#soooo...back to sleep she goes

[americanrecord]

suicide blonde is going back to sleep, literally every time i touch the universe it unravels further and i've lost sense of everything and every character

[clarabowmp3]

ok I’m convinced there’s some kind of bad luck streak running thru my family

[tojisteddy]

Cherry Waves | 18+ mdni, tiny plot & a lot of smut, >2k wrds (I think), cowgirl, fingering, daddy kink (pa & daddy used (idc)), creampie, dacryphilia, dubcon, overstim.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley is completely and utterly exhausted after coming back from a mission. But his sleep schedule is fucked, doesn’t know how he even got a wink of sleep while out in god knows where.

The only thing he knows for a fact will lull his 6’4 build to sleep, is being balls deep in your sopping wet cunt.

He’d get home after a long silent drive, throwing his stuff to the floor, yanking the mask away and brown eyes searching for you.

Usually you meet him at the front door. Taking his things and properly setting them aside before he scoops you up and takes you to the bedroom. Today was different, mainly do to Simon being a day early. You peeked your head from the kitchen, curls falling due to gravity, confused at the sudden noise from the entrance, eyes widening when you see the blonde. Shit, you dont even know managed to say anything out your face hole.

“I- fuck- you’re early Simon.” And he blinks at you. Once. Cocks his head to the side before nodding, “wrapped things up fast to be here.” To be with you. Simon, who used to be able to go away for months at a time and was unbothered by the lack of civilian interaction, now only wanted to be out for a month or two at a time. He had something— no— someone waiting for him at home. A cute little kitten to take care of. He couldn’t leave his pretty thing alone for too long, could he? You were the one thing helping him keep his sanity. He had to be with you.

And he doesn’t say anything else, just goes up the stairs, knowing you’re right behind, following his leisure strides as best as you could.

“Sluggers at my friends till tomorrow, she really wanted to see the old pup.”

“The wash’s makin that weird sound again. I was gonna call the repair man, but you’re here now.”

“I didn’t get a chance to make dinner, but tell me whatever you want when you’re ready. I’ll whip it right up for ya.”

And the man is just barely acknowledging your words as you followed behind him to the bedroom. Grunts of understanding escaping his throat at everything statement, but he wants you to give him a quick rundown of what he’s missed. Just so he can mentally prepare for how to handle it just like he always does.

“Come ‘ere.”

He’s already pulling his clothes off, sitting on the bed of your bedroom, reaching out for you because you’re just not moving fast enough. You’re straddling him, and his hands are slowly making their was down your hips after taking off one of his shirts you had on, to your inner thighs, then grazing the back of his fingers to your underwear— they’re wet. Simon lets out a breathy laugh, “already this wet, haven’t even touched you. Been waitin for me doll?”

Like he didn’t know you were gonna get excited just from seeing him back, he’d had you on this routine even before you two were in a establishment relationship. Get the house all spic and span, stretch yourself out, take a day off from work or two— or three because as soon as he got in the house he was gonna fuck you like no one’s ever seen before. And he’s sliding your panties to the side, slipping two fingers in so they’re knuckle deep and thrusting them right at your spot.

Why so fast, you ask? Well Simons desperate. Desperate to get his aching dick inside the gooey pink walls that’s shapped for him. That doesn’t mean he’s not getting you to cum for him once, get you to melt under his touch was Daddy’s simple muscle memory. He looks away from your pussy, that’s load and soaking his fingers to look up at you who’s covering your mouth. He tsks, slapping your hand away as you whimper.

“Not gonna let me hear you? After I’ve been away soooo long?” He fains a frown, curling his fingers into you more, fingering you faster, harsher, and the butterflies in your stomach build. “Pussy so greedy princess, won’t let me go, she’s callin for me— shit- but you, you won’t even let me hear your pretty voice. You turned into a spoiled bitch? Ungrateful for what I do?”

“N-no sir.”

“No? Then let me hear how much you’ve missed me dollface,” the moans leave your mouth like a second language, your lost in pleasure, grinding your hips against Simons stomach and he hums in delight. Atta girl, what a good girl.

“I wanna- lemme- haa, cum. Pa can I? Nngh Daddy-“

Simon rolls his eyes, flicking your forehead with his free hand, silly thing, “Cut the whinin out ‘nd let it go.”

And you unravel so beautifully, thighs shaking, pulsing around his long fingers, slick drenching them. It’s almost dizzying how good you cum so much so you lose yourself while Simons connected your lips, it’s so sweet. Bewitching, getting you all worked up all over again.

Usually when you’re taking him, he has to give you a swat on the thigh or ass so you dont try to take all of him at once, but you were taking it nice and easy today. Just like he taught you. Slowly taking Simon’s veiny member inch by inch, practically choking his airway by how tight your cunt was. His eyes fluttered closed his eyes, letting out a breath in relief once you bottomed out, tip giving a slight kiss to your cervix. Christ, this was were he was meant to be. Inside your drenched pussy for the rest of his life.

He’s kneading at you hip, other hand caressing your your stomach (freak) up to your jaw.

“Took it so good princess. So fuckin warm, love that shit.”

Awww, he was being sweet.

No actually this time, when you were good by ‘helping him out’ after being away for so long Ghost was soft with you. Praised you, worshiped you, thanking God for letting him get back to your pretty face, sweet voice and mesmerizing cunt. And it’s so slow when you start moving, his head of blonde hair resting on your shoulder, shuddering breaths leaving his mouth. Like a wave, he’s drowning in the feeling. Drowning in you. Addicted to whatever mystical being that you were. He’d drown a million times if it meant being with here in his big arms, holding you so you’d melt into each other.

He didn’t know if he could admit, his precious thing, he needed you. It made him sick thinking of a life without you. He had to have you. Forever and a thousand more years, to hell and back.

“Missed you so much Daddy mmph- so happy you’re b-back,” you gasped, you were completely and utterly full, hips rotating and moving up and down on his length, all you could do was mewl, “Did so good out there baby. Protectin everyone— fuck- protecting me.”

If you thought that the military man didn’t have a praise kink, you’d be absolutely wrong. Your words were like music to his ears, his eyes finding you and that beautiful enthralled in ecstasy face. the real reason he was able to continue in day in and day out doing his job that was fucking his brain up. You were a sign that he was doing something right.

“I’m a baby? Babies protect the world, huh?” his lips curved up.

“y-yeah,” you whined, fuck, you were barley thinking. Babbling.

“Yeah?”

“Yes pa, mmph- you’re my baby.” You sniff, your waterline filling with tears. Even if you’re the one doing all the moving this time, Simons good, too fucking good at making you feel— well— good. And he’s everything. Everything you ever wanted, everything you ever needed, so much so, it doesn’t feel real. His hands are everywhere, pulling, kneeding, nibbling. Focused on getting you there because you felt divine around him, just how you were supposed to be.

“That’s fuckin silly love, can’t be your baby and your daddy, that doesn’t make any sense does it?”

What an annoying brat this man was, you slap at his shoulder as he laughd, pulling you chest to chest, your nipples getting hard from the friction. “D-Don’t tease.”

“You love it, the way youre squeezin me, you definitely fuckin missed it. juuuuust how you love my dick. Shit, wanna make me cum? Don’t you baby? Use me. Ride it just how you want and make your daddy cum.”

And it’s fucking loud as you slam yourself down on him, the clap, clap, clap of your skin colliding together with every movement. You don’t even know how your eyes didn’t glue themselves to the back of your eyelids yet because the way Simon was stretching you out, keeping you niiiice and full as you clawed at his back, you should have. All you can do is gasp as your orgasm takes over you, you try pulling yourself away, but Simons pulling you closer. Whispering, “Shhh, shhh, shhh, it’s okay princess. Feel it. You can handle it.”

You’re a fucked out, mewling mess but still, Simons there. His mouth connecting to your nipples, sucking and biting as his hands on your hips, rutting up into you, he grips your curls with one hand, forcing you to look him in the eyes, “Fuckin move [+], told you to use me.” And it doesn’t matter that you’re exhausted, tears streaming down your face, your hips burning, sobbing that it’s too much. You’re some how, very sloppily, moving your hips because you were Simons good girl, you’d do anything to make him feel just as good as you did.

“Ahuh, that’s girl, my pretty baby girl.” Ghosts practically bruising your hips, groaning at how good your tight cunt is as he plops you up and down on his cock. You feel is length twitch and the tiny movement sends you over the edge again, screaming a pornographic moan as a shit, shit, shit leaves the scarred man’s mouth.

“Fuck meeee baby, that’s it, milk it.”

It’s so soft, light, as Simon cums inside you. His tattooed arms holding onto you like a vice, keeping you steady so you’d take everything he gave you, whispering in your ear of how good you were for your Pa. How he was so happy to be back in your arms. He’d lay you both down as you passed out and bundling you both up in the comforters. All while making sure you stay stuffed with him, because after you both took a much needed rest— Ghost would be back at it by sunrise.

Fucking you like you were the last person on earth.

a/n: would you believe me if I said this has been sitting in my drafts since February? Lmk what you think. Inspo: Cherry Waves by Deftones obvi.

most recent masterlist more meanie!simon

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱<3: @figthoughts @tessakate @sevikasblackgf

[yujisdreamgirl]

boyfriend!yuji itadori who loves you loudly. yup, none of that nonchalant shit. i’m talking gifts, bragging about you to his friends, having you as his wallpaper on all his devices—homescreen and lockscreen, photo in wallet… the list goes on.

yuji itadori who is super strong he could pick you up so easily! you know that one trend with sabrina carpenter’s song ‘slim pickins’? yuuuuuup.

yuji itadori who looooooooves staying in with you and cuddling all day. no missions, no errands, no nothing! this is the dream life.

yuji itadori who actually cannot spend even 0.0001 second away from you. how could he when his girlfriend is so amazing, kind, beautiful and loving?!

yuji itadori who tries to cook for you, but unfortunately he’s just not that good at it… his determination for other things make up for it though!

yuji itadori who loves organising dates with you :3 it’s his favourite activity! after, of course, actually going on those dates. the most recent one you guys did was a lego date, something both of you have been wanting to do waaaay before you guys even met!

yuji itadori who is always there to comfort you. no matter how small—from everyday life problems to aftermath arguments between you two. even though you guys argue, the night always ends with you in his arms. he is not letting you sleep without him by your side.

yuji itadori who is the dad to your plant children! he will literally water them and is the type to praise them as if they were humans.

“how’s my favourite shrubs today?^_^”

“look at you!! did momma trim you recently? you are adorable.”

“rosetta, you are glowing! it’s obvious who you take after!”

yuji itadori who admires everything you do. you could literally be vacuuming and he’s entranced.

yuji itadori who listens to everything you say, paying attention to every single detail.

“and then- are you even listening?” you pout.

“mhm. she made a wish while holding the dream house Matt made for her and turned back to her 13-year-old self, right? so what happened next?”

you smile, continuing rambling about the film.

yuji itadori who wants to spend his whole life with you. one time, he saw soooo many cute babies and children at the park; immediately he thought about you. usually, when it’s eepy time and you guys are cuddling, he’d mumble sweet words into your neck as he pecks you: ‘we’ll get married, and… and have as many children as you want! then we’ll raise them, and love them, and grow old together and-’

yuji itadori who just loves you so much, he’s a whole green flag! he tries his best to be the best for you, but little does he know you love him in all ways—flaws included.

finally living up to my name!!🙂‍↕️

͙͘͡★ divider by @cafekitsune 💐

[norrisleclercf1]

Mafia Lestappen when reader gets into a car crash

A/N: And if I add a child? Then what????? Also Monaco is a lot bigger in this fake world soooo yeah maybe twice as big as it normally is

"Mommy, sing," You baby girl giggles as you drive her home from 1st grade, you hate dropping her off there, but it was safe and good for her to socialize with other children, and with her life and who her fathers are you knew letting her be herself safely was best.

"Adie," You sigh, but you can't deny those sea green eyes as you turn up the old Disney music and start to sing with her. She giggles happily as you look in the mirror and smile, 'MOMMY!" Adeline scream rings out as you look back in front of you and gasp, before everything goes dark.

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

"Should be home soon," Charles sighs, finally home from a long day at the office, Max trudging in behind Charles wanting to just curl up in bed with his family. "I know, I hate she goes to school, but it's best," Max grumbles, always missing his little girl and Charles was no better.

When she was younger the two of them would break her out all the time but you put your foot down, stating that school would be good for Adeline. Charles hums and pets the cats and then Leo, his dog and moves grabbing his phone as it vibrates and he smiles as picture of you and Adie pop up.

"Mon cher, when are you going to be-" "Mr. Leclerc, this is Dr. LaRouche, I'm the emergency room attending here at Grace Kelly Memorial Hospital, I have your daughter and wife here, they were in a very serious accident," Charles feels his blood run cold as he turns to stare at Max whose bent down petting his cats. "What?" Max asks, looking up.

"Charles, what is it?"

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

"I just want Mommy!" Adeline sobs, the pediatrician and nurse trying their best to calm her down. "I know sweetie, but we've called your fathers, they'll be here soon," The doors fly open as Max charges in like a bull, eyes wild before the settle on his baby girl. "ADIE!" "DADDY!" She sobs and moves as he rushes over and captures her in his arms.

"I'm here, I'm here," Max repeats as Charles collides into them holding his baby as well. "Mommy, mommy was hurt," She sobs and Max refuses to move from her side as Charles looks around their guards everywhere as the staff move carefully around them. "Someone tell me where the fuck, our wife is?" Charles ground out and a nurse stands, walking over quickly.

"You're wife and daughter were involved in a head on collision, the man was running from the cops and hit your wife. She sustained a head injury and a lacerated spleen and they needed to take her to surgery to remove the spleen as it was bleeding and unable to be repaired. You can see her in a couple hours when the surgery is over, please, just stay with your daughter," The nurse calmly explains and Max moves lying on the bed now.

"Charles," Charles turns around and sees Adie crying softer and looking at him with his own eyes. "Oh, my poor bebe, you must've been so scared. You were so brave," Charles praises softly kissing her head as Max looks over her only seeing little scratches and scruffs, the only thing that concerns him is the cut on her forehead.

"Does your head hurt my little star?" Max whispers pulling her into his lap and holding her close as Charles blocks them from the lingering eyes in the Emergency room. "Just a little, they gave me yucky medicine to help," She explains, "Papa, can I play a game on your phone?" She asks, blinking and Charles quickly gives her his phone.

"Mr. Verstappen, Mr. Leclerc?" They turn as a doctor approaches them. "Your wife is out of surgery, we can't let you in the room, but you can see her," Charles and Max move, Charles taking Adie into his arms and kisses her head gently as they walk through the stale hospital hallways and stop at your window, the sound of candy crush going low from Charles's phone.

"She's good, just sleeping, we'll continue to monitor her, but luckily her car is....military grade, if her car wasn't like that then it would be much worse," The doctor says and pats Max's back who nods as Charles squeezes Adie close unable to imagine what would've happened.

"Told you it was worth it," Max whispers and Charles sighs resting his head on his shoulder. "Not now, Max,"

[sunniepoo]

Omg imagine this rafe x Reader but its a love Island USA au rafe character is like rob and readers well she's like herself shy and awkward different to the confident baddies since reader is only in it for the money since she's a college student (probably round the age of 18-19 or 20) and of course this is gonna contain smut maybe when there in their assigned room.I'm not sure if you've watched it or not so its okay if you don't wanna write it. ❤️

how i imagine love island!rafe

shut up!!!! you match my freak because whenever i watch love island (uk cause your girl is a british babe) i always think about how the obx boys would go about things

ahhh this is less of a drabble but more word vomit but i might do one for each of the boys cause i love this!!

rafe is definitely a bombshell who comes in like within the first couple of weeks. he is immediately very drawn to you just because of your calming presence is such a refresher in the high intensity atmosphere so it really relaxes him and just helps him breathe

i feel like he wouldn’t really get to know anyone beside a couple of chats here and there when he comes in initially but he already knows his head is with you, so he chooses you at a recoupling and it’s very smooth sailing in there

the only time an issue really comes about is in the beginning of your situation, when he starts getting annoyed at you for speaking to any new male bombshell even though you’d only been coupled up for a little while HOWEVER it gets squashed very very easily and you both set boundaries with each other

you both gain a reputation for being the horniest in the villa (think tasha and andrew s8) because all the islanders come out saying you guys are soooo loud in bed, mainly just oral - a mix of some light fingering and handjobs

this causes you guys to be picked for the hideaway very quickly and you of course you go the full way - the sex is very typical in rafe cameron style, hard rough thrusts that have your eyes rolling back. the public love you for the most part, just worry about rafe’s attitude when he’s angry

rafe is many things but a cheater is not one of them, so casa is very very hard for him because he misses you so bad, def just sleeps on the daybeds and looks at pictures of you and obviously vice versa, you’re recoupling is so so cute and just boosts the love for you guys from the public more

he skips all the exclusive stuff and just goes straight into asking you to be his girlfriend, he doesn’t do it in an overly grand way but he does make it very very special

i feel like you guys wouldn’t win just because some people are worried that rafe is too intense for you but that’s a small minority, so you end up placing 2nd or 3rd but it’s fine cause rafe’s loaded anyways

[jyeoulzhu]

my gremlin

summary . minjeong gets mad at y/n, so they give her space. but minutes later, she's grumpily dragging them back to bed because she hates sleeping alone. y/n teases her, but when she mumbles, "i don't need space, i need you," they shut up real quick.

pairing . winter x gender neutral reader

it starts with minjeong being mad. y/n has no idea why, but she's glaring, arms crossed, sitting on the bed like some angry little gremlin. y/n, being the smart person they are, decides to give her space.

"alright, i'll sleep on the couch—"

"good."

okay. damn. y/n doesn't even argue, just nods and grabs a pillow before heading out. they don't even make it ten minutes on the couch before they hear footsteps. fast, irritated ones.

then suddenly— y/n's pillow is yanked away.

"what—"

"come back to bed," minjeong grumbles, standing over them with the meanest pout y/n has ever seen.

y/n raises a brow. "i thought you wanted space?"

her glare intensifies. "i don't need space, i need you."

y/n.exe has stopped working. they sit there, processing, while minjeong aggressively yanks at their wrist like they weigh nothing. they barely manage to stand before she's dragging them back to bed, throwing the blanket over them like she's tucking in a damn burrito.

y/n can't help but tease. "soooo, you missed me?"

"shut up."

"you love me?"

"shut up."

"you—"

minjeong physically muffles them with her hand.

but her face is buried in their chest now, and y/n feels the way she clings tighter, how her fingers grip the fabric of their shirt, how she exhales like she finally feels at home.

y/n just smiles, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. "love you too, gremlin."

minjeong huffs. but her hold tightens.

minutes pass, but neither of them sleep. minjeong shifts, grumbling, pressing her face even more into y/n's warmth like she's trying to merge into their existence.

"why were you even mad?" y/n murmurs, running a hand up and down her back.

minjeong goes silent. then mumbles, "forgot."

y/n snorts. "seriously?"

"mhmm."

silence. then—

"...but you still left."

y/n stills. minjeong's voice is small, almost embarrassed, but y/n hears it clear as day. they tilt their head down, trying to get a look at her face, but minjeong buries herself even deeper into their chest like a damn mole.

"well, you told me to go," y/n hums, their tone softer now.

"you're not supposed to listen to me."

y/n bites back a laugh. "so, if i stayed, what would you have done?"

silence. then a grumble. "kicked you."

y/n finally laughs, full and bright, and minjeong glares up at them, her cheeks just the tiniest bit pink. but y/n just cups her face, thumb rubbing gently over her cheekbone, their teasing replaced with something much softer.

"i won't leave again," y/n murmurs. "even if you kick me."

minjeong just stares for a second, eyes flickering between theirs like she's memorizing everything. then, quietly, she leans up, pressing the softest kiss to y/n's jaw before hiding again.

"...okay."

[radlovesfics]

So glad everyone has come to the collective conclusion that Mark is a munch no matter whatever reality it is that boy FEASTS !!!! (ofc some better than others)

can see him being so into it he does it in the morning, maybe he wants to wake you up and give him some….. attention ;) and this is the best wake up he can think of. or it’s a nice and quiet morning in and you just wake up to him lazily eating you out bc he’s clearly hungry and “eating breakfast”

randomly throughout the day if he’s not working ofc and he gets in a mood while spending time with you or just starts thinking about you bro is on you immediately!! apologizing as he goes down bc he just can’t help himself and you taste so good and he loves you so much and he gets soooo into it

Can totally see him grinding himself into whatever hes laying on or he’s got one hand on himself but he can and will give you his full undivided attention to make it so good for you dw he’s really good at multi-tasking

he wants you for breakfast, lunch, AND dinner bby nothin is stopping that man

Mark has a long and horrible day where he’s just exhausted and comes home to you, the love of his life, just doing somethin hella domestic and you turn to see him come in looking battered as hell and ofc you rush over to check on him and take care of him and he’s so overwhelmed with his love for you at that moment the only thing he can think of to take the ache of stress off his back is to go down on his beautiful and amazing s/o until she’s incoherent and sobbing in pleasure

Mark has also totally come home maybe super keyed up or pissed off and pounces on you the second he sees you. just gets aggressive and sloppy and it’s wet and messy. only time he’s rough with you is if he’s feeling like this or you ask for it. but bro is goin FERAL over you and he’s gripping your thighs so hard and speaking literal FILTH as he practically makes out with your cunt. he acts like a man starved until he’s done then it’s back to being usual goofy and chill Mark who’s ready to have an actual conversation with you LOL. sometimes you just gotta let the man eat till he’s ready ya know ??

he also definitely uses it as a method to relax you. maybe you’re the one hella stressed out or can’t sleep, thoughts erratic and all over the place so Mark takes it upon himself to eat you out until you’re boneless on the sheets. head empty with the only thoughts being of him. he’s pretty gentle and slow when doing it like this, more focused on making you feel good and you enjoy yourself. massaging at your thighs and whispering praise, you don’t last long at all.

def takes what he has ever watched in porn and tries it out with you btw <3

his fav sex position is also 69 btw no I will not be told otherwise 🫶 (unless it’s the one position where he can watch himself go in and out of you bc it’s so hot LOL)

[mina-org]

Girl you write yandere soooo well. Good job good job! Please requesting yandere Johnny who stalks and kidnaps. Reader dear is horrified but also relieved. Johnny is her whole world, and that’s all she needs to worry her little head about. He’s taking care of everything. It’s a blessing.

Is this Stockholm’s? 🤣

Hope you enjoy <3! Tw for implied depression and brief mention of wanting to die, and kidnapping

part two here

A rough cradle wakes you up, the tires hitting every manhole, crack and drain. A dull ache and sore wrists begin to throb as you get your bearings. Zip ties limit any movement but there’s no tape, no gag. The trees looming over you and the little glimpses you see into the sky reveal golden stars twinkling and occasionally the glowing, seemingly pearl moon.

You could scream, even if there’s no one around to hear it.

You think about it, your lips feel dry and almost cracked, sore. Everything feels so sore. Like a knife twisting endlessly. But just as you’re about to whoever’s behind the wheel senses it.

“Nearly home hen,” his head peeks past the head rest, his bright blue eyes with dark currents swirling within them. “nearly home, don’t start yelling now aye?”

That’s enough to make your voice die in your own throat. He seems strangely familiar.

Where from?

Blue eyes

Irish

No, no Scottish. Yeah Scottish. Mohawk, blue eyes, scottish.

The gym

The gym guy, you cringe inwardly remembering the interactions, he had asked you a few times while his friends lingered in the background, snickers and knowing looks.

It was awful. It felt like you were at secondary school again, where your biggest sin was thinking you were loveable. You hated the feeling, he was so cute and his friends were gawking at you, like some type of zoo animal, he gawked at you. You hated it, how the warmth rushed up and how you couldn’t talk to him and how you were too afraid to go back to the gym. No matter what time you went he was always there.

Soon enough the car stills, pulling up to the side of you feel the tire collided with the pavement. A sudden click, he’s locking the door? Or unlocking it?

You hear the door slam and he steps out.

He’s leaves.

He’s gonna leave you here? Why?

Your mind races with possibilities. What is he leave you here to freeze over night? Or to starve? Or what if he sets the car on fire? The smell of burnt tires already singes your nose and you wonder what will kill you first: the smoke slowly smothering you or the flames eating up your body, devouring you whole, turning you to ash.

What would it feel like? Hell. Only now do you notice how dry your throat is, how raspy your breathes are, it sounds as though you’ve been smoking a pack a day for 20 years.

You’re soon pulled from your firery day dream as the passenger is pulled open. It’s him. You can only look up at him, you’d only topple over if you tried to move so you can only shift your head to look at him. His smile was always there, though now it’s more of a ghost, paling in comparison to the one he normally wore which included teeth and was strangely more predatory than the one he put on to kidnap someone.

He mutters to himself as he fixes your position, sitting you up and checking over you.

“Alright hen? I gave ya’ enough to keep ya sleeping til’ we got tae our new place.” His hands are fixed on your chin as he stares into your eyes. “Yer goeing tae love it, bloody love it. I went on yer Pinterest and found even better.”

“Up in Orkney, five hours tae go hen, yer be alright.” Johnny didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t this. You looked like a doll, so still with perfect pouty lips.

Soon enough he’s taking a swig of water and pressing his lips against yours, a quick tug to your gets your mouth open and he’s transferring the water into your mouth, a little water escapes trickling down to your neck but johnny is quick to lick it up, his tongue dragging across your skin, up to the corner of your lip.

You can feel the warmth rush to your cheeks as his gaze beats down on you, it feels like the sun beaming down on you, you want so badly to look away but he’s still got a hold of your chin, and so, so close, like he’s blocking you from the rest of the world.

“Yer looking parched hen, can have my pretty wee thing dehydrated, im here to look after my girl.” His voice is gentle. “it’s goeing take a little bit, but yer love it, yer love me soon enough.”

“I was seeing how miserable you was, every morning you stared into that coffee mug like you was wanting it tae kill ya.”

“cannae watch it anymore, and you weren’t giving me the opportunity to help so I had to do it hen.” He shrugs, he’s glad your not shouting but the silence is a wee bit unnerving, what he gave you wasn’t laced or anything, it was quite literally military grade, he knew why you woke up so soon, he’d had given less there was a few ferrys on the way and it would’ve been shits creak if that’s when you had woken up and had a screaming fit.

But your perfect and deep down he knew that, knew that you felt the same pull he did. He was always there and you could probably sense it, that your very own guardian angel lingered just out the window or was always watching through cameras. He couldn’t wait until he got to spend a real morning with you, not watching from afar, even if you tried fight it just meant he could pull into his lap and feed you! Johnny loved taking care of you and watching you? You practically flooded the gym with a sense of broken bird and a sad face which just screamed helped me and he couldn’t ignore the vibe he just wanted to help a pretty bird out and you rejected whenever he was a very respectful man about it so kidnapper mode it is. He just felt this insurmountable ache radiating from you and he just couldn’t ignore it.

First he just wanted a smile from you, to see you laugh would have been been enough but no, you avoided him like he was a plague, he wouldn’t bite, unless that’s something you’re into?

So he starts thinking how can he make a sad girl smile, he tried to find you on social media but it was a bust, no insta or twitter, not even an old facebook account you can’t get into to delete. So he’s left with no choice

He’s got to get into your phone.

Now he could abuse his connections via laswell but her and her wife are busy doing a vowel renewal so he’s forced to grab the lock picking set he got as a joke pre-military (he’d be a brilliant thief, he just knows it.) and do the job himself.

He watches as your night routine or where a routine should be, you come home from work, do more work and skip dinner entirely because making dinner or warming something up means washing up and the pile of dishes is just too daunting for you to face right now.

So johnny does it for you, of course that means he had to slip you a little melatonin but it’s all good, you’ll understand. You’ll wake up rested and see the dishes down and make breakfast and go to work energised and then the gym and you’ll get home and make dinner and be happy!

He’d be happy to wash every dish for the rest of time if it helped you. He wished he could have seen your face, the sight of relief taking over your features, in the future he could imagine himself wrapping around you and sending you back to bed while he makes you a piece or a fry up or avocado on toast, anything to make you happy.

he failed to realise that you wrote it off this time, thought you did it and it just was swept away with other memories of mindless tasks. But you knew.

it haunted your psyche, now you worried what hide around every corner, you avoided going shopping, having to go after work and competing dwindling sunlight to walk to the shop and walk back with a phantom dish washer lingering in your unconscious, ready to pop out, hidden behind the stacked fruit or down an alley on the walk home. Anyway you were afraid and paranoid. What were you going to do? You had mentioned it and your dad had laughed in your face, claiming it had been the dish fairy.

Maybe if you had noticed how you were a few panties short,or that your phone had be combed through and passwords had been collected, or maybe even the cameras that were hidden around your flat.

maybe if you had noticed you wouldn’t be drinking water baby bird style, it’s best not to linger on what ifs, Johnnys sure to take your mind off of it.

You had been lost in your own mind but a pinch from johnny brings you back at him, his big hands planted on your thigh, he’s soon starts dragging his hands up and down, trying to comfort you and making sure the pinch wasn’t too hard. Johnny had always had trouble to control his strength, often putting glasses down too hard and seeing them shatter, you wouldn’t suffer the same way, he’d be gentle.

“Yer goeing to let me look after ya hen?” His voice is coaxing as he observes you slowing coming out your shell, you give him a little nod but it’s not enough, Johnny’s gentle but he’s no push over.

“Use yer words hen, been through your A03, so I know you can do it.” His humours have returned as he goads you, voice dripping with teasing, “tell me ya want it. You wanna come home with me.”

“I want to go with you.” Your voice quiet and unsure, that doesn’t bother johnny though, by the time you’re on the first ferry you’ll be as happy as a pig in shit by his side, he can’t wait until the timidness unravels in front of him, he’s taken some notes from the a03 account and is eager to try them but johnny assume that’s coming on a little too strong ( the kidnapping isn’t?)

He doesn’t fail to notice how you flinch as he pulls out the knife from his pocket, unsheathing it and cutting through the zip ties, and guiding you to the passenger seat and letting you play dj.

Now he’s just gotta decide whether you’d want one of those fancy proposals or just to slip his ring on ya while you’re sleeping.

[probablyn0thuman]

Your boys

Pairing | Jason Todd x Fem!Reader x Roy Harper

Warnings | NSFW, MDNI, smut, nipple play, Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), Fingering (m!receiving) , Oral (f!receiving), threesome, anal (m!receiving), slight bondage (handcuffs), aftercare, fluff, no use of y/n

Words | 2.1k

Notes | This took me about a week to finish fully because uni is kicking my butt right now. Enjoy and of course, English isn't my first language.

Summary | The three of you tri-parenting Lian and what happens in your soundproof bedroom after she goes to sleep.

You and Lian were cuddled up on the roof of your apartment building, waiting for Jason and Roy to get back from patrol; you were reading a book to Lian, one of her favourites, Charlie and the Chocolate factory. She’d been obsessed with it lately. It was around 4am on a Saturday and Lian had begged to stay up so she can see her daddies when they got home. She’d even pulled the puppy eyes out, how could you say no?

The Sun was slowly starting to rise over the horizon, Gotham slowly coming to life, a sign that Jason and Roy would be home soon. Just as you finished chapter ten of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, you and Lian heard the familiar thuds of two people landing on the roof from behind you two. Lian quickly spins around to see her dads, jumping up from your lap and running over to them with a happy squeal. “Daddy!” She shouts jumping into Roy’s arms. “Hi Sugarplum,” Roy coos, ruffling her hair, messing up her already messed up black curls. “Hey Princess,” Jason says, a hint of a smile in his voice, though you couldn’t tell, he never took his helmet off before he was behind a locked door in the safety of your home. “Hi Daddy Jay,” Lian beamed. 

You smile and stand up from your place on the roof, the book and the blankets bundled under your arm, “Hi boys,” you say as you walk over to them and Lian. “Hey beautiful,” Roy hums in greeting, looking you up and down. “Hi sweetheart,” Jason says, taking a few steps forwards so he can wrap his arms around your waist, “Lets get inside, yeah? It’s cold out here.” You and Roy nod at his suggestion and start heading to the fire escape to get into the apartment. 

Once you’re all inside Lian starts to yawn, “Aww, is someone sleepy?” Roy asks her teasingly. “Nuh-uh, I’m not tired!” Lian protests through another yawn. “Really, princess? You look pretty damn tired to me,” Jason comments while taking off his helmet now that you’re inside, revealing a soft smile on his lips. Lian yawns again, cuddling into Roy’s chest, “Maybe a little…” She trails off with another yawn. You chuckle softly, “Come on, baby, let’s get you to bed.”

Roy carries her to her bedroom, flicking on her night light as he enters. He places her onto her soft bed with her unicorn bedding, tucking her in with a kiss to her forehead as you and Jason watch from the doorway. “Goodnight, Lian. Me, Daddy Jay and Mommy love you soooo much,” he whispers quietly as her little eyes droop closed and she drifts off to sleep.

He slowly tip-toes out of Lian’s bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him. “Well done, Roy. You didn’t fuck it up,” Jason comments, a smirk on his stupidly handsome face. “Oh shut up, Jay. I can tuck Lian into bed without messing up, I’m not stupid-” Roy argues back before Jason interrupts him, “Really? Could’ve fooled me-” he grunts before you finally interrupt them, your voice stern. “Boys,” you warn, giving them a look. “Yeah, yeah, sorry sweetheart,” Jay responds to your stern look. “Sorry babygirl,” Roy says sheepishly. You roll your eyes at their constant banter and jokes and arguing before smiling again at the thought that your boys are home and that Lian is asleep. “Bedroom?” You ask, watching their faces light up. “Hell yes, beautiful.” Roy groans, wrapping his arms around your waist and slinging you over his shoulder, walking you over to your guys’ bedroom, Jason following close behind, chuckling quietly at Roy’s antics. 

Jason locks the door behind the three of you as Roy throws you onto the bed, your fall cushioned by the pillows and fluffy blankets you three keep on bed for comfort. Roy steps back and starts taking all of his gear off, Jason doing the same. You sit back and watch, this was your favourite part of the night; your favourite boys turning into your favourite show. Jason notices you looking and elbows Roy to get his attention, “Like the show, sweetheart?” He says teasingly a grin on his usually gruff face, making you smirk in response. “You know I am, handsome,” you hum back, taking your own pyjama top and shorts off, leaving you in your underwear as they join you on the bed in only their underwear too; Jason on your left, Roy on your right.

“Wow, this pretty set, all for us, baby?” Roy smirks, commenting on your red lingerie set that you’d specifically chosen for tonight. “Can’t I do something special for my boys?” You ask as you wrap your arms around Roy’s neck. Roy brings his hands up to rest on the sides of your ribs while Jason’s arms come around your back to wrap around your waist, leaving you trapped and sandwiched between the two. “I like it, sweetheart,” Jason says, pressing a kiss to the back of your head. “You only like it because it’s in your colours,” Roy huffs before Jason speaks up again, “You wear red too, dumbass,” “Yeah, but my red’s lighter than yours,” Roy whines. “Roy, stop whining, I’ll get a set that matches your red next time, yeah?” You suggest, trying to stop them from arguing again. “Okay baby, sounds good,” Roy mumbles, ducking his head down to start pressing small kisses to your neck. “You spoil him,” Jason grumbles, making you smile.

“Come on, Jay. I spoil you too,” you hum, grinding your ass against Jason’s core. Jason groans, his hands tightening around your waist, Roy sees what’s happening and decides to join in, grinding his hips into yours as you grind on Jason. “Come on, babygirl, let’s show Grumpus a good time, eh?” Roy whispers. You slide your hands into Jason’s boxers, palming him before sliding his boxers down his thick thighs, Roy helping you with eagerness in his eyes. “Woah, one at a time, please,” Jason jokes, kicking his discarded boxers off the bed and rolling over to be on top of the two of you. His big arms, that are definitely bigger than your head, caging you and Roy in as he leans down to kiss Roy messily. Roy responds quickly, their kiss a mess of teeth, tongue and lips with no coordination to it at all. When they break apart, Roy turns to you with a grin before capturing your own lips in an equally messy kiss. His tongue sweeps through your mouth, the taste of Jason lingering from before. 

As you kiss Roy, Jason makes it his own mission to make sure the two of you are as unclothed as he is; he slides down your underwear and unclasps your bra at the back, taking your nice lingerie set off as Roy shimmies himself out of his boxers, his hard cock springing out. Roy eventually pulls back from the kiss, his hands immediately grabbing your boobs, playing with your nipples, teasing and twisting the sensitive buds before Jason smacks his hands away. “Go get the lube, you’re in the middle tonight,” Jason growls. “Why do I gotta be in the middle?” Roy complains. You answer his question for him, “Because I was in the middle last time and Jason was the time before that. Go.” “Ugh, fine,” Roy groans, getting out of bed and walking to the nightstand to get the lube. “And the handcuffs,” Jason adds, getting a shocked look from both of you. “For me or for both of us?” Roy asks sheepishly, trying to hide the fact that Jason being mean was making his cock leak prematurely with pre-cum. “Just you, I don’t want you touching tonight, got it?” Jason says sternly. “Y-yeah, sure,” Roy says quickly, grabbing the handcuffs and the lube and crawling back onto the bed.

Jason was now knelt at the end of the bed and you were resting up against the pillows, leaving enough space for Roy between you two. Roy crawls onto that space, facing you as Jason takes the handcuffs and does his hands behind his back. “Hi baby,” Roy grins. “Hey Roy~” you smirk, running a hand through his hair as Jason squirts the lube onto his fingers to prep Roy. “Ready?” Jason asks preemptively. “Yup. Give me everything you’ve got, big boy,” Roy says cockily, before immediately moaning and whining as Jason inserts a finger, his moans getting louder as Jason inserts another. “Aww, what happened to ‘Give me everything you’ve got’?” You question teasingly, holding Roy’s face in your hands. “N-nothing, sweetcheeks, I-I’m a grown ass man, I can h-handlle this,” Roy moans as Jason massages his G-spot. Jason’s smirk widens at the sounds Roy makes, “Sweetheart, give him a little something, yeah?”

You lean back against the pillows more, opening your thighs in front of Roy’s face. “Can I? Please, Jason, I need to taste her.” Roy begs. “Yeah. Dig in, Roy.” Jason grunts as Roy dives head first into your cunt. His tongue circles your clit, making you moan. You grip his hair pushing him further in.  His tongue delves into your entrance making obscene noises you’re glad no one else can hear because of the soundproof wall paneling Jason insisted you got. “I’m gonna go in now, relax, Roy,” Jason says, the tip of his, frankly gargantuan, cock pressing against Roy’s entrance. Roy moans into your cunt, the vibrations going straight through you.

He enters Roy in one quick thrust, forcing Roy deeper into your cunt. Roy whimpers, slurping up all of your juices, the familiar coil in your stomach tightening. “Oh- Oh, jay- I’m gonna, ugh-” you moan out, Roy working on your clit, taking it between his teeth sucking, tracing with his tongue all while Jason thrusts in and out of him. “Just let go, sweetheart, Roy’s a good boy, he’ll take care of you,” Jason groans, Roy whimpers at being called a good boy. 

After a few more minutes you finish, your orgasm falling over you like a truck, squirting all over Roy’s face, he laps it all up, every last drop like it’s his life’s purpose. “Gods, baby, you taste so good,” Roy moans against your cunt, his tongue running up your folds, making obscene slurping noises. Jason continues thrusting in and out of Roy, hitting his prostate over and over again.

“Oh- Oh, Jay-” Roy gasps, his pretty cock decorated with a red tip, pre-cum dripping onto the bed. “You’re such a good boy for us, baby,” you coo, leaning down to press sweet kisses all over his face. “Come on, Roy, let go for us, I’m so close,” Jason groans, slamming into Roy harder. Roy moans and groans louder. You shift bringing them both further up the bed a bit so Roy’s face rests on your chest, his face pressed into your boobs, his moans vibrating through you. “Ugh, Jay- Please, I’m gonna-” Roy whines before blowing his load all over the bed, Jason following close behind, filling Roy up to the brim.

Jason slowly pulls out, collapsing onto the bed next to you two. You three lay there panting, the air thick, the scent of sex lingering. “I love you, boys,” you whisper, pressing a small kiss to each of their foreheads and undoing Roy’s handcuffs, throwing them off to the side. “I love you too, sweetheart,” Jason mumbles. “I love you the most, babygirl,” Roy smiles up at you. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up,” you say, shifting on the bed. Jason and Roy follow you off the bed, moving to the bathroom attached onto the bedroom. You turn the bath on, climbing in as it starts to slowly fill up. Roy and Jason climb into the large bath as well. You lay your head on Jason’s chest, your leg hooking over his, Roy on his other side, doing the same movements. 

A while later you all climb out of the bath, drying yourselves off and getting into some fresh pyjamas. Roy changes the sheet on the bed, putting the one he came all over into the laundry hamper. Jason hides the lube and the handcuffs back into the drawer. You all climb back into bed, cuddling up to each other. Jason on your left and Roy on your right like always. “My boys,” you whisper with a smile. “Yep, yours,” Jason says. “Your boys,” Roy grunts, halfway into sleep. You and Jason chuckle softly at his sleepy expression. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Goodnight, Roy.” Jason hums as you all fall into sleep, relaxed in each other’s arms. Completely safe and in love.

Author's note | Should I do a part two to this? I kinda want to...

Edit | I am currently writing part two to this. I'm going to make it a series.

[shawtuzi]

omg i remember your peaches and coconut fics hows my fav couple especially daddy eren i hope as freaky as ever 🤗☺️☺️

they’re doing soooo good!! you remember that fat rock and big house he promised you?? well he was able to get them for you and much more. take a walk with me real quick babe—

this is 18+ so mdni thank yewww!!! cw include: black coded reader, eren being a dad, some talk about church stuff (not rlly), mentions of sexcapades w jean hehe (literally a whole ass flashback of reader giving them both head), oral m and f receiving, eren eating it over her panties, shoe humping, mentions of a lactation kink, unprotected sex, kinda public sex?? they fuck in a bathroom, creampie bc would it rlly be a fic by me if no one was getting nutted in? NOT PROOFREAD SAWRY </3

“ren? rennyyy,” eren’s eyes cracked open at the sound of your soft voice, quickly connecting with yours. you were sitting on his stomach, hands resting on his chest while your cute lil cross necklace dangled in his face. he shifted his head the tiniest bit to read the alarm clock—

6:37 A.M.

why were you waking him up so early?? it couldn’t be for sex…no…he fucked you back to sleep around two, he couldn’t hear any noise coming from your daughters’ baby monitor, he didn’t see your eldest daughter curled up next to him so what could it be??

“it’s sunday eren.”

fuckkkkk. “oh…right,” eren let out a deep sigh, shutting his eyes once more. it was sunday— which means church, which means seeing his father, which means making pointless small talk with your parents, which means hearing your daughters whine and cry about how tired they are and how they don’t wanna go to the church daycare.

“why don’t we just stay in this sunday hm?” eren said, voice laced with tiredness. he brought his hands to your hips, squeezing the soft flesh tenderly. you giggled, burying your face in his neck that still smelled of his body wash.

“very veryyyy tempting but i promised my mom we’d be there this week, plus we haven’t been in a couple weeks anyway,” you kissed at his neck, making him squeeze your hips harder.

unlike both your guys’ parents you and eren do not attend church every weekend and aren’t quite as religious, especially eren. the only reason he attends is because it’s what you want, and he’s not one to object anything his wife wants so he just sucks it up and goes.

“c’mere,” eren muttered, bringing his hands from your hips to your silky smooth thighs. you leant down and he was quick to capture your lips in a kiss, humming in content when you kissed him back. eren bit down unexpectedly on your bottom lip making you gasp, giving him the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth.

you laced your fingers in his soft, brown locks before giving them a harsh tug, breaking the heated kiss. “get ready we leave in an hour….and you may need to take a cold shower,” you giggled, giving his pouting lips one more kiss before making your way to your daughters’ room to wake them. eren glanced down at his semi and threw his head back in annoyance. a cold shower was indeed needed.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“but i don’t wanna go!” your eldest daughter stomped her foot in protest, her big brown eyes welling up with tears. eren sighed, kneeling down to be eye level with her, “it’s just for an hour, see that clock up there? once the little hand is on the 9 mommy and i will get you and we’ll get something special for lunch! how does that sound sweet thing?”

she sniffled and slowly nodded, reaching her arms out to get one last hug from him before you left her with the church daycare. “that’s my girl. mommy, sissy, and i will see you in a bit okay?” he gave her chubby cheek a fat kiss, and wiped her tears before handing her off to the caretaker.

“you’re such a good daddy,” you whispered in eren’s ear, giving the spot below his ear a soft kiss. eren cleared his throat, uttering out a small ‘thank you’. god you were going to be the death of him.

“let me carry this for you,” he didn’t wait for your response, taking the carrier that was holding your youngest. she was fast asleep and by the grace of god hopefully it would stay that way.

you and eren walked hand in hand into the chapel, immediately being greeted by people you’ve known since you were teenagers. you did most of the talking which eren was thankful for, oh how lucky he was to have married a certified yapper.

“y/n?”

you whipped your head around, your mouth dropping slightly in shock. “jean? oh my goodness how are you?” you giggled, bringing him in for a bone crushing hug. eren kissed his teeth, choosing to skip the reunion and instead find your parents to sit with them. you rolled your eyes at him, giggling once more. six years of dating and four years of being married and he still was so possessive. you wouldn’t change a thing about it though.

“he hasn’t changed i see,” jean chuckled, scratching at the scuff on his jaw. you glanced at eren once more, just to find him already looking at the both of you, brows furrowed. “nope…still the same eren we all know and love.” love was an understatement to you though—eren was your moon and stars, your reason for breathing, he was everything to you. he had once told you before—while he was balls deep inside you that he wanted to claim you mind, body, and soul and you would say he definitely succeeded.

you and jean talked for a few more minutes before going your separate ways to find your seats before service started. the second you sat down eren wrapped his strong arms around your waist, pulling you as close as possible. he nuzzled his nose in your hair, internally melting at the smell of peaches and coconut. after all these years it was still your signature scent, and never failed to make his heart beat faster and his dick jump.

“jean sounds like he’s doing pretty good….said he’s been doing a lot of traveling,” you spoke softly, resting your hand on eren’s thigh, leaning into his side. eren hummed, suddenly finding more interest in your sleeping daughter. she was the spitting image of you—absolutely perfect in every way.

eren tensed when he felt you squeeze his thigh, “you alright my love? you’re awfully quiet, you aren’t upset with me for making you come here are you?” you looked at him with those doe eyes and he immediately felt like the biggest asshole in the world.

“of course not baby i never mind coming here with you, you know that. it’s just that i wasn’t expecting him to be here. we haven’t seen him since…you know,” he trailed off, giving your hand a loving squeeze.

it was true—you both hadn’t seen jean since high school which was when your sexcapdes with him were at an all time high. since then eren has never let another man lay a hand on you sexually. you belonged to him and no one else and he belonged to you just as much.

you felt your cheeks get hot at the memories of the three of you messing around, bringing an amused smirk to eren’s face. as much as he was annoyed to see that man it definitely gave him an incentive to tease you a little about it.

eren glanced over at your parents and his mother who were immersed in their own conversation before leaning in close to you. “remember when you sucked us both off at the same time? you looked so pretty, especially with both our nut on your face. remember that baby?” you gasped at his language, elbowing him in the side making him laugh.

before he could say anything else the service finally started. about fifteen minutes into eren’s dad speaking you felt eren’s thumb begin to rub soft circles on your hip, giving it a firm squeeze every now and again. why oh why did he have to bring up those memories of you with him and jean—now it was all your mind could think about.

*flashback*

“a-ah shit! just like that baby,” eren growled at the way you choked around his dick, spit dripping from your chin and onto the new floral printed dress he’d bought for you. while you were using your mouth on eren your free hand was occupied with jean, stroking his dick in the best way possible.

every time you’d gag harshly around eren your hands would accidentally squeeze his tip a little too hard, causing a symphony of moans to slip past his lips—which also happened to have your cherry flavored lip gloss smeared across them. “sucking us so good baby mmh fuck—thank you. say thank you dickhead,” eren growled elbowing jean in the side. your pulled eren out of your mouth with a pop! quickly engulfing jean’s dick in your warm mouth.

jean’s head fell back against the wall, his adams apple bobbing. “t-thank you y/n, thank you so much,” his voice sounding whiny and breathy, and he might’ve cared sounding like that in front of eren if you weren’t making him feel so sooo good. you hummed around his dick, your tongue licking the underside of him to bring him closer to his orgasm.

your jaw was aching and the whole lower side of your face was covered with spit and their pre but you were as content as could be. the way you squeezed your thighs together didn’t go unnoticed by eren, so him being the sweet boyfriend he was gently nudged your thighs apart before pressing his shoe against your pussy. you wasted no time humping his shoe, your little mewls and moans making shivers crawl up jean’s spine.

eren nudged jean, a devilish smirk on his kiss swollen lips. “see the way she’s humping my shoe like a little slut? you fucking wish huh?” he chuckled, his head tilting back in pleasure when you began to play with his balls. jean’s nostrils flared as he took in the way you desperately ground your pussy against eren’s shoe.

“she’s so wet—fuck how is she so wet just from this?” eren let out a breathy laugh because jean did sound genuinely astonished at how soaked you were. “see the way her panties are sticking to her pussy? she’s soaked,” eren pressed his shoe harder against your pussy, snickering at the way your hips stuttered.

it was too much for jean. the way your plump lips suckled on his tip, the way your hand squeezed his base just right, and worst of all—the lewd wet noises coming from your pussy just from humping on eren. “i’m not g’nna last s-she’s gonna make me cum, you’re gonna make me cum y/n—”

“not in her fucking mouth you aren’t, how ‘bout we finish on her face? would you like that baby?” eren gripped onto your hair, pulling your off jean’s dick with the tiniest bit of force. your chest heaved up and down as you licked a your swollen lips. the way you looked at him—oh he could’ve taken you right there jean watching or not.

you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and nodded, the sweetest smile now gracing your lips. “yes—please finish on my face,” your hands began to stroke both of their dicks once again, your pussy throbbing at the way they both twitched and throbbed in your hands.

jean was the first to let go of course once he saw you open your mouth, tongue sticking out of course. eren was quick to follow, both of their cum landing on your face in quick spurts. “what a fucking sight this is” eren bit his lip, running his dick over your lips, a chill running down his spine when he felt you suckle on it.

*flashback over*

you felt a particularly harsh squeeze on your side breaking you out of your thoughts. “you’re awfully quiet, i bet you were thinking about it huh? dirty little thing,” eren let out a low chuckle, pulling you impossibly closer to his body. “didn’t we fuck you at the same time that day too? poor thing you were so sore afterwards having two dicks in that little pussy—”

you gasped at his foul language, catching the attention of your parents. “you alright y/n?” your mother asked making you even more flustered. you looked up at eren, then to your mother before standing up. eren’s brows furrowed in confusion when you reached your hand out to him, but he gladly took it anyway.

“my chest is feeling a little sore….i think i just need to go pump or something. do you guys minding watching her for a minute? we’ll be super quick thank you!” you didn’t give them much time to respond before you were dragging eren out of the chapel.

eren pulled you back, stopping you in your tracks, “do you really need to pump? i don’t think i brought the machine with me but i don’t mind leaving to g—” eren was cut off by your lips crashing against his, your hands clutching onto his dress shirt for dear life.

“m’fine ren *kiss* jus’ need you *kiss kiss* really bad” you words were muffled due to your lips never leaving eren’s, but he understood you just fine.

eren grabbed your trembling hand and led you to the nearest bathroom, ushering you into the closest stall the second you entered. “when’s the last time i fucked you here?” eren asked quietly, pushing your front against the stall door. you whined at the sloppy kisses he began to leave on your shoulders and neck, your backside pushing against his growing erection.

“u-um i think it was years ago when—hah! w-we were teenagers,” you let out a breathless laugh at the memory of you both crammed in this same stall, your legs thrown over both his shoulders while he devoured your pussy. eren began to kiss down your neck, then your back until he was kneeling down, face to face with your dress covered backside.

he slowly lifted up your dress, his big hands roaming all around your ass and the fat of your thighs. “m’glad you remember, that’s one of my favorite memories of us. the number one being the day i married you of course,” he chuckled, spreading your ass cheeks to get a glimpse of your already soaked pussy. he licked his lips before taking a long, fat lick up your center, chuckling when he heard you gasp.

even though you were still wearing your panties he could still taste the sweet, yet tangy taste that was you—his beautiful oh so sweet wife. you both stayed like that for a few moments before eren got impatient and yanked your panties to the side, his lips finding your swollen clit with ease.

“r-renny, not so loudddd” you sniffled, reaching your hand back to pull at his hair, running his perfectly styled bun but he didn’t mind in the slightest. your pleas for him to quiet down went in one ear and out the other because if anything it sounded like he was slurping on your pussy even louder than beforehand.

it didn’t take long before you were cumming all over eren’s tongue, your knees nearly buckling at the way he continued to suck on your sensitive clit. “fuck i’ll never get sick of eating this pussy,” eren ran his tongue over his lips and chin, fighting the urge to dive back in just so you could squirt on his tongue.

“gotta make this quick honey, don’t wanna keep everyone waiting too long yeah?” eren kept you facing forward, your back now arched, glistening pussy on display waiting for him to finally fuck you. he ran his tip between your folds, shuddering at how warm you felt.

without warning eren rammed his hips forward, forcing a broken moan to leave your lips. eren was quick to cover your mouth with his hand, hissing when he felt you bite down on the skin. “sorry baby m’sorry,” eren cooed, coating your neck in wet kisses while his free hand wasted no time toying with your clit. his pace was quick and brutal, the sound of skin slapping echoing throughout the bathroom.

“mmph—renny,” he heard your muffled voice and removed his hand, gripping your chin to force you to look at him. “what is it baby? what do you need from daddy hm? i’m fucking you good ain’t i?” eren looked down and cracked the smallest smile at the way your pussy was sucking him in, a white sheen of your cream coating his base.

you didn’t say anything, instead you stuck out your tongue waiting for eren to do what he did best—give you the sloppiest fucking kiss you’ve received, each time nastier than the last. eren chuckled and wasted no time sucking your tongue into his mouth, moaning into the kiss. you eyes rolled into the back of your head, your pussy clenching onto eren’s dick like a vice. oh how you lived for his kisses.

eren changed his strokes to deep and slow, trying in any way to contain the loud squelching noise from your cunt. “ah ah ah! o-oh m-my,” you bit down harshly on your bottom lip making eren tisk.

“c’mon baby say what you were gonna say he’s listening,” eren growled, pinching your clit between his fingers. if it weren’t for eren holding you up you surely would’ve collapsed.

“oh my god! e-rennnn,” your thighs tensed as eren fucked you through your orgasm, droplets of your cum dripping to the floor. “fuck yeah that’s it baby, scream for your god let ‘em know who’s fucking this pussy,” eren rolled his hips in a way that had your eyes crossing, the feeling of another orgasm already approaching.

eren released his grip on your chin, his hands now finding purchase on your hips, ramming into you with everything he had. “s’good,” he hummed, giving your ass three quick swats.

“so *thrust* fucking *harder thrust* good *really hard thrust*”

your hands scrambled to find something—anything to grab onto, your legs felt like jelly, you body slowly sliding down which each brutal thrust. “nope get up—stand up straight like a good girl,” eren growled, lifting your body up once more. you were practically on your tippy toes, tongue lolled out, and eyes crossed as eren treated you like his own personal fuck toy.

he’s so damn strong. you could feel his muscles bulging through his dress shirt, his abs that he’s maintained all these years making the most delicious clapping sounds against your ass.

“s-shit m’gonna cum, where you want it honey,” eren let out a shaky breath, balls tightening when he felt you squeeze around him for the umpteenth time. your brain was scrambled, the only form of communication you were able to give him is a whine, your mouth slowly dropping open.

“mmph alright baby i’ll give it to you,” eren gave you three more toe curling thrusts before you came with a squeal, white dots taking over your vision. eren cursed when he felt himself already cumming, quickly pulling out and pushing you to your knees. he slipped his thumb in your mouth, pushing down on your tongue to open your mouth wider before releasing the rest of his cum on your awaiting tongue.

you hummed at the taste of him, taking more of his dick into your mouth with ease. eren’s breath hitched, his thighs tensing up from overstimulation. eren gently pulled you away from his cock, a line of spit connecting your lips to the tip. “i think i got a little inside m’sorry baby” he puffed air from his cheeks, tucking himself back in his dress pants.

eren gently lifted you from the floor, making sure your body was steady before bringing you in a tight embrace. you nuzzled your face into his chest, breathing in the intoxicating scent of his cologne.

“you good?” he whispered into your hair, gently stroke your lower back. you nodded, holding onto him tighter, whining when you felt his cum drip down the inside of your thigh. “clean it up,” you mumbled into his shirt, your cheeks flaming hot.

eren let out a low chuckle, muttering out a soft ‘m’kay sweet thing’ before pushing your back against the stall once more. he made quick work putting your leg over his shoulder, licking and sucking at your thighs, cleaning up his cum like the good lil husband he was.

once he was finished he gave your clit a soft kiss, letting out a breathy laugh when he felt you smack the side of his head. “i’m done i’m done, now let’s get outta here before people start to wonder where we are,” he figured your parents were already wondering you two had gone off too but he rlly didn’t give a damn—not when you just gave him one of the best nuts he’s ever had.

just as you two were leaving the restroom you bumped into—of course jean fucking kirstein. “what are you doing?” eren asked, wrapping his arm around you, pulling you into his side. jean looked at the bathroom door then back at eren, “um using the bathroom? what were you two doing?” he cocked his eyebrow, tilting his head to the side.

you both didn’t say anything, but the fucked out looked on your face and eren’s shit eating grin told him everything he needed to know. “you guys are gross….now if you’ll excuse me,” jean cleared his throat, brushing past you and eren to get into the restroom.

you buried your face in eren’s side in embarrassment making his laugh. “don’t get all worked up doll, you know he won’t say shit—probably in there right now jerking it to the thought fucking you,” eren gave your hip a possessive squeeze, guiding you to the chapel.

fortunately for him service was just finishing up.

“there you two are! you missed the whole thing, what took so long?” your mother rushed up to you both, you could see the tiniest bit of frustration in her eyes.

eren took the carrier that was holding your daughter from her, “she just had to pump sorry we took so long mrs. y/l/n. we’ll be sure to join you next sunday to make up for it i promise” eren used the most sincere tone he could, he gave your hip a loving squeeze when he felt you relax into his touch. “now if you’ll excuse us we gotta get genesis,” you both bid your parents farewell before making your way to the basement where the sounds of screaming children and parents could be heard.

“there’s my sweet girl!” you giggled, giving your daughter a bear hug when she jumped into your arms. eren leant down to give her forehead a kiss, “see? that wasn’t too bad now was? now let’s go get something yummy to eat! daddy’s starving,” he whispered the last part in your ear, giving your behind a pinch making you jump.

“don’t worry i’ll make sure you’re nice and fed i promise,” you giggled giving him three quick kisses on his jaw. eren gave you a toothy grin, ecstatic because he knew you’d keep your promise.

and that my friends is how peaches and coconut! eren and his wifey are living <3

[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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[vinnyvamppp]

Can I request for Ladybug! Reader? I saw a TikTok video where Marinette was telling some heroes she could just Miraculous ladybug everything back to normal and they want to hire her because of that.

So imagine this but with Invincible, Reader's like his next door neighbor - yes she witnessed him learning how to land and she got pissed at that cuz IT WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

I like the idea of her revealing her identity to Mark so she can join him in missions whenever, so anytime he destroyed half of a city she just Miraculous ladybug everything and goes "YOUR WELCOME ASSHOLEEE!!"

And maybe during the Invincible war, she lucky charms a whip while fighting a variant (either Mohawk Mark or No goggles Mark cuz they freaky like that) and she goes wtf am I supposed to do with this?

(sorry I'm rambling a lot I just like the potential of this concept)

Friendly Neighborhood Inconvenience

NOTE: THIS IDEA WAS SOOOO FUN, Its 1 am for me and I've been giggling away while typing. I've taken a different approach to my usually long writing to make this more conversationally driven. I'm not straying too much so the vision is accurate. Up and away!

Synopsis: Mark Grayson, is your biggest inconvenience and friend... whom you also live next to. Super-powered besties...? :) Warnings: None, my first non-smut-related blog yes yes! Just two idiots with powers. Mark Grayson x Ladybug!Reader Word Count: 1,000

You knew Mark Grayson was going to be a problem the moment he crashed into your backyard.

Not metaphorically. Not in a "he’s my annoying next-door neighbor" way. No, Mark Grayson, your classmate, occasional physics partner, and guy who still owed you ten bucks from a group project, literally smashed into the ground outside your window at 2 AM. 

You had been peacefully sleeping, dreaming of things far, far away from the absolute disaster that was your life, when a loud THUD shook your house. The crashes you had been imagining in your dreams began to manifest outside of your home. Were you under attack? Has the house shifted? Did your insomnia finally catch up to you? You jolted awake, heart racing, and sprinting as you immediately threw open your window to find Mark groaning in a crater. Oh…

"...Are you serious right now?"

He looked up, squinting and disoriented. "Huh—? Oh. Uh. Hey, neighbor."

"You woke me up," you deadpanned.

"Sorry," he wheezed, struggling to stand. His hands planting themselves against his knees.

"Mark. Why are you in my backyard." Your fingers gestured to the now three unevenly placed craters, one having a busted water pipe.

At that, he winced. "I was... learning how to land."

"You… know how to fly?” Correction: Barely. “...In the middle of the night?"

"Y-Yeah?"

You sighed so hard it could’ve put out a candle. "Grayson, I swear to God, if you ever—"

His attention suddenly turned towards his bedroom, the voice of his mothers concerned cries calling out for him jolted him into focus. And then he zoomed away, barely getting his balance, leaving you seething in your pajamas.

Yeah. Mark Grayson was going to be a problem. One you couldn’t avoid. Mark thought he was so slick. Just how did he manage his grades being so reckless? He’d show up to school exhausted, disappear at the most inconvenient times, and had that whole "Oops, did I break another building? Teehee!" energy about him. You knew. Oh, you knew.

Because the second you saw him with a black eye in the hallway after a “plumbing accident,” you put two and two together. You’d seen Invincible on the news. You’d seen him stumble into your backyard like an idiot. Not to mention the various times he’d confidently strut into his home WEARING HIS COSTUME. Though, you always assumed he was just into comic con and somewhat of a superhero nerd.

So when the time finally came to throw off the mask, you did it spectacularly.

Mark stood in your living room, eyes wide, staring at you in full Ladybug attire. "Wait—YOU’RE LADYBUG?!"

You smirked, spinning your yo-yo. "Surpriiiise~!"

"But—how—why—?!"

"Bro, did you really think you were the only one sneaking around at night?!"

Mark ran a hand through his hair, still struggling to process. "You fix everything after my fights?"

"Ding ding ding!" You clapped your hands. "Every time you break a city block, I put it back together. Every. Single. Time."

His jaw dropped. "Oh my God."

"Oh your God is right. Do you know how hard it is to undo your messes?! Half the time, I don’t even know what I’m fixing! You knock over a skyscraper, I gotta wing it! And every fight wrecks at least ten buildings!"

Mark laughed, but there was guilt in his eyes. "...So, uh. Guess this means you can help out more?"

You crossed your arms. "Help? Babe, I’ve been your cleanup crew this entire time. You should be helping me."

And thus, the most chaotic partnership in hero history was born. Cecil had been hounding you anyway, so this panned out in your favor. Being close and personal to his hero-ly escapades made the clean up easier to maintain… for your sanity of course. You had been through some rough days. Fought some wild villains. But nothing could have prepared you for an entire army of Invincibles tearing through the planet. Honestly, you were terrified; and left ragged, but keeping your wits about you would be the best bet you had for survival. 

You were dodging a punch from one of them, Mohawk Mark, which was an awful fashion choice, by the way, when your Lucky Charm activated. Perhaps it was something helpful like a pair of shears to correct his funky haircut. A bright light flashed, and in your hand, you felt—

A whip.

You blinked.

"...What the hell am I supposed to do with this?!"

Mohawk Mark lunged at you with a cheeky grin, enthralled more than anything. “Didn’t know you were into that, could use another one of you.” He teased.

"Shit—!"

You improvised. And like a thirsty mutt, he hounded you like a new obsession. Who knew men with harems could be so freaky? Later, when the war was over, when the dust settled and the leveled cities were, miraculously, nearly restored, you stood next to Mark, arms crossed, glaring at him.

"Go ahead," he muttered.

"You know what I’m gonna say," you grinned, nudging him slightly.

He sighed.

"Go on," you sing-songed.

"…Thanks."

"And—?"

"...Sorry for all the messes."

You smirked, patting his shoulder. "See? That wasn’t so hard. Now go buy me dinner, asshole."

Mark groaned. "You're never gonna let this go, huh?

"Not in a million years." Secretly, he would be happy too, but the poor boy was embarrassed from being proven wrong that his lips sealed shut. As Mark begrudgingly led the way to the nearest burger joint, you grinned, spinning your yo-yo around your finger. The city skyline gleamed, perfectly restored, thanks to you. The world was safe again—also thanks to you. And despite the chaos, the near-death experiences, and the fact that you were probably stuck dealing with Mark’s messes forever… you wouldn’t have it any other way. Ugh, I just love writing in-character stories. I HOPE THIS LIVED UP TO YOUR REQUESTS EXPECTATIONS LMAO.

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[frudoo]

bakers wake up and get to the shop soooo early to prep for the day, right? so 3 am 4 am, simon (or whoever) is chill he’s on his routine, unlocking the door of the bakery when all of a sudden, he and drunk clubgoer? insomniac? kicked out? !reader meet each other- if she’s in a bad situation, simon fights off some guys first, or catches her from stumbling onto the pavement, but either way, they’re the only people out on the streets at this hour, and he invites her in to have a cup of tea while he mixes his dough and the sun rises?

been in my head for forever

This isn't quite what you asked for, but I hope you enjoy anyway <3

Warnings: Mentions of body image issues. Mentions of drinking alcohol, stalking. Brief implications of past abuse and crimes. One (1) act of violence.

It’s been exactly three days, right down to the minute, since Simon saw you last. After leaving the nursing home, you dropped him back off at his house and told him you’d be in touch. Then you were gone. He knows you’re a busy woman, that you probably haven’t even gotten around to editing his pictures yet. Still, here he is, waiting by his phone like a pioneer woman longingly gazing out the window for her lover. 

     He hears a ping and smiles excitedly only to find that it’s Johnny texting him for the millionth time. Simon resists the urge to throw his phone against the wall to watch it shatter, instead making his way into the kitchen to make himself dinner. He rummages through the fridge and pulls out some eggs, leftover ham from a couple of nights ago, a block of swiss cheese, and some asparagus. There’s some pie dough in the back of the fridge that he needs to use before it goes bad, so he grabs that too. 

     He chops up the ham and asparagus, shreds the cheese and whisks a handful of eggs in a bowl, surrounded by dead silence. Cooking is a nice distraction, relaxing and comforting. It reminds him of being younger, helping his mum stir the ingredients in her green, floral-patterned mixing bowl while she nursed his baby brother. He cherished those quiet moments home alone with the two people that loved him most, when his bastard father was out drinking or sleeping with other women. Beth is the one he learned most of his skills from—her chocolate cake recipe is the very one he uses for his business. Her handwriting will forever be engraved into his brain.

     Simon sighs as he assembles the quiche and puts it in the oven. He’s long since shed tears over his lost family, but he thinks about them every single day. It’s nice to think that Beth and Tommy are watching over him from some place way up in the sky, that they see the softer parts of him, the good in him. But his father knocks from down below, mocking, reminding Simon of his career, what heinous war crimes he’s committed and how he’s covered it up. No better than me, son, he jeers, ya take afta ya pops. He’s worked with his therapist on how to drown out that nasty voice. It works most of the time.

     Before he knows it, Simon is finally in bed. The dishes are washed, the oven is off, and he is warm, full, and happy—all the makings of a good night’s sleep. That’s exactly what he gets.

     Until that peace is disrupted by the sound of his doorbell being rung frantically. 

     He wakes with a start, rubbing the sleep from his hazy eyes. Four o’clock in the morning and already the world is trying to take back the tranquility he had for just a few hours. He turns on his bedside lamp, not bothering to put a shirt on, just slipping on a pair of sweatpants and padding to the front door. He looks through the peephole and his heart sinks. He flings the door open.

     “S-Simon, I’m so- so sorry to show up like this, but I-I was out with my friends and- and- fuck, I’m so sorry, I’ll just-”

     “Shh, lovie, breathe f’me,” Simon furrows his brow, resting his hands on your biceps gently. “Tell me wha’s goin’ on.”

     You sniffle and wipe away the tears running down your cheeks, smearing your mascara. 

     “We w-went to the bar, and there was a guy there who kept trying to- to- Simon, he’s following me, I-I can’t- please,” you sob, eyes wide and terrified.

     His grip on you tightens as he pulls you inside, instantly on alert. Rapidly approaching his front door is some guy with a scowl on his face and his eyes locked on your back. Simon coaxes you behind him as the guy stomps up to his doorstep.

     “Oi, mate, tha’s my bird ya go’ in there. We go’ into a figh’ and she ran off from me.”

     “Simon, I don’t- I don’t know him,” you slur timidly. “He’s b-been following me for miles.” 

     “Ge’ off o’my property ‘fore I break ya bloody jaw,” Simon growls, crossing his arms over his broad, scarred chest. 

     “Who the fuck d’ya think ya are, ya big prick? Gimme the broad an’ I’ll-”

     You barely have time to blink before there’s a loud crack and a pained yell from the smaller man. Simon’s shoulders heave as he grabs the guy by his shirt collar, leaning in close to mutter in his ear. 

     “Y’ever come ‘round ‘ere again, I’ll use ya guts as tinsel on ya mum’s Christmas tree. Go’ tha’?” 

     The man holds his dislocated jaw in shock before scurrying away with tears in his eyes like a scared little puppy. You let out a sigh of relief, still shaking even as Simon locks the door and turns to face you. He freezes when you wrap your arms around his neck but ultimately surrenders to the hug, strong arms snug around your waist. 

     “Thank you so much, I-I don’t- I can go home, now, I don’t wanna bother you any more than I already have,” you pull back apologetically, suddenly aware of exactly how early you’ve woken the poor man up. 

     “No’ a bother, lovie, I promise,” he murmurs. “Don’ wan’ ya goin’ ou’ all by y’self again. Y’can stay w’me.” 

     “I couldn’t-”

     “Ya will,” he interrupts, cupping your face in his big, warm hands. “Y’still stumblin’ ‘round, love. Tha’ alcohol needs t’wear off ‘fore I le’ ya go anywhere.”

     You pout, and Simon tuts, guiding you over to the couch and softly pushing you down onto the cushion. He takes off your heels and sets them beneath the coffee table, making sure you’re plenty comfortable. You snuggle up with the blanket he drapes over you and a content grin tugs at his lips. 

     “Ya ‘ungry?” He questions.

     He nods when you do, heading into the kitchen to warm up a slice of the quiche he made last night. He leans back against the counter and flinches at the cold, a dark flush heating his pale skin as he remembers he’s in nothing but a pair of damn sweatpants. He feels far too exposed, and insecurity creeps its way into his brain. Before he can decide to run to his bedroom and throw on a shirt, the microwave beeps, so he grabs a fork and brings you the food.

     “Made this las’ nigh’. Should keep y’full, maybe preven’ a hangover,” he explains softly, setting the hot plate on the coffee table. 

     “Thank you, Simon,” you grin up at him gratefully.

     “Since I’m up, m’gonna ge’ started on an order, alrigh’? Lemme know if ya need anythin’. Don’ hesitate t’ask.”

     Simon told a little white lie—there is no order he needs to complete. He just doesn’t want you to feel worse than you already do. He makes his way into the kitchen once more with a yawn, gathering all of the ingredients he needs to make chocolate cake. He’s been craving it since last night, and besides, it’ll help him feel closer to his mom and Tommy. Some of his best—untainted—memories revolve around that cake, shared around the table after supper. 

     You tread into the kitchen after a few minutes, empty plate in hand. Simon smiles, and you return the gesture, walking towards the sink. 

     “Lovie, y’don’ hafta wash-”

     “Sure I do,” you cut him off, running the hot water. “The quiche was really good. Thanks again for… well. All of this.”

     “Y’can always come over. Whenever ya wan’. I mean it.”

     You move to stand next to him, drying off your hands on one of his dishtowels. He’s mixing the batter by hand despite having a stand mixer, but you don’t question it. You observe silently, not wanting to distract him from his work. Simon looks up at you through his long blond lashes, stepping aside and gesturing for you to take over the whisking.

     “O-oh, I shouldn’t,” you laugh nervously.

     “Ya should,” he insists. “Ya won’ ruin it, sweet’eart. It’s pretty ‘ard t’fuck up. ‘Sides, I need t’butter some pans.”

     Cautiously, you take the whisk from him, slowly dragging it through the thin batter. The task isn’t as daunting as you led yourself to believe. You repeat the figure eight motion a few more times as Simon preps his bakeware.

     “Wanna pour it in?” He asks, sliding one of the metal pans over to you.

     “No. I- uh, well I’m kinda… still seeing double. Just a little,” you giggle, and he chuckles in response.

     “No’ a problem.”

     It’s smooth and practiced, the way he works. Such a simple act, but he makes it look like an art form. He doesn’t have to measure how much batter he pours into each pan, he just knows. Simon slides them into the oven, then turns to look at you. He sighs when he sees that you’re already eyeing his dirty dishes.

     “I can wash-”

     “No’ gonna ‘appen. Tha’s wha’ the dishwasher’s fo’, love,” he raises an eyebrow, making a show out of loading up the machine and drying off his hands once the chore is complete. “C’mon, then. Y’need some sleep.”

     You yawn before you can protest, much to his amusement. Rolling your eyes playfully, you follow behind him as he leads you to his bedroom. He pulls out a shirt and a pair of shorts from his drawer and hands them to you. 

     “More comfortable than tha’ dress, m’sure,” he hums, turning on his heel to give you some privacy. “I’ll be up fron’ if ya need me.”

     “S-Simon,” you chew on your bottom lip nervously. “Will you… will you stay with me? I don’t wanna kick you out of your own bed.”

     His heart skips a beat, but he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

     “Gotta ge’ the cakes outta the oven, firs’. Ge’ changed an’ I’ll come back in, yeah?”

     Simon gently shuts the door and trods back to the kitchen. You do as he says and change quickly, bashfully peeking out the door once you’re in his clothes. After a good few minutes he returns, still smelling of the chocolate cake. He hesitates before stepping back inside, grinning softly to himself as he watches you climb beneath his covers. He sits at the edge of the bed while you get comfortable.

     “Are you gonna lay down?” You ask through yet another yawn, lifting up the sheets and blinking up at him.

     “I-I, uh… yeah. Sure, lovie,” he sucks in a deep breath, then slides into bed right beside you.

     You hum contentedly and rub your eyes with the backs of your hands. You turn on your side to face him, carefully reaching out to brush a crumb of cake from the corner of his mouth with your thumb. 

     “Taste test?”

     “Ya caugh’ me,” he huffs in amusement, breath hitching in his throat as you lean in closer.

     “Thanks for saving me, Si,” you whisper, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. 

     As your head rests on his pillow and you drift off to sleep, there’s only one thought in Simon’s head.

     He could get used to this.

[moneymartin]

kate hcs? like what u did w nika plsss

・❥・- gf!kate hcs

warnings: harddd smut under the divider at the end and suggestive content :p

afab!r

a/n: i genuinely love doing hcs more than writing full on fics cause my lord i cannot write a whole story without going off track and ruining the entire thing… got carried away like always. also this is longgg overdue as well. i’ve been procrastinating everything and i feel bad for not releasing anything sooner like i promised. thank you for being patient w me lolz

i’m glad that we all agree… kate is theeee golden retriever girlfriend

i mean who wouldn’t say that

blonde masc that gives off happy vibes and literally has a tattoo that says ‘sunshine’

treats you like a real fuckin’ princess like she knows what she’s doing

okay kate lovesssss the kids

her and carson are so adorbs 💔

when someone asks her what her profession is she is not gonna say a pro hooper

shes gonna say that shes carson’s aunt 😭

def takes you over to kennedy’s house when she’s gone and makes you babysit carson w her 🥹

loves when they hold her fingers she thinks its the cutest thing in the world and you photograph the whole thing

spoils you fosho!!!!

mention one lil thing and shes buying it for you

new clothes, bags, shoes, jewelry, accessories. ANYTHING YOU WANNTTT!!!

yk how she likes tswift…

takes you to a concert for your bday if you do too

and wears that stupid cowboy hat 😒

but you guys would be matching soooo

DEFINITELY loves physical touch

hands hands handssss

they’re all over you in public like she is not afraid to show people you’re hers 😩

on your waist or hips. her fingers are always on you somehow

also does it romantically like she’ll intertwine pinkies with you and always holds your hand no matter the situation

the thumb thing is her favorite

loves pda foshooooo

i don’t think she’d be possessive but i feel like shes the jealous type

sees you w a girl at the bar or sumn and starts to FREAK!

she’ll sit next to you immediately and is touching you all over so that the girl goes away 😭

or shes burying her face into your neck and kissing your skin in front of her

WHEW!!!

everyone can disagree w me on this but i see her as lil spoon when you guys cuddle…

FIGHT ME ALL YOU WANT BUT THIS GIRL LOVEEESSSS WHEN YOU PLAY W HER HAIR WHILE SHE SLEEPS

kisses your neck or your collar while shes half asleep 😣

back rubs are her fav thing too

shes the one getting them tho cause she’s always so tense after practice and she believes that if you do it she’ll feel better already

we all know shes a passenger princess.

she probably has a car but refuses to drive it alone when you’re there cause she thinks she’ll crash it or something

lets you wear her clothes

if she was taller (most likely) she’d have you in all her shirts and stuff cause they look bigger on you

you think you shouldn’t wear anything under cause it hides everything anyways and kate agrees

in reality she just loves the easy access…

total baby when she’s drunk

and super clingy :(

arguments don’t happen often but when they do it ends real fast cause she knows how to calm you down 🥹🥹🥹

if anything though the arguments start cause its about something real stupid

teaches you how to play basketball if it isn’t your sport

can’t cook for SHIET!!!! burns eggs easily or somethin like that cause she can’t bring herself to learn

knows how to bake tho 100%

super adventurous

have you guys seen the pic of her zip lining… like she’s fearless when it comes to that stuff

hits the gym and weight room every fuckin day w you so she can build those arms 🤫

spots you when you think its too hard

KATE IS A MUNCH

ik y’all have seen that pussy eater jaw…

kisses are her thing as well

making out w you is the highlight of her night week day whatever!

initiates it all the time cause she knows you love it too

whines during it too me thinks…

when she needs you to shut up during it i firmly believe that she’ll kiss you to muffle the noises 😩

she isn’t straightforward but when she wants to she’ll make it obvious.

GROANER AND GRUNTERRRRR FOR SURE

cusses all the time

hard breather too

she’ll breathe out a bunch of words that you can barely hear cause of your own noises 💀 but you love hearing them cause you know she’s engaged

her strap game is crazy though i can tell…

feel like she’d sometimes just wear it for fun

she’ll wear it just for the looks and not to use it on you 😭😭

she doesn’t wanna have sex w you for her pleasure b/c during it, everything is about YOUUU

your pleasure >>>>> anything else

soft dom 100% but will also switch sometimes if thats what you’re feeling

especially after games like she loves having sex after cause she knows you’ll do everything for her

FUCKIN LOVES WHEN YOU RIDE HER ITS HER FAVORITE THING EVER

always grabbing your hips really tight when you do and theres always marks afterwards on them

and she likes seeing your face when you’re on top

missionary is her thing

eye contact during sex is important

to her at least

LOVES DIRTY TALKING

degrades you but only when you’re being cocky about something while she fucks the shit outta you

i don’t think she’d be aggressive but she’d be a lil rough when she’s upset

hickeys.

leaves marks EVERYWHEREEE

in the most visible spots so that people can see them when you two are in public

only happens during makeout seshes or when you guys are havin your own time tho

she so talks you through it.

always reassuring and asking if you feel good or not

“is this okay?” “does that hurt?” “it’s okay, baby. i’m right here, i promise” “take your time” lil things like that

praises you hella too

call me cringe or whatever

but she’ll call you a good girl if she has to…

when she eats you out she’s SOOO FOCUSED

quiet the wholeeee time but you can feel her getting all breathy against you

kisses your thighs after you cum so you know she’s still there 😞❤️

aftercare queen

she’s already cleaning you up and getting you a new pair of clothes or running a warm bath for the both of you 🥸

[xoxovanillq]

Tangerine

Pairing- Dick Grayson x gn!reader

Warnings- Wisdom tooth removal, anesthesia, pain, kissing, a little bit of innuendo

Dick was a good friend, of course he’d pick you up from your wisdom tooth surgery.

Or at least that’s what he thought.

Now he was facing the reality of it, you were loopy, uncomfortable, and bloody, a combination that wasn’t necessarily ideal. The receptionist handed him a bag of things as he walked out, your body slumped against his side. 

“You’re such a good boyfriend, picking her up and taking care of her.” The receptionist cooed.

“We aren’t dating, but thanks.” Dick murmured, trying to usher you out of the clinic faster.

The two of you finally get outside. Dick’s got an arm around your waist, propping you up against him.

“I- I feel weird.” You murmur, slurring your words a bit. Dick grimaced as he felt a bit of drool drip onto his shirt.

“Yeah, you’re gonna feel like that when you’re hopped up on pain meds, tangerine.” He replies, deciding to give up on making you walk and just picks you up. He carries you all the way to his car, your arm wrapped around his neck for support as he holds you bridal-style.

He sets you down gently in the passenger seat, and you giggle a bit, looking up at his face.

“What’s up?” Dick asks, laughing softly as you place a hand on his cheek.

“Did I ever tell you how pretty you are?” You say, quite obviously still a bit dazed. Dick’s face goes red, and he tries to laugh it off.

“C’mon, let’s get you home.” He says, shutting the door gently before moving over to the drivers side. Now is not the time to confess your years long crush, Dick thought as he settled down, looking over at your dazed smile.

“I meant it, you’ve always been soooo pretty, always wanted to kiss you.” You drawl, words slurred and messy. Dick went red, trying to laugh it off again and putting the car into drive.

“We can talk when you’re in your right mind again.” He responds, voice shaking a bit.

“But I wanna talk now.” You whine, and Dick sighs, he really didn’t want to deal with this.

“I know, but you aren’t yourself right now, Tangerine.” He soothes, rubbing your shoulder with his hand. He laughs softly as you whine something indistinguishable.

The rest of the drive goes by smoothly, with you falling asleep in the passenger seat, head lolled to the side and resting on his shoulder. Once the two of you arrived at your apartment, Dick decided he’d rather carry you inside than disrupt your peaceful sleep, so he made his way to your side of the car and got ready to carry you.

He opened the car door as softly as he could, then gently unbuckled your seatbelt. He gently scooped you into his arms in a bridal carry, looking down at your peaceful, albeit swollen, face. 

God, I hope she wasn’t just dumb and loopy. Dick thinks as he carries you into your apartment, placing you gently in your bed. He’d liked you for the longest time, and he didn’t know if he could handle finding out your words were a lie.

“Dick?” You murmured drowsily, snapping him out of his haze.

“Whats up, tangerine?” He asks, suddenly standing up from the armchair he had been sitting in to stand over you. 

“Nothing, just making sure you were still here.” With that, you drifted back off into a hazy sleep, dreaming of him.

While you slept off the drugs, Dick cleaned up the kitchen and made a little cozy spot for you on the couch.

He stood at the stove, stirring a pot of cooking noodles for some mac and cheese. Dick was antsy for you to wake up, nervous to question you about the intents of your comment.

His head snapped down at the sound of sizzling, the pot had boiled over. He sighed, checking his watch to see that it was time to drain the pasta.

You wake up, groggily walking into the living room to see a pillow and blanket in the corner of your couch, a small table, meant to hold food while watching tv, in front of it. A bowl of mac and cheese, along with a cup of ice water, and a bottle of pineapple juice rested atop it.

“I heard somewhere it was supposed to help with the swelling.” Dick calls out, his deep voice making you jump a bit.

“Thanks, Dick, this is really sweet.” You say with a sore smile, your voice a bit hoarse.

“It’s nothing, really.” He says with a soft smile, placing a hand on your back and gently guiding you to sit.

There was a period of awkward silence as you began to eat and Dick tried to find a spot to sit. Eventually, he settled on sitting next to you, but not too close.

You watched him intently as he took a deep breath, turning towards you, eyes gazing into yours.

“So um, did you mean what you said?” Dick finally blurts out, looking over to see your face.

“Dick- I- what did I say?” You reply, voice thick with worry.

“You said something about kissing me and it’s fine if you didn’t mean it and it’s- it’s actually great if you did!” He spews, explaining quickly.

You begin to mumble a frantic apology, then realize what he said. “Did- do you really mean that?”

Dick sighs and shakes his head, looking down into his lap. “Listen- I’m just gonna be honest, I’ve liked you for a long time. Like, since we were 10.” He says quietly.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You exclaim, a big smile on your face. “Dick, I’ve liked you for years, I’ve just been too scared to say anything.” All Dick can do is smile and laugh.

“What are you waiting for then?” He asks, laughing as you rocket forward into his arms, pressing your lips to his.

He couldn’t believe that he was sitting there, with you in his lap, a hand tangled in your hair, and your lips pressed to his.

“Ow.” He hears you gently whimper. Quickly pulling away, he begins to inspect your face for injuries. “M’just sore still, that’s all.” You reassure.

“Better heal up quick, that mouth of yours has got some things to prove.”