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

[king-candybug-backup]

thinking about like. Candybugs relationship with Sourbill. Like. Thats the only real “friendly” relationship Candy seemed to have with anyone before? Or at least the only person he treated with any kind of decency it seems. Thinking about how KS Candy saw Sourbill delivering drinks in that one chapter and like. The kind of ACHE that would leave in Candys heart? Like the one person he probably viewed as a friend for all his years at the arcade, seemingly aftaid of you and your actions can really make someone question themself. And hoo boy is that mentality going to come full swing i think in upcoming chapters. if Candy and Sourbill had like. A private conversation together. I can imagine like. An argument going down. And like. Candy trying to apologize maybe in his own weird little way. /pos. idk. I think Sourbill and Candy have a silly little dynamic that is rarely explored. And the subtle little detail when KS Candy said “i never treated him badly” or something like. BROKE MY HEART. rhrhrh. i cant wait for more chapters. You write AMAZINGLY!!

YEAH, Sour Bill definitely seems like the only one who knew King Candy on even a slightly deeper level than any of the other characters, given how they're pretty much always together in the movie and he knew about some of the details regarding Candy's code-altering. (Granted, this could heavily have to do with the fact that Candy needed a second person to make sure he'd be safely tethered and could be pulled out of the code vault, plus that doesn't mean Sour Bill wasn't also victimized due to being manipulated and lied to, but I do think they also had at least a tiny bit of fondness for each other, even if it was in a weird or screwed-up way (More on King Candy's part)) I just think that the fact they've been basically attached at the hip for like 15 years straight is bound to form somewhat of a connection. I don't think that King Candy cared very deeply about Sour Bill, more saw him as something consistent, familiar, and reliable, but I do think it would still sting him a bit to see that pretty much his only close relationship got absolutely decimated like that, lmao (Especially since, from his perspective, he "didn't treat Sour Bill badly", and yeah, he thought what they had could've been considered friendship, so he's like "EXCUSE ME WTF" even though Sour Bill's totally justified in being rather freaked out by it all. 😂)

One little teaser I'll give you for chapter 17 is that King Candy and Sour Bill do have one very, very small interaction coming up in it, but just warning you, it's going to be a bit of a mess 😂

ALSO THANK YOOUUUU!!!!!!!!! 💖💖💖💖 I'M SO EXCITED TO FINISH THIS FIC AAAHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[zariahthechocolatecookie]

(since you didn't tag anyone I'm going to assume it's alright if I just jump in here-)

Your favorite fic to write: Definitely Discovery (HTTYD)! Freydis is a very complicated character (lots of layers), and every chapter is an opportunity to explore a different aspect of her personality and figure out how they all work together.

A fic you thought readers would love: The Change That Comes From Loss (Arcane). The Arcane fandom seems a lot bigger than the HTTYD fandom, at least on Tumblr, so I figured this one would get more interaction than some other stuff I've written.

The fic they actually loved: How To Name Your Deadly Nadder (HTTYD)! This one, like, skyrocketed in popularity compared to the other fics I've written. Kudos-wise, it's basically tied with Discovery, even though it hasn't been published nearly as long. Which is kind of funny, because I really struggled with writing this one and I don't think I edited it at all...

The fic you love the concept but hate writing: The Change That Comes From Loss. It's such a fun concept and I really really love the idea behind it, but the actual writing is just. So. Slow. I think it's because it's so canon-character heavy, and it requires a really in-depth outline, and it's just really hard to get all the pieces to come together.

The hardest fic you've written: Honestly it's probably Courage Is Not Easily Recognizable (Stormlight Archives). This was my first stab at writing Stormlight fanfiction and the brainstorming process was a bit of a drag. At times it was really hard to nail down the character's voices, which was something I really wanted to get right, because this oneshot was so character-focused.

A fic you want to write but never do: Oh my gosh there are so many. I could talk for daaaays about all the ideas I have that I'm never going to get around to writing. One that's been circling around in my head for a while is a heavily OC-centered story about Lycanwings, based off of the little story Gobber told the riders in RTTE. I'd love to write it but I'm worried the OC focus would turn a lot of people away.

Another one that I'm like sort of working on is this very in-depth BotW fanfic. However I promised myself I'd outline it completely before I started writing (instead of outlining on the fly like I normally do) and the outline is moving about as fast as a snail. So. This one's not gonna get written anytime soon. (However it is tentatively titled What Happens Now?)

@rhythm-of-lesbianism @cosmereplay @arborplasm

I thought this could be a fun tag for us:

Your favorite fic to write:

A fic you thought readers would love:

The fic they actually loved:

The fic you love the concept but hate writing:

The hardest fic you've written:

A fic you want to write but never do:

[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)

[charliegyrth]

Hello from Charlie Gyrth!

A Brief Introduction (and Links!)

Hello, Tumblr! My name’s Charlie. I’ve been writing (and reading) gainer fiction for years, and I finally have the confidence to start posting. My goal is to publish one story or chapter every day for the rest of 2025.

Here’s what I have so far:

Long Stories:

Fat Passengers - 3 parts (ebook) Fat for a Day - 3 parts (ebook) Nightly Feedings - 4 parts (ebook) A Milkshake a Day - 4 parts (ebook) Adiposexual - 5 parts (ebook) My Former Best Friend - 5 parts (ebook) Go with the Flow - 9 parts (ebook) Fatter for the Wedding - 12 parts (ebook) Alex Gets Soft - 22 parts (ebook)

Short Stories:

You Peaked in High School Darren's Birthday Surprise Fattened by Donuts The Summer You Got Fat How to Be a Fat American Big, Fat Crush on My Doctor King Kong and the Blob What Happened to the Hot Swimmer? Mukbang Mikey Getting Fat for TV Feeding You in Public Cody Comes Back Fit to Fat to Fit: What Could Go Wrong? Fattened in a Hotel Chicken Shack Fatties One Pound a Week Fattening the Actor Fat Felix Tries Ozempic Unrecognizably Fat Fat Farm Boys Improving Myself Final Destination: Obesity Three Roommates Scooter Hangry Search History Back from the Oil Rig Good Memories Tiny Tim and Small Sam You Ruin Your Perfect Body Metabolism Blockers Sliding Doors, Changing Waistlines I Really Want You to Like Me Liam's Sweet Tooth Are You Happy? My Best Friend Comes Back The Writer's Retreat Halloween Before and After Marriage Body Mark Wears the Pants Two Fat Guys on a Blind Date Giving In (2 parts) Hey, Chubs! (2 parts) Fat Camp Reunion (2 parts) The Lottery Winner (2 parts) I'm Too Fat for My In-Laws (2 parts) Speedos (2 parts) Fat Blind Date (2 parts) The Hottest Guy in Town (2 parts)

And here’s a bit about me:

I love writing about positive, supportive male couples who embrace the joys of gaining, feeding, encouraging, stuffing, and belly play. I don’t write about force-feeding (unless it’s consensual) or revenge fattening. I read those kinds of stories sometimes, but as a writer, I want to explore the healthier sides to gaining.

I find fat beautiful, so I kind of get lost in describing it sometimes. I love the sheer variety of plus-sized body types, so I try to reflect that in my stories. Not every fat guy is destined to grow a big, round beer gut (although those are great, of course).

I typically stay away from magical plots or instant weight gain. That usually doesn’t do it for me.

I will never use AI in my writing. I like creating these stories myself. (I have a day job as a full-time writer/editor, so this stuff is sort of a release for me.)

I try to be realistic with how quickly my characters gain, but sometimes I get a little ahead of myself and stretch reality. Just go with it.

I've started to publish some of these stories as ebooks. They will always be available for free on Tumblr, but one of my goals in life is to make gainer fiction more accepted in the literary world. We need to get more of this stuff out there. I don't expect gainer fiction to ever become mainstream, but there's no reason why it isn't as mainstream as, say, werewolf shifter erotica or other niche subgenres.

Probably not important, but I'm a redhead, so if you're wondering why there's an overrepresentation of red-haired characters in my stories, now you know.

I’m a gainer in my personal life, but I’m terrible at it. I always get up to about 210 or so and then chicken out. These stories are a way to help me process some of those feelings so that I can eventually have the confidence to keep going. We’ll see. (196 as of today!)

And I think that’s about it. Thanks so much for checking out my Tumblr! And happy eating!

[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 ��

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!

[alexispunkkk]

get free

♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰ ♰

god only knows — chapter 9

read the series!

last chapter | next chapter

- warnings: kissing, sex, unprotected sex, orgasm, dacryphilia, virginity loss, innocence loss, religious trauma and guilt do i even need this warning anymore??, HELLA body worship, you love joel's happy trail (who doesnt??), finger sucking, lowk spit kink wtf, it doesn't fit.., crying, hypersexuality, joel's dick is huge thanks and he has a BELLY (i'm feral), tons of banter aw, god i love this man, lana del rey lyrics and inspired title woohoo

- summary: further physicality and vulnerability--this time in joel's bed. with no cross necklace on.

- word count: 5.8k

on ao3

JOIN THE TAG LIST FOR POST NOTIFICATIONS WHEN I UPDATE!!!

Still wrapped in the afterglow and feeling of his mouth on you, your chest rises and falls under Joel.

The weight of him on top of you is solid and warm, pushing you into the bed in a sheltering way. His chest brushes yours with each breath, hips pushing down and body slotted between your legs the same way his tongue slides into your mouth. 

His stomach is soft where his shirt rides up, pressing warmly against yours. Weirdly domestic. 

There’s heat radiating from every square inch of his body, enveloping you in a protective embrace as if letting you know he’s not letting you go again. Not after tonight, definitely. Not after being the honorary figure to take your innocence. 

Candidly, his mouth feels like a promise. He’s got you. And when your lips disconnect, he hears a soft breath, and sits up between your legs.

Your hands move forward, aching to touch him. The exposed sliver of stomach gets worse when you push the shirt up, attempting to unbutton the rest of it to no avail.

“Butterfingers,” Joel chuckles softly, sitting back on his knees.

He does the work for you, unbuttoning each little piece of hard plastic with ease until his broad torso is fully exposed. And fuck, he’s gorgeous. 

He’s slimmed down the tiniest bit since the last time you’ve seen him, probably due to the obsessive behaviors to distract himself from you. Maybe cut down on the beers. Whichever way, he looks incredible. 

He continues, shrugging off the button-down and getting up to discard his belt and jeans. Comes back in only a pair of black boxers, tented and hugging the unmistakable bulge over his crotch. 

It’s covered, but it's undoubtedly huge. Enough to make you salivate.

The second he’s back between your legs, he’s admiring you in a way you’ve never felt before. Your fingers rest nervously on your own stomach as you feel the unfamiliar weight of a man over you. The real, physical body of a man–hard, tanned, everything. Not God, but Joel. Solid and strong but softened over the years, a few scars littering his body: one on his chest, on his right hip, and the one on his temple you’ve memorized. 

Joel notices the way your hands twitch and quickly wraps them up in one hand, lifting them to his mouth, lips all pink from working relentlessly between your legs a few minutes ago.

“Still good, angel?”

You nod quickly, feeling your heart quicken with the gentleness in which he’s touching you. The way his single hand can collect both of your wrists in one grip, so large compared to you. The way you can feel the heat radiating through the thin fabric of his boxers. The way he looks at you with utmost tenderness like the sweetest thing he’s ever seen–or tasted. 

“Still good,” you answer with a dopey smile, eyes scanning all over his chest. Seeing a man like this for the first time feels adjacent to making sense of an old English passage back at school–unfamiliar, but incredibly rewarding. “Very good.”

He laughs again at your emphasis with the ‘very,’ watching the way your gaze gravitates to his lower stomach. He frees your hands, letting you explore.

Your first stop is the happy trail leading down his stomach. 

His dark, wiry hair is grayer than you’d expected–curly and covering his chest, leading down to that sweet area with the little ‘v’ that, essentially, is giving you an arrow down to his cock. Everything about him is so thick and grown, showing off years of experience. Years of working and carrying. 

“Don’t gotta look at me like that,” Joel notices your fascination, shaking his head with a crooked grin.

“I’ve never seen this before,” you defend yourself, sitting up and smiling like an idiot while you take him in. You don’t mean to stare, he’s just so real looking. 

That earns an amused huff from Joel. He moves to flop down beside you, stretching out and facing you on the bed. 

“Never seen what? A man?” 

You groan dramatically and laugh, stuffing your face into his neck. You only peek out a few moments later, looking up at him with candied eyes. 

“Yes, a man. Shirtless, y’know. Like this.” You gesture toward his lower stomach, the hair disappearing into his waistband that’s reserved a spot in your brain by now. Pointing somewhere private and forbidden that you crave to see. 

Joel raises an eyebrow, watching each flicker of your eyes down south.

“This givin’ you trouble?” He smirks, splaying a large hand over his lower belly. The hair comes out, curls around his fingers, and you almost drool.

Biting back another stupid laugh, you nod, teeth caught on your bottom lip. “Maybe.” 

He reaches for your hand, gently taking it in his and leading it down to his stomach. 

“Come on, baby. You’re allowed to touch, y’know.” 

Obviously, you’re not gonna decline that offer. Your fingers graze the ridges of muscle, the veins leading down to where you want to feel most. He’s so strong even there, so solid. Warm and alive, human enough to be a little ticklish–you can tell when he twitches in place. It makes both of you chuckle.

Knowing that this isn’t really something you’ve seen before or gotten to experience, he lets you explore. Like he’s a fucking map, letting you drag your fingers wherever you please.

And he’s pleased as well. Proud, warm, and entirely yours to traverse. 

“S’totally unfair,” you smile, pressing your face into his shoulder while engrossed in his stomach.

“What’s unfair?”

“How good you look.” it’s the most foolish thing you could’ve said, but it speaks volumes of truth. It is actually unfair that he gets to live and look like this, and you’ve waited until now to get a feel of it.

Joel snorts, giving your arm a gentle shove, rubbing the spot soon after to ensure that it didn’t hurt–even with how soft the push was. He shakes his head in disbelief, but you swear you can see a faint blush on his cheeks.

“Shut up,” he smiles, kissing the top of your head. “S’not that big of a deal.”

“I’m so serious right now.” you pout up at him. “And it is a big deal. You’re so manly. N’ real. Hair and scars and a belly and everything. Big, too.” 

That earns another laugh from him, a real one. Deep in his chest.

“Big?” He repeats in disbelief, bracing himself up with a grunt and flipping you onto your back again, crawling over you. 

“Big,” you confirm, blowing hair out of your face when he climbs over you. With familiarity, your legs spread, and he lays between them. “Like, big and warm. S’a good thing. You can protect me or something, I dunno.”

Joel leans down, his mouth brushing your mouth again to quiet you down, to stop you from making a grown, hardened man blush. 

“Alright, alright.” He smiles and shifts his weight to support himself on one arm, the other moving down. “That’s enough out of you. Quit it with the sweet-talkin’.”

His hand finds the sweet spot between your legs, gently spreading your folds back open to check how wet you are.

And just to his suspicions, you’re entirely soaked again. Dripping. His fingers slide through with ease, collecting slick on them and humming in approval. 

“No. I’m just being appreciative. You could throw me against a–”

Joel takes the two fingers he just slid through you, lifting them and quickly slipping them between your lips. That cuts you off. 

You can taste yourself on his digits, stronger than earlier when he kissed you after eating you out. You let out a muffled squeak, eyes going wide, but your tongue instinctively wraps around them and gives them a gentle suck. 

“Jesus, girl. Talkin’ too much,” he huffs when you start to suck at his fingers, taking them out of your mouth and wiping the mix of saliva and arousal on the sheets underneath you. “You done?”

Clearly, you’re not, because you grab for his wrist and put the two fingers right back into place in the warmth of your mouth. 

“Nope.” you murmur, voice muffled by the two large digits stuffed between your lips, catching your tongue in place. 

Oddly enough, it feels unfamiliarly comfortable for them to sit in your mouth like that. The taste of yourself comes second to the feel of Joel–the roughness of his fingers, the warmth, and the curve of his knuckles. This time, you don’t suck to tease. More to savor the taste and feeling, because it feels good. Yes, it’s filthy. But it’s safe. You feel kept–you feel like Joel’s. 

He snorts when you continue to suckle them, but his thumb brushes your cheek with a gentleness that can’t be ignored. As much as he is loving teasing you right now, he can’t help fall victim to the softness of it all.

“Okay,” he softens and smiles. “C’mon now.” 

He gently directs his fingers from your mouth, letting your tongue detach before slipping them out. He hesitates for a second, but cleans off your saliva in his own mouth.

When Joel lifts his hand, sucking the excessive amount of your spit off of his own fingers, your breath hitches in your chest. It’s like he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing, as if it’s some instinct for him, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. 

The way his fingers slip out with a pop and the way his eyes are locked on yours the whole time is enough to make your hips jolt up. And of course, he feels it.

After–very self-indulgently and deliberately–sucking those clean, he smirks and sits up, grabbing the backs of your thighs.

“Don’t get shy now,” he whispers, beginning to kiss a soft trail up your chest. It moves toward the right, his lips grazing the skin near your armpit before continuing up your arm, lifting it as he works. “You’re the one who tasted em’ first. Just had to get my chance.”

“You make it look all sinful, though.” you whine, leaning back and arching up as he presses kisses to the expanse of your skin. 

Joel shakes his head, lifting his head when he decides he’s done with the kisses. Hovering over you, he gently collects both of your wrists in one hand, pushing them behind your head.

The fact that his hands are big enough to hold two wrists as if it’s the easiest thing–oh god. 

“Enough with the whinin’.” Joel advises, lifting your chin with his free hand and pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth.

His lips seem to do the job, because you’re shut up in seconds. Your eyes gloss over again, all hazy and admiring, looking at him like he hangs the moon. 

Once you’re quiet, the air settles a bit more, your breaths synchronising again in soft waves. His hand remains firmly around your wrists, anchoring you to the bed in a protective manner, but his head moves down. Your lips attach, and everything stops.

Again.

You’ve kissed Joel a few times now, but each time, it still catches you off guard all the same.

You’ve gone all these years with only one lousy kiss from a college boy, now into your young adulthood and never having any experience. And Joel Miller has to be the one to take it. He kisses you with such certainty and soft reverence, like you’re the only thing he has left on this earth. Like he’s afraid to break you any further.

No rush to it. No push, not too much fervor. More of a quiet passion, kept in the secrecy of Joel’s little house. The weight of his palm is as steadying as his mouth is, tethering each part of your body into the safety of his bed. 

Joel exhales against your cheek mid-kiss, and you respond with an adjacent sigh into his mouth. 

Sighing because you realize that for once, you’re doing something ‘bad’ and not allowing the loop of your father’s preaching and God’s rules rotate in your head. 

And it feels so, so freeing to not have that following you anymore.

Eventually, though, his pace does pick up. His lips move quicker against yours, his tongue working overtime to explore every bit of your mouth. The grip around your wrists tightens without him noticing, and it’s working you up too fast.

You don’t really know how to handle it. It feels good, but it’s awfully overwhelming. 

He feels the pace of your breathing and heartbeat pick up, your hips shifting under him and the quiet sounds of slight worry slipping from your throat and into his. Your body is betraying how much you want this, but also the embarrassing inexperience you possess. It scares you.

Joel, of course, doesn’t think it’s embarrassing. He’s not here to judge you.

He stops, lifting his head, those softened caramel eyes meeting your glossed-over gaze. 

“Honey,” he begins, brushing a loose strand of hair back. His breath is all over your face, making you too warm. “It ain’t a race. Calm down a bit.”

He finally lets go of your wrists, hands trailing down your arms–fingertips grazing your skin with recognition of your nerves. They meet your hands, gently lacing your fingers into his and offering a tight squeeze.

His voice is a warm reminder that he’s here to take care of you, not hurt you.

“You tell me when you’re ready for more. I’ll lay here as long as you need.” 

You nod, taking a deep breath and squeezing his hands back, bringing yourself back to a normal state. It takes a few seconds, but you calm down enough to speak.

“Sorry.”

“No.” Joel shakes his head, voice now abruptly stern compared to the last time he spoke. “No apologies. You’re not doin’ anything wrong.”

He sits up, taking a deep breath as he gazes over the stretch of your body underneath him–your legs around him, bare skin exposed all for him. Every inch of you. His. He gently holds your waist to move you down a bit, getting you nice and comfortable on his bed.

You should feel a little insecure. It’s your first time doing anything, your first time being bare in front of a man like this. Hell, you normally feel insecure walking around with a full set of clothes on.

But Joel’s gaze doesn’t make you self-conscious. It might be a little heavy, but it’s careful. Admiring you with a passion you’re unfamiliar with. It slows your heartbeat, pulling you into the simplicity of the moment, especially when his hands meet your thighs again.

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. Then one to your cheek. Then a single peck on the lips. 

“You’re quiet now. You ready for more? Done with the compliments?” He smiles, patting your shoulder and leaning back again. He’s settled between your legs, strained against the fabric of your boxers, but somehow still looking like some strange, giant teddy bear.

His gruff exterior is replaced with a stupid grin, one that only you can elicit. 

Your need resurfaces at the sight of him leaned back like that, so thick and muscled. The light hits his chest just right, making his hair glow in an angelic way. His hand remains on your thigh, gently fondling the meat of it while he takes a deep breath in.

“Alright. That means you tell me if you wanna slow down or stop. We’re gonna go slow. Gonna make sure it’s right for you, yeah?” He whispers after seeing you nod.

“I know.” you nod again, hips shifting just a bit–making it obvious to him that you’re not trying to wait any longer.

Joel’s gaze stays focused on you while he shifts back himself, just enough to get his legs out from under him. His hands move slowly, dragging down his body until they meet the waistband of his boxers.

The main thing you’ve been ogling for the past twenty minutes. 

His fingers tangle into the mess of hair leading down to the band for a second before slipping in. The fabric slides down slowly, and your breath hitches with each little hair or vein that gets exposed. 

The movement is gentle despite being vulgar, still so reverent. You’re looking at him like he’s something sacred, with the simple act of undressing himself. And he ensures he's not rushing it–just as promised–letting you watch each stretch of skin with utmost patience.

When they slip free and he gets the fabric off, tossing them on the floor, you can almost feel yourself salivating.

His body is so warm and real, but his cock is a further demonstration of the masculinity you’ve been drooling over all night. His muscles flex with each movement, the length of it bobbing back and forth when he moves closer. It’s all so unpretentious, and he’s much too casual being exposed like this.

But that’s what makes it feel good. The domesticity of it all, the fact that you’re comfortable enough to lay naked next to one another.

Joel’s gaze is on you the entire time, but yours is locked downward. When you finally take a break from ogling his cock, you look back up, giving him a bashful expression–earning a smile, of course.

He moves forward, spreading your thighs open to reveal an even wetter mess of the pussy he ate earlier. But he doesn’t tease, just opens them up and settles down between them with a quiet sigh. 

One more kiss to your cheek, and another chaste one to your lips, before he strokes your hair and leans down. 

“I’m so glad you’re here.” he whispers into your ear. “And I’m glad to be the one doing this with you.”

The way he whispers makes you shiver on the spot, your thighs trying to close around his body that he’s stationed between them. The thought of making you shy like that only entices him to whisper more.

“Gonna go nice and slow. All you gotta do is breathe and be here with me. Got it?”

All you can do is whine, but Joel needs confirmation.

“Got it?” he repeats, the gruff side of him coming out for a moment, because he’s not playing around with the consent. 

“Got it.” you manage out, voice tremoring in anticipation.

He hums, a low rumbling in his chest when he sits up again, grabbing the base of his cock. He lines it up against you, tilting his head while he takes in the sight of his tip pressed against your soaked flesh.

Again, he’s not trying to rush you. Thus, he resorts to slowly dragging the fat head of himself up and down your slit, collecting slick and massaging soft circles against your clit. It has you wailing. Not just whining, but wailing. So fucking desperate for anything after going too long without any much-deserved dick. 

Joel smiles when your crying picks up like a lost puppy, freezing in place and positioning himself back at your entrance. 

“Okay, baby. M’sorry.” he leans down, pressing an apologetic kiss to your lips.

You’re shifting and bucking unhappily, waiting for anything, but he needs just another moment. 

“Slow and steady, remember?” he whispers, getting only an unhappy groan from you. Grumbling, he continues. “I’m serious. This is probably gonna hurt. Don’t even know if I’m gonna fit.”

As if ignoring everything he’s trying to tell you, you whimper again and buck up, trying to push him into you the slightest bit more to relieve anything. 

Joel groans back, pushing your hips down and shaking his head in indignation.

“I said I’m fuckin’ serious, okay? Calm down. I don’t wanna hurt you.” 

The sudden aggravation in his voice alarms you enough to stop moving. You shut your eyes and nod, taking a deep breath and forcing yourself to stop shifting up toward him.

“Thank you,” Joel sighs, rubbing your arm and giving your hand a gentle squeeze. This time, he keeps it locked in his grip, knowing already that you’re gonna need something to hold–even if you don’t think you will.

“You ready?” He checks one more time. And this time, you don’t give him a needy whine. Just a quiet nod, a squeeze back to his hand, and a gaze that tells him you’ve waited your whole life for this.

He grabs his cock again with his free hand, collecting enough of your slick on himself to lubricate in preparation. Once wet enough, he looks at you, slowly pushing in–only about half an inch.

Your hand twitches nervously in his grip, your hips shifting up and eyes shutting to brace yourself. Fuck, you didn’t expect it to be this big–you’re regretting the bit of sass you gave him.

As Joel pushes in further, it all seems to get worse. It fucking hurts. 

“Okay, okay. Shh.” He has to stop when he’s only halfway into you, leaning down to kiss your cheeks and stroke your hair. The way you’re already wailing has his heart breaking. He doesn’t want to hurt you, just wants to give you a good first time.

Your voice catches in your throat as you try to tell him something, but he just kisses you through it, as if some weird method of distracting you. His forehead is against yours, nose brushing against your own, his hips beginning to rock so slowly after giving you a few seconds to adjust.

But no, it doesn’t help. You cry out again, gripping tightly into his hand, so hard that your fingernails leave little crescents on his skin.

“Easy, angel. Shh.” Joel whispers, one hand on your hip and the other laced in yours. “I know it hurts. We’re goin’ real slow, though.”

Both the nerves and the pressure of it all are truly getting to you, forcing uncontrollable sounds from your throat. Mixes of whimpers, cries, and a very distant sound of pleasure make him feel both aroused and bad for you.

He stops for a bit upon seeing a tear slip, frowning and kissing it away.

“Cryin,’ baby?” 

You nod, whimpering and leaning your head forward to bury against his shoulder. He huffs, letting go of your hand to wrap you up in his arms. 

“Let’s stop, then. S’okay.” Joel whispers. You feel bad that you’re making him stop, but the stretch is burning enough to make you not protest it.

Joel slips out slowly, and the relief is immediate. You sigh and let your head fall back against the pillow, shamefully wiping away the fallen tears from taking a lousy four inches of him. The frustration and embarrassment makes your throat burn, your head turning and burrowing into his pillow to hide.

“Uh-uh. No hidin’.” He gently pulls your shoulder back, flipping you back around. He lays down next to you, facing you and pulling the covers over your body in hopes it’ll make you feel less embarrassed. “Don’t gotta do that.”

“I do, though.” You whisper back, sniffling and moving closer under the comforter. His arms wrap around your body, pulling you against his chest until your legs tangle up and your head finds his neck.

It upsets him to hear you so guilty. He’s there in an instant, kissing the top of your head and making it all feel better. 

“No. Nothing to be embarrassed about.” He responds, voice muffled by your hair. “I knew it’d be too big.” 

“I feel stupid.” you nearly cut him off, deepening his frown.

The thought of you feeling stupid for something as silly as not being able to take him on your first time astounds him. 

“You’re not stupid. It’s your first time, baby. Doesn’t always feel good, y’know.” He reassures, stroking your back now until he feels your heartbeat slow to a normal pace again.

You don’t respond, nodding against his skin and sniffling a final time. Joel simply holds you there until you’re good to talk again.

It takes a few minutes, but you come back to life. Despite it hurting, you’re still needy, and you still want him to be the one to take this for you. Joel’s still Joel, and he’s still incredibly handsome and big and warm against you. 

“We can try again.” 

You cut the silence, whispering against his neck.

Joel’s hand pauses on your spine, his eyebrows furrowing down at you when you remove your head from his neck. 

“...You sure?”

“Yeah. Just… give me a bit to adjust.” 

And within seconds, the two of you settle right back in. There you are, for the second time, laid back with your legs spread open, his large body settled between them and the tip of his cock pressed against you. He recites the same rules he’s been saying all night, the words “slow” and “tell me” and “s’okay” all jumbling together in your mind.

You nod each time, distracted by the sight of him pressed into you. 

Joel isn’t in as much of a rush, though. He’s being even slower this time to make it feel better.

He leans down, pressing kisses everywhere yet again. Your knees, your belly, your chest. Every inch of you that trusts him to do so. After ending on your lips, he sits back, holding your hips and notching his tip into your entrance.

“You promise me you’re ready?” He asks, raising his eyebrows in utmost seriousness down at you.

“Promise.” You nod softly, holding your hand out expectantly for him to hold. 

Just as he’s about to attempt and move into you again, you pause. Your hand awkwardly stutters in his, fingers letting go to trail up to your neck.

You’ve spent your life trying to pray the want away, but here you are opening your legs for a man after failing the first time. Somehow, under Joel’s touch, the shame disappears. No more sin, but comfort. 

The little silver cross hanging around your neck has been there for years–even after abandoning the church in college, you never really took it off. It’s part of you. Surely it’s molded into the skin on the back of your neck by now. But right now, it doesn’t feel right. Being with Joel means choosing him, not God. Choosing the moment–choosing yourself.

“You sure?” Joel asks hesitantly as your fingers move up to unclasp the necklace, because he knows how big of a deal that is to you. There probably hasn’t been a day you went without a cross since you were a baby.

And you are sure.

“I’m sure.” You whisper back, getting it unhooked and handing the cold metal chain to him. He nods, setting it on the nightstand before leaning back into you. 

Joel trails a hand up your hair, pushing some back before leaning down. In between gentle kisses, he whispers.

“Good. I’m proud of you, sweetheart.” 

Hearing that he’s proud of you about removing the cross means the world to you, a million times more than him taking your virginity means. He’s proud of you.

Your whole life, everyone around you would probably have screamed if you took it off. And Joel’s here, embracing it. Helping you get rid of it. Digging you into a further hellhole of sin. 

And you love every minute of it.

Something about everything that’s happening is incredibly freeing–the sex, the removal of the necklace, just being with him–and it’s the best feeling you’ve had in a while. You’re taking your life and independence back from God, giving it to Joel.

“Didn’t know I could do it.” You whisper back quietly, a shy smile crossing your face when he gazes down at you.

He huffs in amusement, shaking his head like he’s truly never been prouder. 

“You can. And you did.” He smiles, pressing a fat, wet kiss to your forehead and taking your hand back into his. 

Joel leans back, spreading your legs one last time before realigning himself. His hand stays locked in yours, squeezing as he notches his tip only half an inch inside. 

“Breathe for me, now.” He instructs carefully, waiting for you to nod and breathe properly before trying to push in again. 

Of course, it hurts. But this time, the burn feels better. Painful, but in a rewarding way–theres a hint of pleasure coming through the waves of pained stretching. 

He stays for a moment longer, only a little past the tip pushed into you. His forehead rests against yours, mouth parting and hot breath grazing your face with each little gasp. His hand squeezes yours again in gentle reassurance when he feels you clench around him.

“Breathe.”

He reminds you every few seconds, voice a hushed rumble right by your ear. He’s right–you’re forgetting to breathe. Forgetting how to breathe, even. 

It doesn’t feel as important when Joel is easing into you, inch by tender inch, whispering praise and squeezing your hand in his as tight as he can. Not when the pain slowly gets replaced by a warmth building underneath it. Obviously, it doesn’t stop hurting entirely, but something is making it feel better.

Maybe it’s the freedom of not having the cross around your neck.

Maybe the feeling of Joel all over you. Nestled inside of you.

Maybe the thought that you’re in someone’s arms for once, being wanted, instead of waiting for a nonexistent being to be the one to save you.

You entirely zone out, eyes shut and hands gripping him so tightly, not even noticing how far he’s notched inside now. He fully bottoms out while you’re practically on another planet in your mind. He stills completely once balls deep, waiting for your breath to catch up with his and your thoughts to come back to the moment. 

“Doin’ good,” Joel pants into your ear, aiming a sloppy kiss to your forehead, but missing and landing it on your eyebrow instead.

Each roll of his hips has a sort of patience to it–he’s not rushing, he’s not taking you, but he’s giving something to you. You’d always thought sex would feel like something is being taken from you. But with Joel, it feels like a present he’s giving you. 

You let his care in, in the form of physicality and emotion. In breath and in your synced, panicked heartbeats.

He stays entirely still, not just for you, but for himself. Rubs his thumb along the back of your hand, lets both of your breath catch up before slowly pumping in and out again.

Your body trembles underneath him with each movement. It’s so overwhelming how he’s just there with you. You’ve gone so long without any connection, waiting for sex, and now Joel Miller is balls deep inside of you in his bedroom when your own father doesn’t even know you returned home yet. And fuck, does it feel right. 

“Feel me, baby?”

He asks, groaning right into your ear and eliciting a genuine whimper in return from you. 

Of course, in perfect unison to the question, you can feel his tip kiss your cervix. You wrap your other hand around his big shoulder, fingernails digging deep into his skin while you start to shake. 

“Yeah.” You barely manage out, gasping and writhing underneath him on the bed helplessly. The way he’s filling you is almost too much. You’re stuffed to the brim and on the verge of going cock-dumb because of it. 

“Good.” A nearly cocky smile spreads on his face, but there’s a quieter sense of happiness to it as well.

Your legs curl up a little tighter, wrapping up around his waist, pushing his cock impossibly deeper. You press your nose into the side of his face, whimpering softly. 

The ache of pain is replaced with a more familiar ache–the one you discovered recently, the one that bubbles up in your stomach and core, all warm and sensitive. You feel extra tired now, body falling limp and powerless under Joel’s muscled frame due to the brink of your orgasm.

He feels the way you flutter and tremble, the way you tighten up around him, and he knows exactly what’s coming. 

“Okay, okay,” Joel whispers when your whimpers pick up much louder. “I know. Just a little more. You’ve got it, don’tcha?” 

“S’too much.”

“I know, shh. I’ve got it, angel. All you gotta do is lay there. Only a little more.”

His voice is soft, but on the inside, he’s feeling feral. Of course, he’s going slow, but there’s nothing more he wants than to plow into you and coat you in his cum. It’s been too long since he’s had good sex, and the slowness of this is killing him.

But he’s still keeping your needs above his. 

Instead, he tries to refocus that desire by burying his face in your neck once your head tips back. He groans, inhales the sweet scent of your hair, and bottoms out a few more times into your tightening cunt. 

The movement makes you cling tighter to him, nails dragging down his shoulderblades and the muscles of his back while you start to entirely shiver. Your breath is completely broken.

“There it is.” He whispers proudly, keeping steady pace and ensuring he hits your cervix just one more time. “You’ve got it. Let go for me.” 

You don’t mean to, but you cry while your orgasm slips out of you. You tip over the edge, trembling in pleasure underneath Joel, but there are a few uncontrollable tears sneaking from the corners of your eyes.

And he holds you through it all, shushing you and gently stroking your hair. His fingers glide through each strand, scratching your scalp and trying to pull you back into a relaxation after the intensity of the moment. He doesn’t chase his own release, but watches you instead. Watches how pretty you look, crying and cumming at the same time. Listens to each of those little hopeless sounds you cry out against his shoulder.

“Good job,” Joel whispers after a minute, nosing at your cheek. “Took it so good.”

All you can do is whimper and shake your head, attempting to hide the tears while rubbing your face against his chest and collarbone.

“M’serious. I’m real proud of you, kid.” He gently releases your hand, moving to tilt your chin up instead. As usual, his gaze is warm enough to soften you up, to remind you to ease up and untense your shoulders. You nod and lean into him, breathing out in relief.

Being with Joel for the first time felt like crossing the threshold to the reveal of your heart. Not just your physical body, but you’re offering him everything that’s deep and unspoken inside of you.

He’s the only one. The only divinity you can possibly believe in. 

this wasnt fully proof read dont hate me soz

@joeldarling @melmel-fandom @ssssc0m @rafeovermorals @lilac-boo @funkifiedzee @mermaidbarlvr @seenthroughmia @umadirectioner @deardev0teddelicate @dingusandbats @lobotomyprincessdollangel444 @spreadlove-always @gingerwitchm @millersdoll @userdarkholme @joelscowgirl69 @bug-boy32 @moyavsemoya

[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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[angelx]

Get Even - Chapter 4

word count: 2.2K

cw: frat prez!katsuki x fem art student!reader, mention of light consensual sexual exploration, loss of innocence (consensual), light power dynamics, angst, emotional manipulation, betrayal, deception revealed, verbal confrontation, emotional fallout, heartbreak, desperation, minor character being an accidental snitch

Three weeks. That’s how long it took.

He could’ve ended the game then—hand over the receipts, claim the win, drive off in his beloved Porsche with the smug satisfaction of victory. But Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t thinking about bets anymore. Not when you were sleeping in his bed, tangled in his sheets, soft skin flushed and vulnerable beneath his calloused hands.

You were always there now. In his room, curled into his side. At his place, stealing clothes you’d never return. Even in the quiet hours while he worked on his mechanical engineering assignments, you were there—sitting cross-legged on his bed, scribbling ideas for your next art project, occasionally sketching him in your sketchbook when your mind wandered elsewhere. The same guy who cornered you at a frat party last month, with a cocky smirk now pressed a kiss to your cheek when you said goodnight, traced circles on your knee while driving, held your hand like it was his lifeline.

And he was always around now.

Studio drop-offs. Post-class pastry runs. Sitting beside you as you finished a charcoal draft while he cranked out engineering formulas, muttering to himself and reaching blindly for the drink you'd gotten him.

It wasn’t official. No one said it out loud. But you were his, and Katsuki didn’t correct anyone who looked at you that way.

He should've walked away. After all, he’d already "won"—in less than a month, no less. But every time he looked at you—really looked—that old smugness cracked, and something softer bled through.

Something guilty. Something real. But you didn’t know that yet.

What you did know was that your body didn’t feel like a stranger’s anymore. Not with the way Katsuki touched you, taught you. Whispered encouragements when you were shy about asking for more. He’d started slow, guiding you through your own pleasure like you were something sacred. He taught you everything.

But the more he gave you, the more you wanted. Craved. Demanded.

It started with soft kisses that turned filthy. With your fingers buried in his hair, your thighs trembling. He would whisper in your ear, telling you how good you were doing, how much he needed you.

Then you changed. bolder. Hungrier. Katsuki taught you everything. Patiently. Obsessively. How to arch your back and press your hips against his to feel just right. How to use your hands, slow and deliberate. How to kiss like a promise and moan like a prayer. How to open your mouth for him—eager, breathless, desperate.

And now? You whispered back, filthier. You learned how to tease him. Torment him. You bit his lip when he teased, you whispered filthy things in his ear that made his cock twitch under his jeans. You’d ride him slow and steady just to watch his composure crack. You’d rake your nails down his chest, then soothe it with kisses, grinning when he gritted his teeth and growled your name. You started talking him through it like he used to do to you—telling him how good he felt, how hard he made you come, how you’d never get enough of him.

One night, you edged him. Pushed him to the brink with your mouth and your hands and your voice, and stopped—just before he could fall. You looked up at him with those wide eyes, lashes wet, lips swollen, your tongue tracing the corner of your mouth like the fucking menace you were becoming. And Katsuki just stared down at you, jaw slack, chest heaving, one hand tangled in your hair like he didn’t know whether to pull you in or push you away before he lost his mind.

He’d created a monster—a pretty little succubus that lived to ruin him. And he was so okay with it.

“Fuck,” he gasped one night, sweat slick between your bodies. “You’re a fuckin’ succubus, y’know that?”

You giggled, all sugar and mischief, brushing your fingers down his abs, and Katsuki was gone. Under your spell. Addicted.

He should’ve stopped. Should’ve told you the truth. But how could he? You smiled at him like he built you a second sun. And maybe… maybe he wanted to be loved like that. Even if it was built on a lie.

The days blurred sweetly after that night.

It wasn’t love—no one dared to say it out loud—but whatever it was, it bled into everything. The way he kissed you like he needed it. The way you leaned into him like he was home. You were always near now, a fixture in his space and mind—wearing his hoodies, curling up on his lap while he worked on a thermodynamics worksheet he half-understood, sneaking bites of his snacks like you had the right.

He still hadn’t told you the truth.

And sometimes, when you smiled too wide or kissed him just because, that guilt threatened to crack open in his chest. But he stuffed it down. Kept pretending. Because pretending felt good. It felt real.

Then came the night of yet another Sigma Vex party.

You didn’t even argue this time. When he offered to pick you up, you said yes. When he threw his varsity jacket over your shoulders before walking into the frat house, you smiled at him so sweetly that his teeth could rot. And when the music thrummed through the walls and neon lights painted your skin, you didn’t leave his side once.

It was like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

You sat curled in his lap on one of the leather couches, your legs draped across his like it was the most natural thing. He had one arm slung over your waist, thumb stroking absent-minded circles into your hip. Your head leaned against his shoulder, warm and light and so real it made his breath catch.

He didn’t care that his brothers watched. Didn’t give a damn about their smirks or side-eyes. You were his. Whether it was fake, temporary, or tangled in lies—right now, it felt true.

You brushed your lips against his jaw. “Need another drink?”

He gave a lazy hum. “Only if you’re gettin’ one too.”

“I’ll be right back,” you teased, slipping off his lap with a soft smile, the weight of you leaving his legs like losing warmth.

And then you were gone—just for a minute. It wasn’t a big deal. You’d come back, sit in his lap again, maybe he'd sneak you into the upstairs bedroom later. That’s what he thought.

But the universe had other plans.

You slipped into the kitchen, fingers curling around two red cups. The music was duller here, muffled behind thick walls. The party felt far away. You poured the drinks without thinking, still smiling to yourself.

Then a presence stumbled up beside you, reeking of cheap tequila and sweat.

“Heyyyy, you're kinda hooot” the guy slurred, squinting. “You’re from the art department, right?”

You turned slightly, confused but polite. “Yeah?”

He blinked. His eyes lit up like he’d just solved a math problem with crayons. “Wait. Wait, wait—you’re that girl. From the last party! Holy shit.”

You froze.

He grinned like this was the funniest thing in the world. “Prez actually did it. I can’t fuckin’ believe it.”

You frowned, your stomach dipping. “...Did what?”

“Oh, y’know—the bet. Back when you ran outta the first party like your ass was on fire? He was gonna lose that fancy-ass Porsche if he didn’t hit it by midterms. But he did! He won! Got in there fast, too—less than a month!”

Your hands shook. Your mouth went dry. The words didn’t compute at first. They sat there, echoing, buzzing around your brain like static. But they didn’t make sense.

“What… bet?” you asked, the words catching in your throat.

Before he could dig the hole any deeper, Kaminari appeared in the doorway like a lifeline. “Oi! Kimura. Shut. Up.”

But Kimura didn’t notice the sharp edge in his tone. “What? I’m just sayin’—it’s crazy, right? Prez really went all in. Said he’d make her beg for it—”

The drink slipped from your hand and crashed to the floor. The silence was immediate.

Kimura blinked. You stood there, the world around you slipping sideways. Kaminari’s jaw was tight, his eyes full of panic, like someone just pulled the fire alarm and everyone else kept dancing.

“Oh, shit-” Kimura muttered. “I fucked up.”

Your vision blurred.

There was a bet. There was a bet. You were the punchline. The game.

And suddenly, every sweet thing he ever did, every kiss, every look, every whispered promise—it all felt like poison sinking into your skin.

He played you. He chose to. And worst of all—you had no idea how much of it had ever been real.

You didn’t mean to storm out like that. But your legs are already moving, fueled by instinct. By betrayal. By the cold slap of reality that hit you like a freight train in that fucking kitchen. The hallway blurs. Laughter and music fade behind you. The buzz of the party becomes background noise to the pounding of your heart.

And then—You pass the living room. He’s still there.

Katsuki sits on that stupid black leather couch like he owns the room, like he owns the night. But when his gaze catches yours—when he sees the fire in your eyes, the betrayal carved into every line of your face—his whole world tilts.

His body tenses. He knows. No, you knew.

And you don’t even stop. You don’t scream. You don’t cry. You just walk past him like he’s nothing—like he never meant anything. And that? That hits harder than any slap could’ve. You slam open the front door.

“Wait—!” his voice tears through the air like thunder.

Then footsteps. Fast. Heavy. You don’t even get two steps into the driveway before he catches up. A warm hand wraps around your wrist, desperate, trembling with panic.

“Baby, wait—let me explain—please—”

You stop. And then you snap. You whirl around, eyes blazing like wildfire, and rip your arm from his grip. The motion is sharp. Violent. Final.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

Your voice splits the night. He stares at you—shell-shocked. He’s never heard you yell like that. Never seen you this raw. This hurt. You’re trembling. Not from fear. From fury. From heartbreak. Your voice cracks but you don’t fall apart. You refuse to fall apart in front of him. Not him. Not now.

“You think you could play me?” you breathe, voice shaking as tears finally sting your eyes. “You think you could lie to my face, touch me however you want, make me feel things—only to laugh about it later with your frat brothers?”

He tries to speak—his mouth opens, closes again like he’s drowning. “No—no, that’s not—baby, I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off. “Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that.”

"After everything... You did all of this for what? To get back at me for rejecting you once? What? Your shitty pride and reputation got the better of you?"

And then the tears start. Hot and slow, streaking your cheeks without permission. You’re not sobbing. You’re not even making a sound. You just look at him like he set fire to everything you’ve ever built.

Like you don’t recognize him anymore.

Like you wish you never met him.

“Was taking my virginity also part of your bet?” You asked him, but he couldn't give you an answer.

It was impossible for you to believe at this point. “Don’t fucking follow me,” you whisper. Your voice is hoarse now. Wrecked. “Just… don’t.”

You turn. You leave. And this time, he doesn’t stop you. He stays there on the pavement, frozen, winded like you just punched him straight in the chest. Because watching you walk away like that—seeing the light go out in your eyes when you looked at him—hurts more than anything else ever has.

Later that night…

Katsuki sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, phone clenched in his hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to this damn world. His thumb hovered over your contact—again.

Call Ended.Missed Call (30).

He tried again. Straight to voicemail.

“Fuck,” he whispered, dragging a hand through his hair, chest rising and falling with a panic that refused to quiet. He keeps on spamming your phone with messages you won't even see.

baby, pleaselet me explainplease answer my callsfuck, i'm sorry. i didn’t mean it like this please baby let me explain i didn’t mean for this to happenbaby, please answer the call

Delivered. Delivered. Delivered.

Your phone sat abandoned on your nightstand—screen facedown, volume turned off. You didn’t even glance at it.

You were curled up in bed, blanket pulled over your head like it could shield you from the ache in your chest. Your pillow was already wet with tears. Your fists were balled against your chest, throat raw from sobbing until your voice gave out.

You weren’t ignoring him. You were just too heartbroken to care.

And in that silence, Katsuki was left to sit alone in his room, fingers clenched around his phone, jaw tight, heart sinking lower with every minute you didn’t pick up.

You didn’t need to say a single word.

Your silence screamed louder than anything else ever could.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Part 5 is in the making! will be finished and posted as soon as possible!

Check the full series here: Get Even

check out my other works here!: MHA MASTERLIST

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[baisemains]

Elements of Desire

Chapter 8: Green Light

single mom!sevika x fem!reader

word count: 9.2k

contains: slight language, alcohol mention, a little angst, liiiitle bit of suggestive themes, mostly fluff though 😁

description: sevika tries turning the tables on you, but little she does she know that she's throwing both of you in the deep end.

ao3 link | spotify playlist

previous | next // sevika masterlist

As much as you had hoped you'd have time to explore this new avenue with Sevika after poker night, the science fair's second deadline was quickly approaching and all of your energy was focused on making sure Powder and Ekko were on top of their projects. You felt it in your gut that they both had a fighting chance and you were doing everything in your power to make sure they had the support they needed.

Sevika completely understood, of course, but a small, selfish part of her wished that you two could pause it all for one day and spend some time together. Between work and the girls, you two were like ships passing in the night, never able to grab a moment to do anything but send the occasional check in text.

She felt as if she was starting to go insane without you around, her thoughts filled with memories of the last time you were at her house. That night was constantly running around in her mind, as if it were a favorite movie of hers. The memory of your leg pressing against hers, and how she had to fight the urge to caress it. Or how she so badly wanted to slide her knee even further up between your thighs. These were the thoughts Sevika would lose herself fantasizing about when work got slow, but right now, she had to stay distracted or else she’d show up at your place unannounced and possibly embarrass herself.

So, for the next few days, that was your new normal. The occasional good morning message and seeing each other for a minute or two when Sevika picked Powder up, before you scurried off to check on Ekko's progress. Reminding herself this was only temporary, she bid you goodbye with a smile every single time, only letting it fall once you were out of sight. She had to be patient, you would both be able to continue this...thing that you had started soon, or at least that’s what she was hoping for. The thought of having you over and picking up right where you left off was the one thing keeping her mind in check through this seemingly endless stretch of separation.

The finish line finally comes into sight the day before the presentation when Sevika comes to pick Powder up and the girl heads to the bathroom. It's the first time in what feels like forever that you don't hurry out the door when she shows up, instead leaning against your desk with your legs crossed and your fingers interlaced. You ask Sevika permission to come over and coach the girl through it in person, since the circumstances from before didn’t let you be there physically. Letting out an internal sigh of relief, she tells you yes while holding back her grin from being too obvious, or at least she thinks she does. You see right through it, that telltale sparkle in her eye giving her away.

"Perfect. Since her presentation is at noon, I can be there around 11 if that works for you guys?"

Nodding, Sevika lets herself fully smile, having missed the unexpected confidence you exude around her. “We’ll be home. I'm helping out a friend with his car early in the morning, but I’ll be back by then. Could even whip something up if you're able to stick around for lunch.”

Hearing that Sevika was planning on cooking made you want to do a victory lap, and you can’t help yourself from letting her know just how much the thought excited you.

"Sounds great. I don't have to be at Ekko's until later in the afternoon, so I'll be all yours until then.” Sevika’s knees nearly buckle when you say that, trying her damnedest to act normal about the implication, and she takes a couple of deep breaths before answering.

“Good. I’m looking forward to it then.” And, because she can’t help herself, one more comment. “And you better bring your appetite.”

"I always do." You tilt your head slightly while giving her a once over to drive home the double entendre, and Sevika’s skin breaks out in goosebumps, mouth parting as she fumbles for a reply.

Your eyes settle their gaze pointedly on her lips before a pair of footsteps in the hallway bring you both back to reality. Looking away, you see Powder cross through the doorway and glance between the two of you, feeling the slightly charged atmosphere in the room.

“I'm ready, Mom.”

Sevika’s attention snaps to her daughter, her mind clearing just in time to respond. “Alright, let’s go then.”

You say your quick goodbyes, promising to see them the following day. Powder gives you a bright smile before disappearing back into the hallway, and Sevika shoots you one last look before leaving you alone with your thoughts. Once they’re out of sight, you lay back on your desk, body slumping as you groan into your hands. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

After a pleasantly restful night, you're springing out of bed, ready to take on the day. Setting your outfit aside before you head to the bathroom and get ready, your roommate texts you that breakfast is ready a short while later.

Heading to the kitchen, you see that everyone is there, and you smile at the fact that you’re all able to spend time together. They of course tease you about the fact that you’re going over Sevika’s later, knowing all the details about what happened at poker night the previous week. Your face heats up but you brush them off with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulder, though your internal monologue is squealing. Eventually, you have to head back to your room and finish getting ready, and when you do, you bid your roommates farewell, strolling to your car with an extra pep in your step.

Sevika woke up that morning with a start for the fourth time since her head hit the pillow hours ago. Rolling over to look at the clock, she was surprised to see it only read 6am. Not able to go back to sleep, she sat up and swung her legs out of bed before she headed into the kitchen for coffee.

While the pot percolated, she began planning out the first half of her day in her head. A quick shower and breakfast, then a couple hours spent working on her friend’s engine, and time to return home before you make it over. Speeding through her routine, she headed out after kissing both of her daughters goodbye and letting Powder know she’d be back by lunch. Her morning passes by quickly, the engine taking up all of her attention as it needed more work than she previously thought, so she's on her way home a little later than planned.

When Sevika arrives, she pulls up the garage door and begins taking off the sleeves of her dirty coveralls before seeing you sitting on the floor next to Powder. She instantly freezes when you look over at the interruption, eyes taking in her disheveled look; oil smeared on her face and undershirt, shoulder muscles and bicep bulging, plump bottom lip caught between her teeth.

The two of you stare at each other before Powder knocks something over and you blink away the haze before giving Sevika a tight smile. "Hey. Sorry I forgot to text you when I got here, Isha let me in and she was telling me about school."

The woman nods in agreement before walking over and placing a soft kiss to the top of Powder's head as a greeting. Shucking off the rest of her outer layer, she throws them into a hamper in the corner before standing next to the workbench and responding, “It’s all good. No harm done.”

That leaves her in just a t-shirt and cotton shorts, leaving plenty of skin for your eyes to rake over. You don't though, remembering that Powder's presentation is in less than an hour, and she still needs to go through her practice run. Turning away from Sevika, you begin asking the girl questions to double check her knowledge, and the older woman stands there watching you two for a moment in silent admiration.

She continues to take in the way your hand casually touches Powder’s shoulder every time you praise her for a correct answer or how your encouraging smile always lights up when she’s on the right track. It’s clear how much you care about her learning, and it pulls at something deep within Sevika’s chest, feeling grateful you're in their life.

"I'm gonna go take a shower, but I'll be back in time for the call."

Both of you murmur in agreement as Powder continues to run through the exercise, your eyes now tracking Sevika as she crosses the room to the doorway. She can feel your gaze following her the entire time, and it takes everything within her not to smirk at how your stare feels like a caress against her skin.

Half an hour later, Sevika rejoins the two of you in fresh clothes and all traces of dirt and oil wiped away. You take in the sight of her out of the corner of your eye, not trusting yourself to keep from staring yet again, and check your notes to make sure Powder hit all of the key points. Turning to the girl, you ask, "You wanna show your mom the whole thing before they call?"

Powder looks at you first, an excited smile taking over her face at the prospect of getting to see the look on her mother's face, before she shifts her gaze to Sevika, silently asking permission. Sevika nods once, a small grin appearing in the corner of her lips and a soft look in her eyes as she motions for her daughter to begin.

The girl fully dives in, going through the presentation with ease and answering all of the questions asked to the best of her ability. It takes a few minutes before she's finished, and Powder looks between you and Sevika with shining eyes, awaiting your validation.

"You did amazing, babe," Sevika praises warmly, bringing her into a tight hug. "I'm so proud of you and all your hard work." Pulling apart, she turns to you with a grin. "And you. Powder is so lucky to have you as a teacher."

As you shyly brush her off, Powder walks over to her project and begins arranging it for the official thing. Sevika then leans over to you and whispers, “You should be proud too. It’s obvious she learned a lot in your class."

“Thanks, but you should be taking most of the credit.” Sevika’s eyes crinkle at the praise, her expression clearly showing how much it means to her to hear the words spoken out loud.

You sit next to each other on the couch as Powder puts the finishing touches on, both of you watching with identical grins. You then glance at Sevika and take in the slight differences between her appearance from earlier in the day to now, your eyes lingering on a scar on her right forearm and a small bruise on her cheek. Every new thing you realize about her only endears you more and more, but it doesn't scare you as much as it normally would.

The ringing from the computer catches your attention and soon after, Powder is answering the board member with a polite smile. After exchanging pleasantries, she begins explaining her project, much like the first time several weeks ago, but with more conviction. She breezes through the first half with no problem, but after the first question the interviewer asks, Powder's gaze flicks toward you and you mouth the answer. It takes her a second to process it and your hands fidget in your lap as she does.

She's finally able to get the sentence out and when your hands wring together, Sevika places her own over them, calming you down for a second before your heartbeat picks up again. The woman keeps a gentle hold on you the entire time, her thumb rubbing over your knuckles in an attempt to soothe your nerves, but your attention is fixed on Powder. Even though you can see her falter ever so slightly, her answer is so well thought out and articulate, and the words just seem to flow from her mouth effortlessly.

With Powder near the end, Sevika tightens her grip on your hand as her nerves also make an appearance. The girl then begins her closing statement, her shoulders squared and pride gleaming in her eyes. After the presentation ends, you and Sevika wait in bated breath for the feedback. Although this board member was different than the last, they give the same cut and dry answer as before, only letting Powder know that her performance was satisfactory and they would reach out to her teacher with a decision in a week.

Even though she wished for more detailed feedback, Powder was still satisfied with the outcome, taking the result in stride. She turns to you, hands now separated from Sevika's, and hugs you tightly once you stand from the couch. "That was exciting! Kinda killed my vibe at the end when he didn't say much, but I think it went okay."

"It definitely went better than okay," Sevika reassures, patting her daughter's hair. "You kept your composure the entire time, even when he asked you that question you had to think about. That was the best part."

Powder eyes bounce back and forth between the two of you, a pink tint coating her cheeks.

"I couldn't have done it without either of you guys. I'm glad you're in my corner."

She then pulls you both into a group hug, squeezing tight as you and Sevika each wrap an arm around her. After a couple seconds, she releases you from her grip and stands back, patting her stomach. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving."

You both laugh at the girl's shift in mood, her appetite now taking over her thoughts, and you all make your way to the kitchen. Sevika had already started prepping before she joined you earlier, so she was now focused on finishing up as you sit in the living room with the girls. She watches as you easily slip into the conversation, switching between talking to Powder and Isha, then Vi and Caitlyn.

Calling everyone over to the table, Sevika wipes a hand on her Kiss the Cook apron you've come to love before pulling it off and taking a seat. All of you settle in front of the meal, the girls happily going straight for the food as you and Sevika both take an extra moment to soak everything in. Sevika takes notice of how at ease you are around the girls, watching you and Powder's playful banter and how you jokingly chastise Vi for trying to sneak food before everyone has been served.

Sevika feels her chest bloom with each glance in your direction, finding it hard to stay silent every time you throw your head back and laugh, the sound wrapping itself around her heart and making a home. Once everyone has finished eating, the girls all excuse themselves to the living room, leaving the two of you in easy conversation. Sevika stands and begins gathering the leftovers to put away, and you stand up to join her in clearing the table.

Now you’re both standing next to the sink, scrubbing dishes in comfortable silence while the girls chatter amongst themselves, and you let yourself relax in the moment. It’s familiar and domestic in the best way, and you find yourself wishing it could be like this all the time. When you look over at Sevika to make a comment about her fork collection, you see the clock on the wall behind her and let out a small sigh. It catches her attention and she turns to you with a slight furrow between her brows. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," you smile. "It's just that I told Ekko I would go over to rehearse before his presentation, so I should get going." Sevika's face drops and a pang of disappointment shoots through her core, but she's trying her best to maintain normalcy. "Oh, right."

"Thank you for lunch though, it was delicious, as always." You turn around and lean your back against the counter before nudging her shoulder with yours. "The company wasn't too bad either."

The small contact of your shoulder against hers snaps Sevika out of her mini internal crisis, and the smirk you give her makes her chest loosen up a bit. "You're just buttering me up to mooch off my cooking again, aren't you?"

"Maybe. Is it working?"

She can’t help but let a laugh bubble up in the back of her throat. "Annoyingly so."

“Mission accomplished then,” you reply with a beaming smile.

She rolls her eyes before shoving your shoulder with her own, a smirk taking over her features. “Yeah, yeah, you little charmer.”

Sevika then pushes away from the counter, throwing a clean kitchen towel so it hits you in the face. “I bet you sweet talk all your friends that way.”

Pursing your lips as you lightly shake your head, you tell her in a quieter voice, "Only the special ones."

Sevika’s eyes take on a different look when you say that, becoming just a little softer. "I'm honored, then."

You’re both smiling at each other, a slight bit of tension filling in the sliver of space that still remains between you, until a shriek of laughter from the other room reminds you of where you are. Sevika lets out a sheepish chuckle before clearing her throat and nodding towards the living room. "I’m sure the girls will wanna say bye."

The pair of you make your way to the couch, finding Vi and Caitlyn cuddling on one end while Isha and Powder are sitting on the other. "Hey you guys, sorry to break up the party but I have to head out."

This elicits various groans from everyone, but Powder is the first to respond. "Already? But you just got here."

Chuckling, you tell the girl, "I've been here for over two hours, I have to head to Ekko's now."

"I know,” she whines, “it just feels like you just got here." Powder then stands to give you a hug goodbye, thanking you for all your help that day. Isha's next, sending you puppy eyes that threaten to break your resolve. You almost giggle at the look in her eyes, giving her a heartfelt farewell before turning to Vi and Caitlyn. They both wave before the younger of the two gets up and begins walking over.

“It was good seeing you, me and Caitlyn are driving back to campus tomorrow morning so we probably won’t be home again until the summer.”

“Oh! Right, I forgot you had to go back eventually.”

Vi lets out a chuckle and glances back towards the girls on the couch, smiling fondly.

“Me too. I hate having to leave them.”

She looks back toward you and Sevika, eyes bouncing between the two of you with a look in them that you can’t quite place.

“But they’re in good hands.”

Vi then reaches towards her shirt sleeve, adjusting it as she lets out a small yawn.

“Plus, someone’s gotta be the first one in this family to graduate college, so, y’know.”

Sevika scoffs at that, ruffling Vi’s hair with a smile. “Okay, smartass, I went to trade school.”

“Ugh, Sev, I just finished styling it!” The teenager runs a hand through her locks, trying her best to bring it back to its previous state.

The two of you stand there giggling as Vi fixes her appearance, standing up straight and facing your direction when she’s done. You can see her hands fidgeting out of the corner of your eye, and you brace yourself for what she’s going to say.

“It was really nice to get to know you. And again, I’m so sorry about everything, pretty sure Powder’s never gonna let me live that down,” she sighs.

You crack a smile, patting the girl on the shoulder and looking her in the eye.

“I appreciate that, Vi. It takes a really mature person to admit when they’ve done something wrong, especially when it comes to the people they care about. Hopefully we can get to know each other even better the next time you’re here.”

The teenager sheepishly nods at that and sticks a hand out in your direction. Instantly grasping it, she pulls you into a hug and you let out a noise of surprise before embracing her back. As she pulls away, she stops next to your ear so only you can hear her and whispers, “Take good care of her, okay?”

A shocked look settles on your face but you quickly school it before Sevika can see you, and you give Vi a single, firm nod, stomach twisting at the implication. She shoots you a satisfied grin before turning back to the living room and leaving you and Sevika standing together. The other woman clears her throat and looks in your direction before gesturing to the doorway.

Shooting one final glance towards the girls in the living room, you follow Sevika to the front door, slowly slipping your shoes on as she stands there holding your coat and bag. The look on her face mirrors the one her youngest just gave you, but your other obligations are calling your name. As you grab your jacket, Sevika wordlessly helps you put it on as if this was something you two did often. Once you’re all set, she stands there with her thumbs hooked into her belt loops, looking as adorable as ever. There’s no hesitation this time as you slip your arms around her and settle into her chest, feeling her muscular arms embrace your frame. The two of you stay that way for a long moment, simply enjoying the way the other feels.

Your phone buzzing catches your attention, and when you look down at it, you see that it’s just past the time you said you’d be at Ekko’s.

“Shit, I have to go. I was supposed to be there already.”

Looking at the other woman, you give her a sad smile as she slowly nods, knowing your time together has officially come to an end. “Of course, I hope it goes well.”

“Me too, I really hope both of them get through.” Hoisting your bag higher onto your shoulder, you turn towards the door and turn the knob before opening it. A nervous feeling settles into your stomach as you decide whether or not to turn back around, but before you can talk yourself out of it, you spin towards Sevika and press a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, surprising you both.

You whisper a “See you Monday” against her lips before scurrying off to your car, tossing your things on the passenger seat and driving off without looking back.

Sevika is still standing in the doorway, stunned as she holds a hand to her mouth. Lost in a daze, she finally comes back down to earth and shuts the door before leaning her forehead against it. If only she had realized what you did faster, she would’ve caught you and gave you a proper sendoff. Sighing, she presses a hand against her chest and feels the way her heart is beating faster than before, like a schoolgirl on the playground. She laughs to herself before walking back to the living room, shaking her head at the fact that you beat her to the punch.

You arrive at Ekko’s house in a trance-like state, stunned at your own actions. Yes, you had openly flirted with Sevika before, but not only was it usually under the influence of alcohol, it was much easier to say all those things when you weren’t feeling her warmth underneath your fingertips like that. Your mouth hasn’t stopped tingling since you left, the sensation of her soft skin replaying over and over in your head. Once you reach the front door and Ekko’s mother lets you in, you snap yourself out of it and tell your mind to focus for the next couple of hours before you can go home and bask in the memory.

Thankfully, the practice and the presentation both go smoothly, leaving you and Ekko both optimistic for the results of their decision. His parents thank you profusely for your time and effort, and you promise to let them know as soon as the board alerts you of their decision. Making your way back to your car, you settle in and take a deep breath before turning the engine on and begin driving home, eager to let yourself fully revel in the echo of this afternoon.

The rest of that weekend passes by without a peep from Sevika and you’re now worried that the kiss upset her. Little do you know that it's been on a 24/7 loop in her head, leaving no room for any other thoughts.

Monday morning comes with a quickness, and you’ve decided to not reach out to the woman for fear of pushing her further away. Sevika’s in a similar boat, the kiss never straying too far from the forefront of her mind. She’s unsure of how calling or texting would come across, so she’s simply waiting until the afternoon when it's time for her to pick up Powder.

Since you're waiting to hear back from the committee, there's no more after school sessions unless she moves on to the next round, so you're surprised when Powder walks into your room after the end of day bell rings. "Hey Teach."

"Powder! I wasn't expecting you today."

She grins, rubbing a hand on the back of her neck and looking sheepish before glancing over her shoulder and closing the door. "Yeah, I actually wanted to talk to you about something. Do you have a few minutes?"

You round your desk and lean back against it with a gentle smile. "Of course. What's up?"

"Well, um..." The girl sighs and closes her eyes. "This is so embarrassing to say."

You wait for her to continue, curiosity now piqued. Her next sentence rushes out all as one word and it takes you a second to decipher what exactly she said.

"I have a crush on Ekko and I wanted to know if he's said anything about me to you."

After the words process in your brain, you have to bite back a smile before you choose how to reply. "Well, Ekko hasn't said anything to me exactly, but I can see the way he acts around you, and I'd bet he feels the same way.”

Powder lights up almost instantly at that, her cheeks tinged pink. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. Actually, when I told him you also got accepted into the second round a month ago, he seemed pretty happy about it."

The girl bites the inside of her cheek at your explanation, and you think it's sweet that she came to you to talk about it. She really trusts you.

You cross your arms and shoot her a smile, tilting your head a bit. "So, are you going to ask him out?"

Her eyes widen and she quickly shakes her head. "No! No way. If he likes me, he has to say something first."

Because Powder had closed the door and you had music playing before she arrived, you don’t hear the two pairs of shoes in the hallway approaching your room. Right as she reaches for the door handle, Sevika hears your voice and something in her gut tells her to wait, so she holds Isha back from the door. She listens as you explain to Powder how having feelings for someone feels, and how to go about approaching them, if they choose to. A small smile graces her lips as you describe exactly how she feels, down to the last detail.

"You know, sometimes both people are waiting for the other to say something, and then no one ever does and they move on without ever knowing. I would say it's better to get rejected than live in that doubt."

Powder looks deep in thought for a second before letting out a sigh. "I guess you're right. I'm just really nervous, what if he doesn't like me, y'know?"

A small smile cracks through, and you lean your head back before looking over at the teenager. "Believe me Powder, I have been there. More times than I'd like to admit, but I always felt better after having a solid answer, even if it wasn't the one I wanted."

“It doesn’t have to be right away, either. You can feel the situation out for a bit before deciding.” You continue, easing the girl’s nerves, and Powder lets out a noise of relief as you talk, a weight slipping off of her shoulders.

She then rubs a hand across her forehead. "Yeah, I think I'll just try and do that. It kind of feels better to have said it out loud, y'know?"

"Yeah, I definitely do. It's like all those thoughts are bouncing around your brain and it's hard to make sense of them until you tell someone else about them, right?"

The girl chuckles and looks down at her feet before looking back at you with a smile. "Yeah, it is. Thanks for this, by the way. I don't think I would've said anything for a long while."

"Anytime, kid. I know plenty about that kind of stuff, the good and the bad, so if you have any more questions, don't hesitate to come ask me, alright?"

She nods along, a look of utter relief on her face now.

"Yeah, I think I will."

At that, the girl finally begins to step away from your desk, clearly feeling more confident now than at the beginning of this talk. At that moment, Sevika decides to make her presence known and knocks on the door before opening it and crossing over the threshold.

"Hi..."

You freeze upon seeing the woman in front of you, immediately thinking about the last time you saw her. Isha rushes in and hugs your legs, causing you to bend down and embrace her. Before you or Sevika can say another word, Powder breaks the silence.

"Hey guys! I was just telling Teach about my...project."

Sevika slightly raises a brow at her daughter, deciding not to give away that she heard a large part of the conversation. "Right."

The woman then looks over at you and a nervous feeling settles in your stomach, not knowing what to expect. You both stand there unmoving, and Powder's eyes flit between the two of you, feeling the shift in the room. Thankfully, Isha lets Sevika know she has to use the bathroom and Powder takes advantage of the opportunity to take her, leaving the pair of you alone.

"Look, about the other day–"

"I meant to call you–"

Both of you begin speaking at the same time, and you gesture for the other to speak first before Sevika insists you go. You take a deep breath and gather your thoughts, still feeling anxious about what might have happened.

"I just wanted to apologize. I don't know what came over me but I shouldn't have just kissed you like that, I'm sorry if it made you uncomfortable."

Sevika furrows her brow and looks at you for a moment in disbelief before letting out a soft laugh.

"Uncomfortable is actually the last word I'd use to describe how I feel about that."

You blink a couple of times, thrown off by Sevika's response.

"Well then…what would you say?"

Sevika rubs a hand on her thigh and sits atop one of the tables, avoiding your gaze.

"A bit unexpected," she looks up now to catch your eye, "but definitely something I'd be interested in experiencing a few more times."

Your throat bobs as you register what she's telling you, and suddenly the room feels very warm. "Oh."

She gives you a cheeky smirk and crosses her arms, still leaning against the table. "Yeah, oh is right. That kiss definitely had me thinking about it for a while." Now it's your turn to avoid eye contact, and the both of you sit there in a semi-awkward silence for a few moments. Sevika then finally gets up and walks closer to you, a sly smile on her face.

You can feel your heart beginning to race from the way she’s looking at you, and you let out a breath of air as she leans closer. "I-"

She brings a hand to your hip and you let out a sharp gasp. Sevika grins at the sound, her thumb rubbing a small circle there. "See? You're not the only one who can play dirty."

A familiar voice down the hallway alerts you that your timeframe is running out, but before you can move, Sevika swoops down and presses a firm kiss to your cheek, causing your eyes to flutter shut. She pulls away just in time for the girls to enter the room, stepping back just as the two of you enter their line of sight.

Powder gives the two of you a look, a wary but knowing expression on her face before she turns and walks over to her bag. Sevika catches your eye and winks at you while her daughter's back is turned, a blatantly smug grin on her face. When Powder turns back to face your direction, she grabs Isha's hand and clears her throat, waving to you.

"Thanks for the advice, Teach, I'm definitely gonna apply it to the…experiment.”

You try your best to compose yourself before sending Powder an encouraging smile. "Of course, anytime. Good luck with the presentation." With that, your student shoots you one last nod before she and Isha leave the classroom, Sevika trailing not far behind them. She stops once the girls are outside, turning around and looking over her shoulder at you. "I'm sure I'll see you around."

Shaking your head at her, the woman lets out a small laugh and disappears down the hall. You throw your head back and groan, in disbelief that Sevika managed to turn the tables on you for once.

That week passes by without any more appearances from Sevika as she decided to pick Powder up on time, so all you have to go off of are the occasional voice note or picture of a book she recommends. Friday afternoon, as soon as the final bell rings, so does your phone, and the name on your screen causes your heart to skip a beat.

Pressing the green button, you raise the phone to your ear and answer the call. "Hello?"

"Hi. I called to ask what you were doing tonight." Sevika's low drawl fills your ear and your heart picks up the second you hear it. "The girls wanted to know if you were free for dinner and a movie at the house, it's been a while."

You try to hide the smile in your voice, not wanting to give Sevika the satisfaction, but it seeps through anyway. "Yeah, that sounds nice actually. It'd be nice to get a break from grading for a bit."

Sevika lets out a low hum and you can hear the cheerfulness in her voice.

"I bet. It's homemade pizza and ice cream night, so you're in for a real treat."

You laugh out at the end of that, thinking about just how domestic this situation is becoming between you two, and Sevika continues.

"Come over around 6, okay?"

"Okay, see you then. Bye."

"Bye, miss."

Looking at the clock on your laptop, you see that you have a couple of hours to finish your work before it would be time to head home and drop your stuff off. The time flies by and before you know it, you're in your car headed over. It feels juvenile, but the entire drive over your mind is playing out every possible scenario, trying to prepare for any situation that could arise. When you pull up to the familiar house and take in the sight of a light on in through the living room window, you can't help the giddy feeling that swells up in your chest as you get out and walk up to the door.

The sound of the doorbell rings throughout the house and you hear the padding of feet approaching the door. Powder opens it with a wide grin on her face, the excited teen bouncing from side to side in her pajamas. "Hi Teach, come in."

Entering the house, you're immediately greeted by a wonderful smell coming from the kitchen, and you notice how the entire house is spotless as you slip off your shoes. Powder shuts the door with a click and the two of you head towards the back of the house.

You see Sevika standing at the stove wearing her signature apron over a tight t-shirt and grey sweats that hang low on her hips. She has a look of concentration on her face as she inspects a tray of pizza she just pulled from the oven. Turning around to look over her shoulder, Sevika grows a smile at the sight of you. "You made it."

"Barely," you say playfully as you walk up behind her. "Traffic was a nightmare on the way over." Sevika gives a small hum of acknowledgement, eyes running over you quickly, taking in your outfit before she places the pizza back on the rack.

"You look nice." She lets her gaze linger on your form, and it suddenly feels much hotter in the small kitchen. Clearing your throat, you give your attention to the tray of food instead. "Thanks, I didn't realize everyone else would be so casual."

Sevika actually giggles at that. "Yeah, I guess I forgot to mention the dress code."

You can't help but smile at the sound of her laugh, and you take a moment to enjoy the rare reaction. "If I had known, I would have come in sweatpants and a stained t-shirt like a reasonable person."

Sevika lets out another soft laugh and turns around. She leans her hip back against the counter, giving you a full view of her casual outfit and the way it hangs off of her body.

A ding from the oven rings out right then, announcing that dinner is ready, and the two girls stroll into the kitchen with wide grins on their faces, hungry and ready to eat. Sevika starts moving the pans to the table and you begin grabbing plates and glasses for everyone. Isha and Powder sit down, conversating amongst themselves before the two of you join them.

The entire time, Sevika steals glances in your direction, taking in every aspect of you while making sure everyone has pizza on their plate. You glance up at her, catching her in the act halfway through serving Isha and she shakes her head before looking away, ignoring your knowing smile.

Once dinner is over, Sevika makes quick work of clearing the table, sending the girls to the living room to pick a movie. When you see her grabbing multiple bowls from the pantry, you hurry over to help her before she drops something.

"You really didn't have to–" Sevika looks up, seeing you grab the rest of the dishes from her, and shoots you a look of mock frustration. "Oh whatever, I'm not going to turn down the help."

You laugh and give her a sly smile. "I thought you enjoyed being the tough one?"

Sevika snorts at that, nodding her head towards the fridge. “Gonna grab the ice cream.”

Once she pulls the freezer door open, she continues on with her previous thought. "I never said I had a problem receiving help, I just don't like to ask for it."

Surprised at the slip of information, you simply hum and hand her bowl after bowl to scoop the dessert into, conversation lulling into a comfortable silence. When the final bowl of ice cream is filled, Sevika moves to put the container back in the fridge and you both carry the food over to the girls, who are sitting together on the floor arguing about what to put on. Setting the dessert down on the coffee table, Sevika clears her throat to grab their attention, and the girls look up at you two.

"Alright, so what are we watching?"

"I wanna watch an action movie." Powder states, leaning back against the couch.

Isha shakes her head firmly and signs to her mom I want to watch a cartoon.

Sevika looks amused, resting her weight against the wall and folding her arms.

"Why don't we watch a cartoon first?"

Powder begins to protest before Sevika signs behind Isha's back so the girl can't hear her. Just wait until she falls asleep and then put on the other movie.

The older girl lets out an Ohh, okay before turning back to the TV and scrolling through the cartoon options as you and Sevika take your places on the couch. Once she lands on something Isha agrees to, the movie begins playing and you settle into your seat, getting comfortable when you feel warmth pressed into you.

​​Sevika is sitting right next to you, her knee pressed against yours as her body relaxes. She's doing her best to focus on the screen but finds herself drifting closer and closer towards you. The warm weight of her hand suddenly landing on your knee startles you for a second, but you quickly relax into it, letting her thumb run over it in small circles. Isha sits on the floor, curled up onto a pillow as she begins to doze off with the sound of the TV playing softy now.

Right on cue, not even fifteen minutes into the movie, Isha's soft snores can be heard over the movie and Sevika pauses it before scooping the little girl up in her arms and carrying her to her room. When she returns, Powder's already switched it to her choice and is glued to the screen, much to Sevika's amusement.

As she sits back down, Sevika notices you’re scrolling on your phone and right when she opens her mouth to jokingly tell you no phones during the movie, you turn towards her with a nervous look on your face.

“Um, they emailed me with the results.”

Suddenly, Powder whips around with a frantic look on her face.

“What did they say?”

Looking between her and Sevika, you gulp lightly before shaking your head.

“I haven’t opened it yet, we should all look together.”

Sevika’s jaw clenches as she takes a deep breath. “Yeah, okay.”

She gestures for you to move closer before you hand the phone to Powder, understanding this is her moment. On your other side, the girl in question scoots closer to you as she taps on the email, preparing for the answer that can potentially make or break her future. She skims through it, reading the message aloud before the phone slips from her hand and she cradles her head in her hands.

Your heart is in your throat at her reaction and Sevika speaks up with nerves lacing her throat.

"Well what did they say?!"

Sevika reaches for your fallen phone, finding it and raising the screen to her face right as Powder speaks up.

"I...I got in."

Letting out a shaky sigh of relief, Sevika leans her head back against the wall and you look over at the girl next to you to find that she's crying. Before you can say anything or even move, Powder’s throwing herself at you in a hug, squeezing tightly as she buries her head into your shoulder. You can barely make out the words she speaks through her tears, but you feel her grip tighten with the next few words. “Thank you. So much.”

Suddenly, you feel two strong arms envelop you both as Sevika pulls the both of you into a tight hug, a rush of emotions coursing through all of your veins. You hold onto Powder, both of you crying as Sevika takes a deep breath, attempting to calm herself down. Eventually, you all pull away, Powder letting out a shaky laugh before wiping at her face. "Sorry, I just...man, I didn't expect to get this emotional about it."

Sevika pats the girl on the shoulder, a warm but watery smile on her face. “Don’t apologize, this is a huge deal, you have the right to react however you want.”

A fresh set of tears appear in Powder's eyes as she collapses into her mom's arms, the two of them embracing as you watch with a heart full of emotion, wiping the tears from your eyes. After a minute, the teenager pulls away with a start before jumping up from the couch and snatching her phone from the floor.

"I have to go call Vi!" She then sprints in the direction of her room, leaving the two of you behind.

Before Sevika can say anything to you, you're scrambling for your phone until Sevika hands it to you with a questioning look.

"Ekko, I have to see if he made it through."

Scanning the email for names, your chest swells as you read his name alongside Powder's, a choked sob escaping your throat as you drop your face into your hands, exhaling shakily.

"He got in."

Sevika's heart constricts from the sound of joy and relief in your voice and without hesitation, she pulls you toward her, wrapping her arms securely around your body. A soft chuckle leaves her mouth as she holds you tightly, her head coming to rest against your shoulder, taking in the moment of triumph.

"Oh thank goodness."

Before she realizes what's happening, you're cradling her face with both hands and pulling her into a kiss, tasting salt from the tears falling down your face. As soon as your lips come in contact with hers, Sevika melts against you, hands wrapping themselves around your waist and pulling your bodies flush together. She’s unable to describe the feeling in her chest, a combination of relief and excitement bubbling up with something else.

As soon as the kiss starts, it ends with a gasp and wide eyes as you pull away, a shaky hand covering your mouth.

"Sevika, I am so sorry–"

"Stop apologizing."

She cuts you off before pulling you back in, claiming your mouth in a bruising kiss, the floodgates of her emotions finally bursting open and leaving her inhibitions behind. You’re immediately lost in the kiss, unable to stop yourself from responding with just as much fervour. The hand on your waist squeezes you close, and she pushes against your lower back, wanting to press into you that much more. Only once a soft moan slips out from between the pair of you do you separate, matching dazed expressions on both of your faces.

You’re both trying to regain your footing, chests rising and falling with heavy breaths. Sevika looks down at your lips, the swollen shape of them a result of her own doing. Her hands slide from the small of your back to your hips, holding you tightly in place. She looks at you for a moment, wide eyed, until a smirk worms its way across her face, and then she can't help the laugh that bubbles up.

The sound rings throughout the room and you can't help but laugh alongside her, completely bewildered by the fact that you're sitting here with this woman, in this position. You can feel her eyes roaming your features at the same time she begins to run a hand up and down your back, and you can't help but lean into the touch.

"I've wanted to do that for a bit now," she whispers into the space between you.

Your heart flutters and you gently nod, bringing a hand up to run it over her jaw.

"Me too."

Sevika captures your hand in hers, bringing it to her mouth to press a kiss against your knuckles. She's openly staring at you now, completely entranced, and you can't help the soft inhale from the way her gaze is making you feel.

She takes her time tracing the lines of your palm with the gentle pad of her thumb, her other hand trailing across the soft fabric of your shirt, coming down to rest on your thigh. Her eyes dart between both of your hands, and she suddenly speaks up, eyes flicking up to yours with a forced smile as she does so. “This...we can continue this after tonight, right? You're not gonna wake up tomorrow and decide you're over it?" Over me.

Shaking your head with a frown, you can see the hurt flash through her eyes before you cradle a scarred cheek in your palm, seeing right through the mask she tries to slip back on.

“Of course not.”

A choked laugh slips from her lips and she tries to lighten the mood with a joke.

"Good, cause that would be pretty embarrassing, to be honest."

You don't like how she tries to brush off her vulnerability so easily, but she cradles you in her arms before you can protest, feeling a soft kiss pressed against your forehead. The two of you sit like that for a while longer, stealing kisses every now and then. Finding a good moment to bring up what's on your mind, you break the silence with a gentle tone.

"Sevika."

"Hm?"

"Can you look at me really quick?"

The woman tenses up before releasing you from her hold and shifting to face you. Her hands are fidgeting in her lap and you grab them softly, causing her to make eye contact with you.

"I don't think we should try to figure us out or define it right now."

A wounded look briefly crosses her features but you squeeze her hands to keep her from moving away.

"But...that doesn't mean that I don't plan on sticking around." You exhale deeply before running a thumb over her knuckles in a soothing manner.

"With the finals now coming up, all of my extra time and energy is going to be focused on that, and it wouldn't be fair to you or me to try to add this dynamic in the mix."

Her head drops and you instantly cup her chin to pick it back up and look into her eyes.

"But once it's over, you will have my full attention, I promise you."

Thinking about your statement for a second, you quickly correct yourself. "Well, as much as I can give you while still being there for my students, but you know what I mean."

That finally pulls a genuine smile from her, and she straightens up before cradling the back of your neck with a firm hand, sparkling eyes bouncing between your own.

"Sorry for all the melodrama, I just..." she exhales deeply, "Fuck, I was not expecting you at all."

"I know exactly what you mean."

Tapping the screen of your phone and seeing the time, you sigh and begin moving away from Sevika, knowing you should head home before you take this any further. Her jaw clenches but she lets you go anyway, watching you stand up and begin searching for your belongings while she watches. When everything is in order, you approach her and she rises to meet you, expression slightly guarded despite her best efforts.

"Walk me out?"

Sevika nods and does her best to compose herself. Her heart rate is elevated, but she can't find it in herself to be upset with you. You want to be sure of this when the time comes, and she understands that more than anyone. Following behind you, she keeps her hands in her pockets, shoulders slightly slumped. Once your shoes and coat are on, you face Sevika again with a lopsided smile, trying to cover up the sadness you feel at having to leave.

"See you next week?"

Sevika nods again, her jaw twitching as she stuffs down the anxious feeling settling in her chest.

"Yeah, okay."

After giving her a sympathetic look, and before you can think twice, your hands are on her cheeks and you're pulling her face to yours. Sevika lets out a quiet gasp, but she doesn't hesitate to lean into the kiss, her body coming to envelop you as if to keep you there. When you finally part, the both of you are panting, and you take a moment to rest your forehead against hers.

"I have to go."

"Uh huh, you said that already."

Sevika's voice is a bit hoarse, but she does her best to keep composure, not wanting to lose control of her emotions again. She moves away and holds the front door open for you, the brisk night air rushing in. You give her a final glance, and she tries to memorize the way you look, wanting to engrave this moment in her memory. But before you can fully cross the threshold, Sevika catches you by the wrist, pulling you back to face her.

"Hey."

The serious expression on her face catches you off guard, and you cock your head to the side with curiosity. She takes a step forward, crowding you against the cool door frame, and she keeps your gaze locked with her own. One of her hands rests on the wood behind you, trapping you there with her, and she takes the opportunity to lean down and bury her face into the crook of your neck. Sevika takes a deep breath and leaves a kiss over your pulse point, the fluttering of your heart causing her to smirk against your skin.

"I know you have to leave but...I just needed to do that."

After another moment, she lifts her head back up to look into your eyes again, and you can see the emotions shining through her gaze.

"Be careful driving home, okay?"

Sevika lets the hand trapping you drop and places it over your lower back, keeping you pressed between her and the wall as she leans in and presses a light kiss to your forehead. You don't say anything, not trusting yourself to speak, and just nod in agreement, fighting the urge to stay right there with her. Sevika sighs before stepping back, her hand leaving your body and falling to her side, empty.

With a shaky inhale, you step off the front porch and look back at her with a small smile before getting into your car and pulling away. Sevika stands there for a moment longer, listening to the sound of the engine fade into the night before closing the door and turning around to rest her back against it, sinking to the floor.

She is so completely fucked.

taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @vii-v @runawaybaby3 @ferxanda @sevikas-whore @vikashoneybee @sleepingwasp @savedforlaterr @lia-winther @bebadoobie @nymanas @dyketoast

[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 she wasn't sure when 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 realised. 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 bathroom, stockpiled with everything she'd need for the birth. 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 recognise 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 an unloved, 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.)

“I don't expect him to, I know what I really am. 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.)

(Maya is not having it; she attempts to leap for the camera.) “Evie, gimme!”

(It's Tommy who hoots.) “Oi, trouble. Jesus, gonna scream the street down.”

(She squeals back in anger.) “Ah, no, no. Gimme!”

(Meanwhile, 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, no! Evie!”

“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, you piece of shit. 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. Braiding her hair and stuff. 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 it 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, look at that. 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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[fernwehreader]

The Lasting Impression of "A Thing of Secret, Lovely Beauty"

I was thinking more on the “thing of secret, lovely beauty” phrasing and the final words in Azriel’s ACOSF bonus chapter.  For SJM to end the chapter with these words, as a callback to their prior use early on, I believe she is hitting us over the head so we pay close attention to them.  They are literally the last words we get from Azriel’s one-and-only POV so far.  That alone should add an air of gravitas to them.  So, I want to explore why the end of the bonus chapter matters and why it indicates that we’ll see the continued development of Azriel’s relationship with Gwyn in their book (which I believe will be ACOTAR5).  

But, bear with me a bit as I first touch on considerations that lead up to Azriel’s POV and help support the significance of those final words . . . 

I know there is criticism from some readers who claim there is “nothing to Gwynriel”--that there are no developing feelings between Azriel and Gwyn during ACOSF, he never thinks of wanting her like he wants Elain, he wouldn’t even go as far as to call Gwyn a friend, etc.

While I disagree that there is no proof of something shifting between the two of them (and I’ll explain why in more detail below), I would agree that there is nothing overtly romantic established between Azriel and Gwyn by the end of the novel.  However, for me, that’s a moot point.  And it’s also a strong indicator that there is “something to Gwynriel.”  

Although ACOTAR is published in the fantasy genre, it also has a foot planted firmly in the romance genre--and there is an unspoken agreement between author and reader that, for romance arcs, the romantic development happens on the page and is experienced through the POV of at least one, but ideally both, members of the pairing.  This is necessary for readers to understand authentic connection, to allow the relationship space to breathe, and to provide intimacy for emotional investment.  Otherwise, the romance can feel unearned or like a plot device.  

SJM has already been on record that each ACOTAR book moving forward will focus on a different romantic pairing.  So, assuming Azriel’s book is next based on ACOSF and HOFAS in particular, why on earth would SJM lean into an end game romance for Azriel during Nesta and Cassian’s book?  There would then be little room for growth or challenge in Azriel’s own book--no tension.  How incredibly boring.  Plus, I’ve been reading SJM since 2012, and if there is one thing I’ve learned when it comes to analyzing her writing, it’s that she loves giving characters the space to change along with a healthy dose of tension.  Characterization (and to a certain extent plot) is all about tension.  For example: 

what a character WANTS vs. what a character NEEDS 

where a character STARTS vs. where a character ENDS

what a character BELIEVES vs. a character confronting a TRUTH

We can clearly see how Azriel’s tension is being established within each of these examples--to foreshadow both his personal growth and his romantic arc with a potential mate in Gwyn.  When it comes to the developing shift in how Azriel begins to see Gwyn, SJM says everything we need to know in the bonus chapter.  We know he's noticing not just her physical features (ex: her eyes, her “hair shining like molten metal”), but who she is as a person (ex: how much she has changed, her “charming irreverence”).

By the time we reach the bonus chapter/ Solstice in the ACOSF timeline, Azriel is also no longer observing Gwyn from a distance.  There HAS been a change and plenty of indicators that something is beginning to shift between them.  It isn’t romantic, yet; but, it honestly shouldn’t be if we’re playing by the romance genre rules.  What it should be, however, is a clear signal that something natural and genuine is happening between two characters who are slowly beginning to understand each other.

As a reminder, when we first see Azriel and Gwyn interact, it’s during training when Azriel has been brought on board to help Cassian with the increase in new priestess recruits:

“Gwyn had been distracted today--one eye on the other side of the ring.  Cassian could only assume she was watching his brother, who had given Gwyn a small smile of greeting upon arrival.  Gwyn hadn’t returned it. . . . She’d said nothing about it during the lesson.  Only glanced every now and then toward Az, who remained dutifully focused on his charges.”

We have no reason to believe that Azriel and Gwyn have had any interactions since Sangravah (although I guess their book could contradict that).  So, if we’re to assume this is the first time they have seen each other since then, it’s a notable moment.  It establishes a baseline for Azriel and Gwyn so that the reader can begin to measure their developing growth and comfort with one another.  

That first growth measurement takes place during Azriel’s bonus chapter.  We eventually end with the final words of Azriel’s POV, where the image of Gwyn’s joy is “a thing of secret, lovely beauty” to Azriel that he buries “down deep, where it glowed quietly.”  That seems like quite a jump on the measuring stick from the first interaction at training.

So, how does this jump happen?  Well, friends, it happens very gradually and naturally--almost as if there is intentionality behind it.  

Azriel goes from:

→ "dutifully focused on his charges" during their first interaction at training;

→ to turning his attention away from his charges ("Gwyn let out a high-pitched noise that was nothing but pure excitement. Azriel, on the other side of the ring with the rest of the priestesses, half-turned at the sound, brows high.");

→ to moving closer into Gwyn's physical space by training her and Emerie together while Nessian were on their hike:

“Az told me you also started preliminary work with the steel blades while we were gone.”  He nodded to Gwyn and Emerie, the former glancing toward Azriel, who watched in silence.  “So show me what you learned.  Cut the ribbon in two.” “We slice the ribbon in two,” Emerie asked Gwyn warily, “and our training is complete?” Gwyn again glanced to Azriel, who drifted closer.

→ to what we can infer was one-on-one training with Gwyn alone when Azriel "hadn't lingered" when winnowing Nesta and Cassian to the human lands because "Gwyn wanted him to go over dagger handling";

→ to, finally, the bonus chapter in Azriel’s POV where Gwyn catches him by surprise (in more ways than one), and they share a moment of soft laughs and contentment before he envisions her eyes lighting up upon receiving his gift--where the image of Gwyn glows quietly inside his chest as “a thing of secret, lovely beauty.”

So not only are those final words an interesting literary juxtaposition in a bonus chapter filled with incredible juxtapositions, but they hold significant meaning.  They show the reader that this is not coming from left field; nor is it a casual gesture for Azriel in the name of just being kind.  A progression has taken place since that first meeting where Gwyn did not return his smile.  Canon tells us that Azriel is one of our most stoic characters.  So this is intentional, even if he tries to brush off the action to Clotho, our weaver of Fate--who “was smart enough to see through his deflection.”

Now, I mentioned earlier that a romantic arc in the romance genre needs to develop on the page within the characters’ POVs. So we are in luck, then, that we’ve been gifted a tiny sliver of Azriel's own POV.  Therefore, we truly should be paying it close attention since it can act as a sort of prologue to what we can anticipate for his actual book.  

So what does that POV ultimately tell us?  I wrote a bonus chapter analysis to help answer this, so I won’t rehash all of it here.  But the last words of Azriel’s POV are, in my opinion, important enough to warrant an analysis of their own.  If I were SJM, and I knew that it was going to be a long while before we got Azriel’s POV again (with two Crescent City novels and a 5-year gap in between), I’d make those last words count.  That’s our “lasting impression.”

And when we think about the lasting impression that Azriel is leaving us with, it has nothing to do with Elain.  It has nothing to do with his anger at Rhys.  It even has nothing to do with his own self-loathing.  

That lasting impression is entirely, and intentionally, focused on Gwyn.  

And, I don’t think we can truly understand the weight of that without considering everything that leads up to those final words--how the refusal to return a smile turns into gradual awareness of each other, which then leads into personal training sessions and a Solstice encounter that shows Azriel contentedly (and selflessly) thinking about Gwyn.

If Azriel’s POV left us there (thinking about Gwyn as “a thing of secret, lovely beauty”) with no other interactions or acknowledgements of what is shifting between him and Gwyn, I believe that alone would be enough to tether the reader to what’s to come in Azriel’s book.  But that’s not what happens in ACOSF.  As I mentioned before, the bonus chapter is just the first measurement we take in how much growth has happened since that first interaction at training.

We must not forget that after Azriel’s POV and the acknowledgement of what has now settled inside his chest, it doesn’t just end there.  Instead, we get the following:

Cassian glanced over at Az, but his attention was fixed on the young priestess, admiration and quiet encouragement shining from his face.

Azriel went wholly still, as if he, too, had felt the shift.  As if he, too, were aware that far larger forces peered into that training ring as Gwyn moved.

Gwyn asked Az, her teal eyes bright, “What do we get if we finish the course?”  Az’s shadows danced around him.  “Since there’s no chance in hell any of you will finish the course, we didn’t bother to get a prize.”  Boos sounded.  Gwyn lifted her chin in challenge.  “We look forward to proving you wrong.”

Gwyn threw Azriel a withering stare as she strode past him.  “See you tomorrow, Shadowsinger,” she tossed over a shoulder.  Az stared after her, brows high with amusement. . . . "Remember how Gwyn was with the ribbon?"  Nesta winked and clapped the shadowsinger on the shoulder.  "You’re the new ribbon, Az.”

She [Gwyn] wanted to be the first.  Wanted Nesta and Emerie and her to be the ones who wiped the smirks from Azriel’s and Cassian’s faces.  Especially Azriel’s.  

And when Gwyn reached the finish line, bloody and panting and grinning so wildly her teal eyes glowed like a sunlit sea, she only extended her battered hand to Azriel.  “Well?”

“There are plenty of other unspeakable things that could be happening to her,” Cassian said, voice thickening.  “To Emerie and Gwyn.”  The shadows deepened around Azriel, his Siphons gleaming like cobalt fire.

Succeeding in the Blood Rite didn’t mean the training stopped.  No, after she [Nesta] and her friends told Cassian and Azriel most of the details of their ordeal, the two commanders had compiled a long list of mistakes that the three of them had made that needed to be corrected . . . So they would keep training, until they were all well and truly Valkyries.

This is a litany of proof for how much Azriel and Gwyn continue to circle around each other after Azriel’s POV as they observe, interact, and think of one another.  It’s not stagnant.  They are not just sharing the same “charged glances” time after time.  It’s also why I view any “the bonus chapter doesn’t matter” arguments as unserious--to believe so is to discount everything that comes before it, the lasting impression of the bonus chapter itself, and all the moments listed above which come after it.  

In my opinion, there is no denying the gentle arranging of chess pieces within ACOSF in particular, aided in large part by Azriel’s own POV.  There is a direct sense of narrative continuity which can now be picked up immediately after ACOSF in regards to Azriel and Gwyn.  The seeds have been planted and when they begin to bloom in the next book, the reader feels like they were there when everything started.  So, as Azriel goes on his healing journey (in which there is A LOT of healing that needs to happen), the hope is that we also see how he and Gwyn grow together and challenge each other--and it will feel earned as a reader because we will have seen the journey evolve.  

But, none of this can happen without the final moments of that bonus chapter.  Just as important as Azriel noting Gwyn’s “secret, lovely beauty,” we must also note that Azriel “buried the image down deep, where it glowed quietly.”  It suggests to us that he isn’t ready to consciously acknowledge the depth of what Gwyn might mean to him.  He lives in shadows (both literally and metaphorically), and we have seen that emotional vulnerability does not come naturally to Azriel.  Burying that image of Gwyn is perhaps a defense mechanism–protecting that fragile, new feeling from scrutiny, rejection, or even his own self-doubt.  And as readers who have spent a great deal of time with Azriel, we know how much he struggles with these things (and will hopefully be working through them in his novel).  

However!  The fact that Azriel treasures the image at all, means that it matters deeply to him.  He hides it away, instead of discarding it altogether.  He is just not ready to look at it head-on yet.  And, honestly, I find that exciting and THAT makes me want to keep reading about Azriel and Gwyn.  It makes me want to scrutinize their shared moments after Solstice, as well as the tiny clues which may be present in HOSAB AND HOFAS (I’m doing a Crescent City re-read now, and trust that I have lots of new thoughts, lol).  

In closing, for the reader, this act of internal burial is a quiet promise: there is something blooming beneath the surface, even if Azriel can’t say it out loud yet.  It keeps us emotionally tethered to his journey, because we know he feels more than he lets on. Once again, it is our lasting impression.  When he eventually does confront what he buried, it will be that much more powerful--not just for his romantic arc with Gwyn, but for his personal growth and healing.  The fact that SJM ends Azriel’s POV with Gwyn’s image and light, even if kept in secret, invites us to hope--and to wait--for the moment he finally lets it rise to the surface.