment, “You’re really pretty.”

Your heart warms in your chest at the sudden compliment and you’re quick to return a smile, “Aw, thank you.”

She lifts her gaze from the floor and then brings her hand up a bit to fidget with her nails, “No problem. And uh, are you friends with Choso Kamo?”

You arch a brow at the mention of your best friend, “Yeah, why?”

“Well… I was actually wondering if you could uhh..” She trails off as if she’s nervous to ask her question.

“She wants you to convince Choso to come to her party,” The sound of Utahime’s voice startles you a bit and your eyes are quick to snap over to the woman who now has two drinks in her hand. Even up close, it’s like she only got more attractive, a waft of her floral perfume simmering into your nose as she stands beside her friend, “You’re the one he’s always with, right?” Utahime asks you.

All you can do is hum, “Mhm..”

She openly allows her eyes to trail up and down your seated figure, “I can see why he won’t shut up about you.”

Alarms go off in your head at the sound of that and your brows twist up, your lips parting to say something, only to be cut off by Hori turning to her friend, “Wait what? You talk to him?!”

Utahime shrugs like it’s no big deal and hands the blonde one of the drinks in her hand, “Uhuh, I have like three classes with the guy.”

Dropping her jaw dramatically, Hori gasps, “You never told me that.”

“You never asked,” Utahime chuckles.

“But-”

“Anyway though,” Dark brown eyes focus on you once again and Utahime grins kindly, “Think you can do her a favor and convince him to come?”

You smile, “Mind if I ask why?”

Utahime sighs and her explanation sounds almost as if she were pleading with you, “Cause’ this girl won’t shut up about him ‘nd I’m so tired of hearing her complain.”

At that, you chuckle. In the strangest way, she and Hori remind you of you and Choso. “Then yeah, I’ll try. But, fair warning, he doesn’t like listening to me so…”

She shrugs, “Trying is good enough for me, thanks.”

You nod and the two of you hold eye contact for a moment longer than normal, to which Gojo clears his throat obnoxiously and earns the attention of the three of you, “Ahem, if you two don’t mind,” He huffs, sizing Hori up and down and then glancing to Utahime, “We were in the middle of talking before you guys came over here.”

He’s so clearly bothered by their presence but his distaste toward them goes entirely over Hori’s head as she opens her mouth to say something to keep the conversation going.

Luckily for Gojo, Utahime hooks an arm around her friend and speaks before she gets the chance to, “Sorry for interrupting you two. We’ll see you guys tomorrow,” She dismisses, moving to drag Hori away from you guys.

Hori tries to pull away but it’s no use, “H-Hey! I still wanted to-”

“Read the room,” Utahime huffs as she drags her away and toward the exit of the cafe.

You laugh softly at their dynamic as you watch them walk off, your eyes lingering on the two for way longer than they should’ve been. Up until Gojo groaning catches your attention once more…

“She’s so fucking annoying,” He breathes out, folding his arms over the table and dropping his head down.

You turn your head to him, “Which one?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He mumbles, his voice muffled by his hoodie, “Hori.”

His antics make you giggle, “Then why’re you goin’ to her party?”

Gojo sighs, “”Cause, unfortunately, she throws the best parties.”

“Does she now?”

“Yeah, me ‘nd Suguru have been to a few.”

You nod, “Oh…”

Gojo shifts the way he has his head so that he can look up at you, “Mhm.”

Only his eyes are peeking out from his folded arms and he does nothing more than gaze at you for a while. At the angle he’s looking at you from, it reminds you of when he was in between your legs with his mouth latched to your cunt. Gojo’s so pretty it’s almost unfair. He just stares at you with those diamond-blue eyes of his, the little twinkle in his irises returning as he admires you.

You can’t help but smile after a minute or two, tilting your head and trying to ignore the way his unwavering gaze makes you self-conscious, “What?”

It’s slow but, Gojo lifts his head from his arms and raises a hand up to your face, taking your chin in between his thumb and index and pulling your face a bit closer to his. Then, his eyes slip down to your mouth and he slides his thumb up to trace the outline of your lower lip.

Your eyes wander elsewhere to see if anyone is paying attention to his sudden public display of affection– he doesn’t usually act like this when there’s people around so it was kinda strange for him to-

“I wanna kiss you,” Gojo voices out to you.

Your gaze is quick to return to him and you smile against his thumb, “Something stopping you?”

He lifts your chin slightly and then weighs his thumb on your lower lip, dragging it down and revealing your bottom row of teeth. “Yeah,” He whispers, “If I kiss you now I’ll only want more of you.”

Gojo lets his thumb slide off of your lip completely just to watch the way it falls back into place perfectly. 

You then smile, “And what’s wrong with that?”

“I gotta get back to work in a few minutes,” He reminds you as he draws his hand away from your face entirely.

“Riiight-”

“Plus, you’ve been cockblocking me lately so uh,” Gojo shrugs before slumping back into his seat and lifting his arms up into the air to stretch.

You scoff, “I have not.”

He laughs, “You have. Jus’ last week when we were in my room, your excuse was that you had to get home to finish some paper…”

“It was due in an hour!” You exclaim, smiling at the man.

Gojo tilts his head, “Coulda’ finished it while I ate you out or something.”

You roll your eyes, “I wouldn’t have been able to focus, Satoru.”

“Yeah you would’ve,” He argues.

“No, I wouldn’t have,” You refute in return.

“I mean,” His shoulders lift into a casual shrug, “We can always test that theory tonight.”

Your voice falls flat, “No.”

Gojo tosses his head back and groans dramatically, “Seeee? Cockblocking me again.”

“You’re being dramatic, no I’m not.”

“Y’know what, you’re right,” He huffs.

“I know I’m right-”

“I can jus’ go find someone else to satisfy my needs.”

You choke, a cough escaping your throat as your words fall from your lips in a stammer, “W-What?”

Gojo raises a brow and looks at you, “You heard me. I’ll go find someone else to sleep with,” He repeats, biting back a smirk, “There are plenty of women I’ve been rejecting for you.”

Those words give you this weird feeling in your chest. You couldn’t help but feel some type of way at the mere thought of Gojo being with someone else. And yes, you are well aware of how hypocritical that is but, in that moment you couldn’t care less.

“I mean, hey, if you go sleep with someone else, I’ll jus’ go fuck Choso,” You blurt out faster than you had time to think.

Tension fills the air in an instant and you probably shouldn't have said that but by the time you realize, the words were already floating in the air and echoing in Gojo’s mind.

The male noticeably freezes, “What?” He asks as his face shifts to a scowl.

You swallow but try to stand your ground, “...I said what I said.”

It’s quiet for a second until Gojo laughs, clearly annoyed, “You won’t.” He hums lowly, eyes darkening as they settle on yours.

Matching his energy completely, you fold your arms, “Are you testing me?”

Gojo glares at you, “No, sweetheart. I dare you to.”

Your lips part to say the words ‘I already did’ but you’re thankfully cut off by someone chiming in.

“You could always sleep with me, sweet thing,” Shoko suddenly chimes in, attempting to lighten the mood and revealing the fact that she’s been listening in on your conversation.

Both you and Gojo look over at her and she smiles innocently at you, “No? Hah, alright then, my bad..”

With a sigh, you shake your head and then move to grab your laptop and bag on the nearby floor. Gojo returns his attention to you and your sudden movements. He eyes your facial expression down, noticing the pinch of your brows and the clear annoyance etched onto your face.

He can’t help but smirk at the realization you’d grown jealous of something he hadn’t even done yet. “You mad?” He hums almost provokingly.

You pause in your movements and send him a blank look, “No.”

Gojo tilts his head, “You look mad.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You groan, “I’m going to be if you keep saying stupid shit,” You huff as you swipe your bag up and slip your laptop inside, moving to stand to your feet and zip your bag closed.

Then, you’re quick to toss the bag over your shoulder and turn. Gojo stands when you do, quickly stepping to your side of the table and planting himself right in front of you before you even get the chance to walk away.

All you can do is sigh and look past him, “Move.”

“Why’re you upset?” Gojo asks.

“I’m not.”

He rolls his eyes, “You’re a terrible liar, sweets. Talk to me, what’s wrong?”

Slowly, your eyes trail up to his face, “Nothing.”

He puts this little pout on his face and leans closer to you, “I was just jokin’, y’know…” Then, Gojo reaches for one of your hands and brings it up to his face, planting a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “I only want you.”

The combination of his soft-spoken words, the intimate eye contact, and his gestures make your heart throb.

“I’m serious,” Gojo continues, “I know we’re not dating or anything but, I’m not interested in anyone else aside from you. I only said that to mess with ya’.”

“Prove it,” Leaves your lips faster than a thought forms and it makes Gojo halt.

He blinks, “Prove it how?”

You shrug, “I dunno, jus’ prove it.”

At that, he lets out a little hum before dropping your hand. Then, he moves to place his hand on the back of your neck, pulling you in close and leaning in to kiss you. Your lashes flutter shut as his lips soon press into yours.

Gojo’s lips are gentle against yours and you slowly realize this is his first time kissing you in public like this. Normally, he pulls you off to the side where barely anyone can see you two but right now he was kissing you in the middle of the cafe he works at like it was nothing.

His lips steadily detach from yours and his voice is quiet in a whisper, “I only want you,” Gojo repeats.

You can’t help but bat your lashes at the man for a moment, relishing in the feeling of his lips having been on yours in public. Oh, you felt like you could dissipate into thin air with the way that just made you feel.

Grinning, you shrug, “I’m sorry about what I said.”

Gojo shakes his head, “Don’t be, I was the one tryin’ to provoke you anyway.”

All at once, you’re reminded why your feelings for the man began to develop in the first place. Everything in the way he touches you, looks at you, understands where and when he’s wrong, every interaction, and literally his entire being gave you butterflies and throbs in your heart you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Gojo leans in to give you one more peck and when he pulls away, he smirks, “Plus, you wouldn’t do that anyway, right?”

You give him a dumbfounded look.

“…Sleep with him, I mean,” Gojo clarifies.

To which you clear your throat, “Oh… No, I’m uh, I’m not interested in Choso so…” You shrug, “And he’s an asshole who gets on my nerves.”

Those blue eyes linger on you for a moment longer than necessary and you almost feel like he’s studying you closely…

But, after a second he nods and pulls away from you.You really shouldn’t have ever mentioned sleeping with Choso, even if it were only to get back at what he said to you. It only led to you lying to him and that made your chest burn with guilt all over again. You hated lying like that but the truth would’ve only ruined whatever it is you had going for you thus far so… for now, you’ll avoid telling him about it.

mlist | last chapter | next chapter |

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[hrtwayne]

Hasta Los Dientes || Alexia Putellas [Part Four]

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Lionesses!Reader

Summary: One of Arsenal's top players receives an offer to play for Barcelona after recovering from a cruciate ligament injury in her leg. Following a recent fallout with the Gunners' captain, the athlete decides that the best course of action is to accept the offer and escape the tension in the locker room.

Note: English is not my first language!

Warning: None!

Previous Chapter | Women's Football Masterlist

It was a Monday morning when Y/n stretched in bed, her eyes still heavy with sleep and her hair a mess. The midfielder had woken up just over ten minutes ago, with the sun not even showing signs of rising yet. The comforting silence was proof that her sister was still asleep and that likely a good portion of the Catalan population was still in bed as well.

She grabbed her phone, which was charging on the nightstand, and saw a few messages. There were texts from Rachel, with reminders about the day’s schedule and some updates on the preparations for the press conference happening later in the week. Y/n quickly replied, confirming that everything was under control. Next, she saw a message from Haley, who was still in London.

Y/n smiled as she read the message. Haley had always been her biggest supporter, even from afar.

After replying to the messages, Y/n stretched again and got out of bed. She had already laid out her training clothes the night before. As she packed her clothes into her bag, her eyes landed on her Adidas cleats, faithful companions in so many matches, and the personalized shin guards her niece had designed. An involuntary smile spread across her face as she remembered little Emma, just two years old, handing her the shin guards as a good luck gift. "Aunt Y/n, you’re going to be the best in the world!" the little girl had said, with the innocence of a child.

Y/n carefully packed everything into her bag, as if preparing a kit for an important mission. She knew the first training session was crucial. Not just to showcase her skills, but also to integrate into the group and earn the coach’s trust.

After carefully organizing her bag, Y/n headed to the bathroom. As she brushed her teeth, she looked at herself in the mirror, analyzing her reflection. Her hair was a bit messy, but she decided to leave it down for now. There was a determination in her eyes, a mix of nervousness and excitement.

After leaving the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, she thought about breakfast. She didn’t want anything heavy, but she knew she needed energy for the training session. She decided on avocado toast, scrambled eggs, and a cup of coffee. As she ate, she mentally reviewed the day’s routine: morning training, lunch at the club, and then a few meetings with the technical team. In the evening, she planned to explore the city with Aliyah.

Before leaving, Y/n wrote a quick note for her sister and stuck it on the fridge.

"Ally, I’ve gone to training. I’ll be back by the end of the day. Call me if you need anything."

She grabbed her sports bag, took one last look around the apartment, and left. The morning sun was already shining in Barcelona, and the fresh air greeted her with a gentle breeze. Y/n walked to the garage where her car had been delivered, tossed her bag onto the passenger seat, and started the car.

The British defender had her back to the door as she rummaged through her bag to pull out her clothes and gear for training. Y/n was so focused that she didn’t hear the loud voices entering the locker room. She was already in the Catalan team’s training kit, holding her cleats, when the voices suddenly fell silent.

Aitana was the first to recognize Y/n, from the last Euros.

"Y/n?", Aitana said, causing the midfielder to turn toward her with a friendly smile." When the news broke that you were coming, I thought it was just rumors."

"Well, you know. It’s hard to be welcomed on a team when you’ve had a fight with the captain," Y/n replied in perfect Catalan, making the other players raise their eyebrows. "And you don’t need to speak English with me; I speak Spanish and Catalan."

"Well, this is Alexia and Vicky," Aitana introduced them, and Y/n quickly shook hands with both.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you," Y/n smiled, noticing Alexia sizing her up.

"Excuse me, Y/n, your fitness coach has arrived and is calling for you on the field," One of the staff members said, and Y/n nodded as she grabbed her cleats.

Y/n quickly said her goodbyes and walked through the training center corridors with the dark-haired girl. She sighed, knowing she would likely get along well with the players.

"Damn it, Hen. I swore you wouldn’t come," Y/n complained, pushing the blond guy.

"I wouldn’t throw you to the wolves like that, Y/n," Henry replied, gently shaking Y/n’s hand." Have you met the girls yet?"

"Hmm, yes," She confirmed, walking alongside the blond through the corridors. "I talked to the captain, Aitana, and Vicky."

"I thought Keira would be the one to introduce you," Henry uncrossed his arms as Y/n finished putting on her cleats. "The coach asked to test your fitness with the starting team. I may have sent him your last training session at Arsenal. He was impressed."

Y/n shrugged, adjusting her cleats before testing the quality of the field. Her eyes met those of one of the players. It was the first time Alexia and Y/n would play together, and they both knew the clash of egos could be a big problem.

"I hope you’re not too old for a few hours of training," Keira appeared beside Y/n, making the midfielder jump in surprise.

"Damn it, Keira," Y/n muttered, placing a hand on her chest.

"I should be the one mad at you. Ten years of friendship, and you don’t even tell me you’re coming here?" Keira said, still with a fake tone of anger.

"It was a surprise to me too," Y/n replied, making it clear it hadn’t entirely been her choice.

"Does this have something to do with your almost-relationship with Leah?" Keira asked.

"Apparently, yes. And you know how the girls sometimes treat Leah’s word as gospel," Y/n shrugged, following the player. "But it’s fine; I needed a fresh start."

The two walked together to the center of the field, where the coach was already gathering the group to start the training session. As the coach explained the day’s exercises, Y/n felt the curious gazes of some of the players. She knew she was the new girl, the foreigner who had arrived with a reputation to prove. But at the same time, she felt welcomed by the smiles and nods from some of them.

The training began with warm-up exercises and short passes. Y/n quickly adapted to the pace, showing the refined technique that had brought her here. Keira, by her side, didn’t miss the chance to crack jokes and keep her relaxed.

"Remember that training session with the under-17 national team, when you fell flat on your face?" Keira said, laughing quietly as they passed the ball to each other.

"Please, don’t bring that up now," Y/n replied, laughing too."I need to maintain my professional image, you know?"

"Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me," Keira teased, sending a precise pass back to Y/n.

As the training progressed, Y/n began to feel more comfortable with her new teammates. The on-field connection with Keira was natural, as it always had been, but she also started building chemistry with other players. Coordinated attacks, precise passes, and communication that flowed better and better. Y/n felt like she was fitting in.

At the end of the session, the coach called the group for a quick talk. He praised the overall performance and gave some individual feedback. When it was Y/n’s turn, he made a brief comment:

"Y/n, you came here with a strong reputation, and today we saw why. Keep working hard and integrating into the team’s style. You have great potential here."

Y/n nodded, feeling a wave of pride and relief. She knew there was still a lot of work ahead, but the first step had been taken.

As the players dispersed toward the locker room, Keira slung an arm around Y/n’s shoulders.

"See? I told you you’d do just fine."

"It’s only the first day," Y/n replied, but with a smile on her face. "But yeah, it was good. Really good."