#and then i kept thinking of new one’s and had to write more in the middle of an aisle

[damneddamsy]

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

summary: Joel Miller never expected much out of Jackson—just a quiet place to live out the days he had left. But when a baby’s cries lead him to a mother unravelling under the pressure of nursing her child she never asked for, he finds himself tangled in something he can’t walk away from—no matter how much he tells himself he should.

a/n: on today's episode of 'angry idiots and sad assholes', introducing the one and only Joel Miller! I let out a few tears writing this one, too, it's really painful when you think about how Joel probably perceives himself, or how I think he does. onto other happier news, I simply cannot believe the kind of response the first part garnered, and I'm shook! rise up, depression girlies!!! To everyone who responded in the comments and reblogs, I've read them all twice over and giggled and twirled my hair and threw up butterflies. Thank you, and I hope you like this one! :)

Joel settled into his routine like a man settling into an old wound. Patrols, clearing trails, the stables, the repair shop, the bar, dinner in silence, rinse and repeat. It was easier that way—easier than thinking too much about a vain attempt. He ignored his neighbour’s existence completely. At least, that’s what he told himself.

But ignoring something didn’t make it disappear.

Every morning, he still ended up at the dining table—the one he never used—sipping his coffee too slow for his patience, gaze drawn to the big white house across the street like a goddamn magnet. Watching for movement. Watching for them.

And he fucking hated it.

Hated the part of him that waited, that noticed, that took account of the smallest details like they meant anything to him. Like he still had a reason to care.

Sometimes, Maya fussed too much, and Leela would come outside, her hair a little unkempt, gait all botched, but her hands steady as she cradled her baby against her chest. He saw her murmuring softly to the baby girl, pointing to the sky, the trees, the shifting clouds, the falling snow. A little trick from Maria, he figured. It worked well enough. Maya would quiet, those big brown eyes so curious, distracted by the vastness of the world she barely understood.

And Leela—she still looked tired. Still looked like she was moving through a fog, unseeing, carrying more than just the baby in her arms. But she took to Maya differently now, touched her calmly, like she was no longer afraid she might break her.

That was good. That meant she was doing fine. That meant she didn’t need him. And that meant Joel could stop worrying about the things that weren’t his to worry about.

Joel was outside, tightening the hinges on his porch gate, bracing against the cold, when he heard her steps crunching in the snow. Still quiet. Still waiting. He didn’t look up right away, just kept his focus on the task in front of him. If she needed something, she’d say it.

"Good morning, Joel," Leela greeted warmly.

Joel gave a short nod, adjusting the grip on his screwdriver. "Mornin’."

She lingered there. Honestly, he just wished she’d just go back inside. So, he kept working, unbothered, and didn't look up.

"Loose hinges?" she asked.

Courtesies. He wasn't falling for it. "Mhm."

He knew when he wasn't wanted. She was finding her feet now, somewhat starting to take care of herself, carefully taking care of Maya. She didn’t need him checking in, didn’t need him hovering. And maybe—maybe that should’ve felt like a relief. It didn’t.

"You need anything else?" he asked, voice gruffer than he meant it to be.

"No, I just..." Leela wavered, softly, like she already knew he was about to shut her down. "I wanted to say thank you. For helping me out these few weeks. I couldn't have done it without you."

Joel finally glanced up at that. Just a flicker.

Leela shifted in her puffy pants, adjusting Maya against her shoulder. The baby girl was bundled up tight, small fists curled into her mouth, watching him with that blank, childlike wonder in big eyes. It took every bit of strength he had to not fall for that, and just forget everything that happened.

Joel hung his head, nodding again, keeping his focus downward on the screw.

She was being friendly. Trying to meet him halfway. And he hated that this was what it had come to—that she felt like she had to say something, to extend some kind of olive branch, when all he’d done was build a wall between them. For no fucking reason.

He straightened up with a muffled grunt, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Nothin’ to thank me for. It was all you."

She half-laughed, something wry and knowing. "I know that's not true."

Joel glanced up, stiffening, but she wasn’t looking at him, just rubbing slow circles into Maya’s back, pressing a slow kiss to the top of her head, consoling herself.

He knew what she was doing. He wasn’t stupid.

She was trying to make things normal again. Like they hadn’t spent nights under the same roof. Like he hadn’t seen her fall apart. Like she wasn’t still here, right now, offering him something—a small, careful thing—and he was too much of a coward to take it.

So he didn’t.

Joel scratched the back of his neck with the screwdriver, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. "You oughta get inside," he said instead. "It’s too cold for the kid."

Leela’s expression flickered. Not hurt. Just resigned. He felt like he'd ripped the bandaid off a baby.

"Okay. Yes." She slowly nodded but hesitated a step back. Then—too quietly, almost like an afterthought—"It’s nice to see you around, Joel."

And with that, she started back down the road, holding Maya closer by her head, and Joel let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. That was better. Cleaner.

He grabbed his tools and turned back to his door, locking his jaw. He hadn’t meant to come off short, but it was better this way. Best to stay in his own lane. Best not to make something out of nothing. That’s what he told himself.

But later that night, when he was eating that damn delicious soup she’d left for him by his door—still warm, still considerate—he felt like a grade-A asshole.

From then on, it was Tommy who had taken over fixing the nursery, finishing what Joel had started. He figured that was for the best. It kept things clean. Tied up loose ends. He had no business stepping into that house anymore, no reason to.

And yet, his eyes always caught the details—the way the curtains in the nursery window shifted, the way light flickered between the slats, the way the wood he had sanded and painted was still unfinished, the way Tommy started bringing someone else along.

Mal.

Joel had seen him before, a younger guy with an afro that Tommy had taken under his wing. Handy with repairs, and good with his hands. Nothing special.

At first, Mal actually worked. Brought his toolbox, put up a few shelves, and nodded along to whatever Tommy said. Kept to himself. But then—things started changing. Mal started staying longer. Talking... to her. Right on the front stoop until the sun went down.

It was fine at first. Two steps between them. Then one. Then none at all. Soon, he was leaning close on the porch railing, shoulders nearly brushing hers, speaking in low, easy tones that Joel couldn’t quite make out from across the street. And then—laughter. Leela’s laughter. Soft, hesitant, but real.

More than Joel had ever gotten out of her. Not that he’d ever tried.

Tommy and Maria stopped coming around entirely. It was just Mal now. Every goddamn day. He’d stroll up, toolbox in hand, tap on the door, and then—nothing. No sounds of work being done. No hammering, no shifting furniture. Just conversation.

Joel told himself it didn’t matter. Repeated it like a prayer, like a lesson he should’ve learned by now. That whatever Leela did, whoever she let into her home, was none of his business. That was the whole point of leaving, wasn’t it? Cutting ties, walking away.

He didn’t care about the way Mal lingered on that porch, didn’t care about the way Leela had started looking at him—not quite wary, not quite inviting. Like she was still learning how to trust people but was willing to try. Didn’t care about the way Maya reached for Mal, the tiny fingers curling into his beard, the easy way Mal let her.

And yet, he always saw it.

The way Mal leaned just a little closer, the way Leela’s shoulders, once so tight and drawn, started to loosen. The way her fingers twisted in the fabric of her sleeves when she spoke to him, soft and hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to enjoy the conversation.

Joel hated how much he noticed. It was worse when he overheard them.

He'd been out all damn day. Sun up to sundown, rifle slung over his shoulder, dealing with raiders, clickers, and everything in between. The kind of day that made his bones ache, that made his back scream when he so much as breathed wrong. The kind of day where all he wanted was to go home, put his feet up, and maybe—just maybe—close his eyes for longer than ten damn minutes.

But no. Because just as he was rounding the corner to his place, the world ready to lay even more shit on him, he heard them.

"You mean to tell me no one's ever spun you around before?" Mal was saying.

Joel's step faltered. He should’ve kept walking. Should’ve ignored it. But of course, he didn’t. Joel adjusted his grip on the sack slung over his shoulder, slowing his pace, letting their voices drift through the cold evening air.

Leela snorted, light and dismissive. "Like dancing?"

"Exactly like," Mal confirmed, smooth as you please. "Having a little fun, letting go, feeling the music. Bet you don’t do much of that."

Joel’s fingers curled around the strap of his bag, grip tightening.

"There's more pressing matters than romance," Leela muttered, but she was laughing.

Joel didn’t like that one bit. He didn’t like the way she said it. Playful. Entertained. That was the first thing that rubbed Joel the wrong way. The second was the way the kid kept talking.

"Well, I bet Maya’s never even seen her mama all dolled up before, huh? Imagine that, baby girl," Mal cooed, and Maya's sweet crool followed like a melody.

Fuck this.

Joel didn’t hear Leela’s response, didn’t hear whatever she said next, because he was already moving—boots heavy, hands fisted, the strap of his bag biting into his palm.

The frozen dirt beneath his boots crunched as he made his way there, shoulders squared, hackles raised, barely restraining the urge to grab that kid by the collar and shake some goddamn sense into him.

Because who the hell did this punk think he was?

Talking like that, acting like Leela was some blushing girl to be sweet-talked. Like she hadn’t spent the last few weeks barely holding herself together. Like she hadn’t bled for that kid in her arms. Like Joel hadn’t been the one who—

He stopped himself there. Tamped it down. Shoved it deep into the pit of his stomach where all the other shit lived.

Instead, he turned away, kept his head down and walked straight home, fists tight around anything. By the time he kicked the door shut behind him, his jaw ached from how hard he’d been clenching it. Fucking Mal.

Joel dumped the sack of supplies on the table and went straight for the bottle. Pulled the cork out with his teeth, and poured himself a glass with a hand that was damn near steady.

He took a sip. Let it burn. Let it settle. Then he muttered, "Goddamn kid."

He wasn’t mad. Not really. Because why should he be?

She liked him. Sure, he wanted her to be happy. If that happened, he'd finally get a good night's sleep. And yet, it wouldn't mean a fucking thing to him if Mal was the reason. One day when he's going to see her and Mal inside her home, silver rings glinting off their hands, little Maya nestled between them, the picture of a perfect family...

Joel knocked back the rest of the whiskey and swallowed hard. Good. That was good. Good for her. She didn't need him. Maya wouldn't need him. He'd butt out and live alone, in peace.

He set the glass down a little harder than he meant to. Stared at it. Then, just to be sure, he muttered it out loud.

"Ain't my problem."

But the facts remained.

She still wasn’t eating much or sleeping well. The dark circles under her eyes hadn’t faded. She still rubbed at her temples when she thought no one was looking, still blinked a little too long, like she was fighting off exhaustion every second of the day. Food was out of compulsion, not hunger, for the sake of staying healthy for Maya.

And then, one night, he saw her asleep on the porch swing. Curled in on herself, arms tucked tight, shivering slightly against the cold, exhaustion dragging her under where she sat.

It took everything in him not to walk over and wake her. To shake her by the shoulder, drag her inside, make sure she was warm. It took everything in him not to care.

Because this wasn’t his anymore. He had no claim over them.

Didn’t change the fact that every time he saw Mal leaning against that railing, looking like he belonged there like he’d always belonged there—that knot in his chest twisted tighter.

And he hated that, too.

X

Joel had truly been looking forward to dinner. It was the same thing every week. He’d go over to Tommy's, have a decent meal, shoot the shit with his brother, and let Ellie fill in the gaps of conversation. It was comfortable. Familiar. Nice. A welcome change from the silence of his own home, from days spent running the same damn circuit—patrol, repairs, the bar, then back to a house that wasn’t a home, not really.

But tonight, something was off. Joel could feel it from the moment he sat down.

Maybe it was the way Maria and Ellie kept glancing at him like they were waiting for something. Or maybe it was just Tommy—sitting across from him, chewing through a mouthful of steak, his expression too nonchalant like he had something up his sleeve.

Joel didn’t think much of it at first. He focused on his food, carving through the meat, grounding himself in the scrape of his fork against the plate.

Then Tommy opened his big hole of a mouth.

"Mal’s been spending a lot of time over at Leela’s place."

Joel’s hand tensed around his knife. And just like that, his appetite was gone. He kept his face neutral and didn’t look up. Just kept chewing, lagging and deliberate motions, like he hadn’t heard a damn thing.

Tommy, either oblivious or just plain cruel, kept going. "Helpin’ out with the nursery. Putting some time in with the baby girl." He ripped a piece of bread in half, completely unaware of the way Joel’s grip had turned his fork into a weapon. "Good guy. He and Leela get along well. It's nice to see."

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose. Focused on his plate. Flattened a piece of potato with the back of his fork. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t his problem. That was the whole goddamn point, wasn’t it?

He’d helped Leela out. Gave her time. Took care of her baby. That was it. She was somebody else’s problem now. And yet, the idea of some guy stepping into his place, rocking Maya to sleep, working on the nursery, fixing things, being there—his mouth flattened into a hard line. It stung.

No. It wasn’t his place to care. He'd told himself so many times, it felt like one of those daily affirmations bullshit. Thou shall not think of thy neighbour's handyman and his fuckeries.

Though, still, before he could stop himself, the words were already out of his mouth. "Nursery ain’t even done yet."

The second it left him, he regretted it. A beat of silence.

Then, slowly, too slowly, Joel looked up—and immediately hated what he saw. Maria and Ellie were smirking. That stupid, all-too-knowing, ready-to-annoy-the-shit-out-of-him-smirk. He had the greatest urge to leave the room.

Maria lifted an eyebrow. "And how exactly would you know that, Joel?"

Joel pursed his lips casually, setting his fork down with a little too much care. "They live right across the damn street. Hard to miss."

Ellie leaned forward, propping her chin on her fist. "Right. And how much time do you spend looking across the damn street?"

He massaged the bridge of his nose. "Don’t start, Ellie."

Tommy tilted his head, giving him a look that made Joel want to knock his damn teeth out. "You’ve been actin’ real funny ever since you left that house, y’know."

"Ain’t nothin’ to act on," Joel muttered, shifting in his seat. "I helped her out. End of story. Moving on."

Tommy wasn't letting go, damn him. "Uh-huh. Then why you sittin’ here lookin’ like you just bit into a bad lemon the second her name came up?"

Joel’s jaw ticked.

"Yeah," Ellie added, grinning. "Why’s your face doing that thing?"

Joel frowned. "What thing?"

She pointed with her fork to the furrows above his eyebrows. "The thing where you pretend you don’t care, but your forehead says otherwise."

Maria hid a knowing smile behind her glass while Joel rubbed at his face consciously, glaring over at Ellie. "You could just go over there, you know."

Joel let out a short, humourless chuckle. "Oh, c'mon. For what?"

"Dinner," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Just a meal with friends. Tommy, me, you, Ellie—Leela and Maya. Nothing big."

Joel stared down at his plate. His food had gone cold.

"We don’t need to be doin’ all that," he muttered, shaking his head. Getting familiar and cosy. It'd only invite more trouble.

Maria ignored him. "She’s got that nice, big dining room. French windows. Good view of the lawn. It’d be like a little party."

Joel didn’t respond.

"Come on, man," Tommy pressed. "What’s stopping you?"

That was the question, wasn’t it? Joel wasn’t sure he had an answer. Or maybe he did—and just didn’t want to say it.

Because the truth was, he had no business going back. He’d done what he came to do. He’d helped. That was it.

But then there was Maya—her featherlight body in his arms, the way she’d reached for his shirt in her sleep. There was Leela—standing in the doorway that last morning, silent, watching him go. There was the stillness in his own house, the way he’d catch himself in the middle of the night, listening for a cry that never came. What the hell was wrong with him?

Instead, he just stabbed his fork into his potato and muttered, "Pass."

Maria and Ellie exchanged another conspiratorial glance. And Joel had the distinct feeling this wasn’t over.

Once dinner had progressed into a chore, Ellie and Joel, ever the gentleman, helped Tommy dry the dishes. Well—Joel did. Ellie, on the other hand, was just sitting on the counter, swinging her legs and cracking jokes about Tommy’s new manbun. The kitchen was warm, the soft clatter of dishes filling the space and laughter, the steak dinner still settling in Joel’s stomach.

“You’re really doing the whole ponytail thing now, huh?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, flicking on the tap. “Jesus, you sound like Joel.”

“Hey, you take that back! I am way cooler than Joel,” Ellie corrected. “And I'm a thousand times funnier. Pun-nier.”

“Debatable,” Joel muttered.

“Did Maria do this to you?” she asked, flicking a sudsy fork in Joel’s direction. “Blink twice if you need help. I've got emergency scissors.”

Tommy snorted, stacking the last plate in the cabinet. “It’s practical. And I'm starting to like it.”

Ellie tilted her head, unimpressed. “It's lazy. Tragic.”

Joel smirked but said nothing, wiping down a plate before handing it over. Tommy shot him a glare like he was expecting some backup, but Joel just shrugged. Not his fight.

Maria walked in from behind them, and Joel noticed that infuriating look on her face. Oh, nothing good would come out of this. She set a small box on the counter with a dull thud, right beside Joel. He barely glanced at it before she plopped another paper box on top—leftovers from tonight. Steak and potatoes just for a special someone.

“Could you pass this on to Leela on your way back?” she said casually, drying her hands. “It's one dose a day, each.”

Joel looked down, his hands bracing against the counter. Vitamins. Of course.

Maria tapped the food box. “And dinner.”

Joel eyed them both, then her. The way she said it, like it was no big deal. Like she hadn’t just put him in a position he couldn’t easily wiggle out of.

He sighed, already seeing where this was going. He set down the dish towel, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tommy can pass it to her tomorrow.”

Maria simply raised an eyebrow. “Meat’s gonna go bad.”

Joel narrowed his eyes. “Oh, so this is how you’re gonna play it?” He glanced at Tommy, then Ellie, both of whom were very pointedly looking elsewhere. “Really?”

Ellie grinned. “It’s a neighbourly thing to do, Joel. Don't you call yourself a gentleman?”

“I’m with her on that one,” Tommy added, crossing his arms.

Joel let out a slow, irritated breath. Family? No, just a bunch of annoying, traitorous little shits.

Maria only smiled, sliding the box closer to him. “Wouldn’t want her going without. She's already skin and bones. And you know... you live right across the damn street.”

Ellie burst out laughing, raising her fist to Maria, who bumped with her own knowing smile. “Respect.”

Joel clenched his jaw. She'd got him right where she wanted. Because now, if he didn’t take the stupid thing, he’d look like an asshole. And Maria knew that. She was being fucking shameless about it.

His gaze flickered down to the box. Then, before he could stop himself and leave them standing, an image surfaced—Leela, sitting on that damn porch swing, curled up against the cold. Maya’s tiny fingers tugging at her collar, red-cheeked, catching swirling snow in her dark curls.

Joel closed his eyes briefly. He couldn't shake it off. And he admitted it to himself, despite all his grievances against this, he missed them. He missed Leela's soft footsteps in the nursery past midnight, he missed Maya entirely. He missed the sense of normalcy once the blood and gore of patrol ended, to head to a warm home and lay down, exhausted, knowing he hadn't had a drink to fall asleep.

Then, wordlessly, he grabbed the boxes off the counter.

Ellie elbowed Tommy in the ribs, giggling. “See? Look at him. Good ol’ Joel, real man of the people.”

Joel shot her a warning look while heading over to grab his jacket, the delivery under his arm. “Don’t push it, kid.” Then pointed a threatening finger at Tommy as he yanked the front door open. “Can't believe we're related.”

Tommy only puckered his lips at him, miming a kiss. “Mensch Miller.”

X

The house across the street was unlocked again.

Joel stood at the threshold, jaw clenched, boots planted firm against the porch floorboards. The door was cracked open, swaying slightly from the evening breeze, the light from inside spilling out onto the steps. Did she even care about safety? It should’ve been locked. It should’ve been bolted shut, curtains drawn, an armoury stacked by the doorway. But Leela still acted like the world wasn’t what it was. Like Jackson was different.

It had been a whole two months since Leela brought Maya into this world, a month of struggling, of barely eating, barely sleeping, barely breathing. And now she had the nerve to leave her door wide open like she was inviting trouble? Like Jackson was some safe little haven where nothing bad could ever happen? A dangerous thing, that kind of trust. He’d seen what happened to people who had it.

His jaw ticked. He took the porch steps two at a time and pushed the door open without knocking.

Inside, the air was warm, thick with the scent of woodsmoke and something faintly sweet—baby powder, maybe, or that lavender soap Maria kept handing out. The fire crackled low in the hearth, throwing restless shadows across the room, licking at the edges of the high-backed armchair and the mathematics-riddled books and papers neatly stacked up in scatters.

And there she was, standing in front of it. Leela was running a brush through her hair, violently. Dragging it down, tangling it further, hissing under her breath when it snagged. Frustrated, impatient. Needed a haircut.

The same damn nightgown again. White, sleeveless, falling in soft folds just past her knees. But this time, his eyes caught the details—the way a single pearl button at her collar had been left open carelessly, the way the thin cotton made the dark silhouette of her body visible beneath, and the odd little cherries sewn sparsely into the fabric. Small, stitched by hand.

He had no idea why all that stood out to him. It just did. And boy, did it leave nothing to the imagination.

Leela stilled, catching sight of him in the doorway. The brush hung mid-stroke in her hand.

“Oh,” she said, like he hadn’t just barged into her house uninvited. “Hello.”

Her eyes and voice were warm. Soft, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary, as if she wasn’t standing there in nothing but a slip of a dress while the light of the fire turned her edge golden.

Joel forced his gaze away. His eyes flicked over the living room instead, to the couch against the far wall—his couch, as much as he hated to admit it. The blankets were still there, folded neatly, stacked with the pillows like she’d been expecting him to come back. His grip tightened around the boxes in his hands.

“I—” He cleared his throat, stepping forward, extending the boxes toward her. “Maria sent you some stuff.”

Leela blinked again before setting the hairbrush down, padding toward him on bare feet. She took the boxes gently, fingers barely brushing his. “Thank you, Joel,” she murmured, flashing a little smile.

“Just vitamins,” he played off.

She pried the lid off the larger box and inhaled deeply. He caught the way her nose twitched, her fingers tightening just a fraction around the edges.

“Her famous steak dinner,” he offered her.

And then, like clockwork, her stomach betrayed her, the low grumble cutting through the quiet between them. She stiffened, laughing, breathless and sheepish.

“Sorry.”

“You should eat—”

A sharp cry cut through the air, calling for her. Both their heads swung toward the staircase.

Leela sighed first, setting the boxes away. “Napkin,” she murmured, as if reciting from a schedule. “Please help yourself to anything. I’ll be right back.”

But Joel stepped forward, one arm extended, the box acting as a barrier between her and the stairs. He despised the unfamiliarity.

"Eat," he said, firm.

She hesitated. Her gaze flickered between him and the staircase, like she was weighing her options, debating whether to argue or just go along with it.

Another cry echoed from upstairs—short, needy. Joel could tell. It wasn’t hunger, wasn’t pain. Little Maya was lonely already.

“I got this,” he assured.

Leela chewed her lip. “But—”

“I know the drill.” He jerked his chin toward the kitchen. “Just eat.”

A long moment passed, heavy with hesitation. Then, finally, she relented, her shoulders sagging as she breathed in surrender. She took the box from him.

“I’ll grab a fork, I guess,” she muttered, turning toward the kitchen.

Joel smothered a grin while watching her go, and took the stairs two at a time, powerless to his anticipation. Two weeks since he held the baby girl. He'd missed the shit out of her, not that he would admit that to anybody. Of course, he wasn't about to pass up this chance for anything.

From the landing, the nursery's door cracked open, light from the hallway bleeding into the dim room. Joel frowned as he leaned in to inspect.

The first thing he noticed was that the crib had moved. His boots made no sound over the wooden floor as he stepped inside, scanning the space. The wooden shelves were up, already home to Maya's folded clothes, towels and napkins. The light installation dangled halfway, unfixed. No one had even begun work on painting the walls. No armchair. No rug.

This Mal guy was a complete jackass. Maya's nursery was a mess.

"Good with his hands, my ass," Joel muttered. "What a fuckin' tool."

Joel angrily followed the hallway light, stepping through the open doorway into the furthest bedroom, a room bigger than any he’d ever seen in Jackson.

Massive was an understatement. This was the kind of bedroom you’d see in a damn commercial—the kind of thing he would’ve scoffed at, once upon a time. The bed alone was ridiculous. Olympic-sized, sunken into a floor for itself, with plush, overstuffed pillows and thick sheets, barely disturbed. A sliding-door closet stood at the far end, pristine, untouched. A plasma-screen TV mounted to the opposite wall, thick with dust.

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line. There was something unnatural about it. The way it felt more like a untouched display than her bedroom.

Maya’s cries pulled him from his thoughts. Joel crossed the room, approaching the crib—the one he’d worked on. All pink and polished for the spoiled little girl.

The moment she saw him, her cries hitched. Big, teary brown eyes blinked up at him, wide and glistening, like she was struggling to focus. She sniffled, tiny fists flexing against the mattress, mouth wobbling around her jutting tongue, as if trying to place him.

Joel couldn't resist a grin, brushing a coarse knuckle at her soft cheek.

“Hi, baby girl.” Then leaned closer to whisper, “Traitor.”

Maya sniffled, blinking again, then reached for him—small fingers curling, grasping blindly before finding his much larger one, tugging it toward her mouth. She gummed at his gnarled knuckles with a fussy little noise, her brows furrowing in concentration.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “That ain't fair. That's your apology?”

Maya made another small whimper of a sound. And a real smile. A big, toothless, gummy grin, full of warmth and recognition. Something nearly uncoiled at his ribs.

He pulled a so-so face. ��Hm, I'll bite.”

It was muscle memory, really. The way his hands moved—effortless, practised. He'd done it more than fifty times in two weeks. He made quick work of the napkin, wiping her clean, then slid his hands beneath her arms, lifting her up in one smooth motion.

He grunted as he did, “C'mere, sweetheart. You beautiful, beautiful girl. Did you miss me, huh?”

She squealed, legs kicking excitedly as he cradled her against his chest, supporting her head the way he always did. And just like that, he eased into the old rhythm without thinking. That familiar weight against him, that warmth—gentle, swaying, murmuring under his breath. It was easy. Too easy. Like breathing. Like falling asleep.

She nestled into his shoulder, tiny fist pressing against his neck, seeking his warmth. She’d gotten bigger. Not by much, but enough. Still delicate, still small—but stronger now. More aware. Smart, like her mother.

"Yeah, you missed me," he murmured when she nuzzled against his neck.

And then—pure, infallible instinct—he dipped his nose into her hair and breathed her in deep. Soft linen and old cotton, warm and faint.

Sarah used to smell like this once. For just a little while. That same invisible claw tore at his memories. Joel closed his eyes, just for a second. He remembered how, when she outgrew it, he'd missed it terribly. How he’d sometimes let her sleep curled up in his arms all night long, his back against the headboard, just to hold onto that smell. Just to keep that small, fleeting moment of innocence before the world could take it away.

That nostalgia settled deep in his ribs, quiet and whole. This seemed like the only place in the world where suffering didn’t exist. Like his hands weren’t stained with all the things he’d done, all the lives he’d taken.

Because here, right now, with Maya, he wasn’t the man who had lost and lost and lost again. He wasn’t the man who’d left behind nothing but bodies and broken promises. No, she didn’t know any of that. She didn’t care.

She only knew his warmth. She knew the steady beat of his heart, the scratch of his beard against her soft skin, and the way he said her name. She only knew him as someone safe. And fuck, he wasn’t, he wasn’t, but—

God help him, he wanted to be.

Maya sighed, a tiny, content sound, pressing closer. And Joel—he let himself believe, just for a moment, that he was clean.

A soft gasp behind him made him turn to reality and toward the door. “Oh, Maya.”

Joel turned to find Leela standing in the doorway, hand to her mouth, eyes wide in amusement. She had changed—finally—into one of those oversized sweaters he’d seen her wear on colder nights, sleeves swallowing her hands. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at his chest.

Joel frowned. “What?”

Leela bit her lip, trying—failing—to smother a smile. She motioned vaguely toward him. Joel tracked her finger and glanced to the side. And felt it. Hot, damp.

Damned baby spit-up.

Maya’s little betrayal soaked through the fabric of his shirt, spreading down from his collar and shoulder to his chest in an uneven, milky stain. She smacked her lips contentedly against his collarbone, completely unaware of the mess she’d just made.

He sighed, shifting her to the other arm. He levelled her with a playful glare. “You gonna warn me next time you ruin my shirt, darlin'?”

Maya only gurgled in response, a soft, pleased little sound.

And then, following her daughter—Leela laughed.

Not the quiet, polite kind that he'd managed out of her once. Not the forced kind, either. A real laugh. Breathless, unexpected, warm. Like it had slipped out before she could stop it.

Joel felt it like a slow-moving punch to the gut. He didn’t hear that sound often. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard it before on his account. He'd finally done it.

It changed something about her, softening her face in a way that caught him off guard. Her eyes creased at the corners, the tightness in her shoulders eased, the exhaustion in her expression smoothed over—just for a moment.

It did something strange to him. Something he didn’t have the time to name. So he just exhaled sharply, muttering a curse under his breath as he adjusted Maya over to the other arm, rubbing a hand over his damp shirt.

“Yeah, real funny. Your girl just aired her paunch all over me,” he grumbled.

Leela tried to sober up, apologizing, but another chuckle slipped out in between, and Joel caught the way she bit her lip, fighting to suppress it.

She was enjoying this. And he was in big fucking trouble.

"Don't move. I'll get you a spare shirt," she said, laughing, before walking to the adjacent closet doors.

Joel didn’t even get the chance to protest before Leela slid one side of the closet doors open, revealing—sweet Jesus.

His eyes landed on the neat rows of men’s clothing hanging inside. Not just a few misplaced items, not something left behind by chance. An entire collection.

Button-downs, slacks, henleys—clothes meant for daily wear. Added into the mix, were pressed suits, the kind that cost more than a month’s worth of supplies, the kind men used to wear to skyscrapers and boardrooms, back when the world was still upright. And golf shirts. For fuck’s sake, golf shirts.

Joel’s jaw hinged back up. Golf was a rich man’s game. He’d worked jobs near country clubs in his past life, and seen the kind of people who played. Men with money. Her father, perhaps.

Leela had definitely grown up rich. And looking at this—this untouched wealth, just sitting here, long past its time—it became clear. She probably still was.

Joel’s grip on Maya shifted slightly, the warmth of the baby pressing into his chest the only real thing anchoring him as his eyes dragged over the closet once more.

For all that Leela lived like a ghost, for all that she barely let anyone near her, this place still held echoes of what she came from. A past life that didn’t match the woman he’d seen standing at her front door, exhausted and hollow-eyed, desperate for her baby to stop crying.

Leela flipped through the hangers without hesitation, fingers brushing past labels he recognized—Armani, Burberry, Hollister. Eventually, she pulled out a green pullover. Soft, fine material. A little small for him, but it’d do.

She turned, offering it wordlessly.

Joel didn’t move to take it right away.

He was still staring at the closet. Not because he gave a damn about how much a fucking sweater cost, or whether she had a trust fund hidden away somewhere, but because it told him something. Something he hadn’t really thought about before.

Leela had come from comfort. Stability. A world where things were taken care of. And yet she’d buried herself in this big, empty house, alone, fighting tooth and nail to survive—like everyone else. And she never asked for help.

Leela cleared her throat. "It should fit. My father was a tall man."

Joel managed a sigh, shifting Maya in his arms. He took the pullover with one hand, already halfway through plucking open the buttons of his flannel.

While he worked, Leela stepped closer, ready to take Maya. She was quick about it, but Joel caught the way her fingers lingered, just for a second, as she scooped the baby up from his arms. Not on Maya.

On him.

Joel really tried to push it out of his head, write it off as an illusion, already plucking open the buttons of his shirt. His fingers brushed the fabric, and he paused when he caught the tag inside. Ralph Lauren, for fuck's sake.

Leela noticed with a small smile. "I didn’t take you for a man with fancy taste," she mused.

Joel let out a dry snort. "Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it."

He pulled off his flannel, the sleeves catching briefly on his wrists before he tossed it aside. The room wasn’t cold, but the air bit at his skin anyway. The scars felt it first—every healed cut, every old wound stretched over knotted muscle, each one a reminder of what his body had been through.

"Oh, man," he couldn't help but grunt, stretching his arms.

He worked the pullover over his head in one smooth motion, the fabric soft, snug across his shoulders. Felt like something he would’ve bought for Sarah back in the day, something she’d pull from a Macy’s rack, nodding in approval before insisting, "Dad, just try it on."

It fit better than he expected, but Joel barely registered that. His body had begun to ache. Not in one place—everywhere. It was late at night, it was cold, he missed his daily dose of whiskey, and he needed sleep for tomorrow.

The exhaustion sat in his bones now, permanent and familiar. His bad knee throbbed, aggravated from the cold, from the weight he put on it patrolling for hours at a time. His back had never been the same after that one fall, a long time ago. Some mornings, he woke up and could barely stand straight, feeling every single one of his years sink into him.

And yet, his body still held. Still worked. It wasn’t much to look at anymore. Not that it ever had been.

He had no delusions about himself—he wasn’t built for admiration. Never had been. Picking up girls and fooling around; was Tommy's thing. He wasn’t the kind of man people looked at twice, not in the way that mattered. His body told a story, but not the sort anyone wanted to read or had a happy ending,

His hands were ruined things, thick with callouses from years of exertion, from gripping rifle stocks, from skinning game, from chopping wood in the dead of winter. His knuckles were perpetually split, healing just enough before the next fight, the next job, the next reason to curl his fists. Scars mapped his skin, uneven and jagged, old bullet wounds and knife cuts, hard edges, marks of a life spent fighting for something—for anything.

He wasn’t young anymore. He wasn’t some smooth-talking son of a bitch with a face that turned heads. He was always angry at something, thinking about something, readying his next step, even if it was a complete waste of his time.

But he was still formidable. He could protect. He could endure the rough-hewn demands of survival, even now. He could fight like hell. That had to count for something.

But Leela—she wasn’t staring, exactly. Wasn’t not staring, either. It was subtle. Barely there. A flicker of something implicit, something fleeting, the way her gaze traced along his arms, his shoulders, abdomen, the sharp cut of his collarbone before snapping away. As if she hadn’t meant to look, and she’d caught herself a second too late.

Joel had been around long enough to recognize when a woman was checking him out. And hell—he wasn’t gonna lie to himself. It made him feel good. Fucking fantastic, really. Like he could wake up tomorrow feeling twenty years younger. Like he could leap right out of bed and his back wouldn’t stiffen before noon. Like he still had something left in him worth looking at.

He wasn’t an idiot, though. He wasn't going to let it go to his head.

Leela adjusted Maya in her arms, moving her weight as if giving herself something to do, something to focus on that wasn’t him.

And Joel—he pretended not to notice. Didn’t say a damn word about it. Didn’t shift under her gaze, didn’t smirk at her, didn’t let her see that she’d gotten under his skin in a way he hadn’t expected.

Just muttered a quiet, "Thanks," and left it at that.

Leela hummed in response, turning away to lay Maya down, who was already dozing her little head off, into the crib with practised care. Then, just as easily, she pivoted back to her bedside dresser, fingers moving over a stack of neatly folded quadrille paper.

"Can you pass something to Tommy for me?" she asked, voice soft, controlled. "It’s really important he gets this as soon as possible."

Joel might not have paid it much mind, might’ve brushed it off as just another errand he wasn’t keen on running—but then he saw it. The way her posture stiffened, the way her hands smoothed over the edges of the papers like they were something fragile, something vital. But whatever this was—it mattered.

She flipped through the pages, and for the first time since he’d met her, he saw something rare. Excitement. A flicker of life.

"It’s a wonderful breakthrough, Joel," she said, and there was a rare enough lightness in her voice, bordering on unguarded enthusiasm.

Joel just blinked. Leela wasn’t the type to get excited. Or maybe he's just never seen it in her before.

"So, I’ve been working on…" then she went into something technical for his dense mind, talking fast in words that blurred together. It all went miles over his head. Circuits, electrical theory, conduction points—half of it might as well have been a foreign language.

Joel just stared when she finished with a deep breath.

Leela instantly caught the look and pursed her lips. "Okay, um. Let me put it this way."

She shifted toward him, gesturing as she spoke, putting it into Layman's terms. "You know how the dam stops producing enough energy in winter? When the river freezes over?"

Joel gave a slow nod.

"So we rely on fuel, but fuel’s very limited. We've got the town expanding, and people coming in. So our batteries drain. If we had an alternative energy source, something reliable—" She held up the paper, tapping a rough sketch. "And that’s where this comes in."

Her hands moved as she spoke, cutting through the air with sharp, purposeful gestures. Not just passion, not just expertise. Conviction.

"Lightning is erratic, but it’s raw power. Joules of energy. Think about it. If we can direct a strike into a controlled medium—like a graphene capacitor—we can store it."

Joel narrowed his eyes, the concept clicking into his lagging brain. "So what, you think you can catch a goddamn thunderstorm and turn it into a battery?"

Leela wheezed a quiet laugh. "More or less."

He thought about it. "Seems like a hell of a thing to gamble on."

"It’s not a gamble. It’s math. Physics. It will work, Joel, I know it."

Joel didn’t argue. He didn’t understand it, not really, but he’d seen Leela work before. He trusted her genius. The nights she couldn't sleep—he’d sometimes blink awake to the sound of chalk scraping against a blackboard, catching sight of her standing there in the dim glow of the bulb, mapping something out with surgical precision. Or hunched over a notebook, scribbling feverishly, lost in calculations that only made sense to her.

It wasn’t just her passion—it was her outlet. A relief. A tether to something greater than herself, something she could control before she lost herself completely in the demands of motherhood. And if this was what she was holding onto, then perhaps it was more than just an idea.

She tucked the paper back into the stack, leveling him with a quiet look. "I also have a prototype," she said simply.

Joel raised a brow.

Leela nodded toward the hallway. "It’s in the basement if you want to see."

Joel wasn’t big on machines. Or gear. The finer technical details weren’t for him. But—he glanced at her, at the way she stood, weight shifting from foot to foot, something unreadable behind her eyes.

She wasn’t pushing him. She was waiting.

After a beat, he sighed, tilting his head toward the door. "Lead the way, ma'am."

X

The stairs were steep, the kind that creaked under their weight, but Joel kept a firm hold on Leela’s elbow, steadying her as they made their way down. She was still weak. Too breakable. As far as his knowledge went, she should've gotten better by now. And how the hell was she supposed to do that when she barely ate without cringing?

Joel had half a mind to tell her that, to point out how unsteady she was, how she winced when she put too much pressure on her feet—but she’d just brush him off with a shaky smile. So instead, he let out a quiet breath through his nose and adjusted his grip, keeping her close until they reached the bottom.

"There you go. Watch that last step," he guided as gently as he could.

She glanced up at him from the fringes of a smile, letting his hands go. "Thank you."

He expected damp walls, waterlogged corners, mould creeping up the corners, and a basement that smelled like rot and rust. As what he had been always used to when he went scouring towns nearby for supplies. What he got instead stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Well, I’ll be damned," he blew out.

It was a workshop. A big-ass one. Tools lined up on the magnetic walls, neatly arranged, half-finished projects sitting on a worktable, schematics pinned up in careful rows. More of Leela's notes and markers, taped-up designs. Funny how there was life only around all this machinery. Off to the side, an old wine cellar, the glass cases still intact, though the bottles inside were coated in dust.

And then—the cars.

Joel let out a low whistle. Two of them. Just sitting there like some abandoned luxury showroom. One was a Dodge Aspen, a classic in its own right. All violet and under repair. But the other...—his eyes caught the silver emblem glinting under the dim basement light. A prancing horse on the red steel.

"Come on," he muttered in disbelief, stepping forward, barely resisting the urge to run his hand over the hood. "Is that a… Maranello?"

Leela took a deep breath, still recovering from the stairs. "Yes. Custom made. Not sure if there's any left out there anymore."

"Holy shit." His fingers flexed at his sides. He didn’t want to seem desperate, but fuck, when was the last time he’d seen something like this? Much less, been this close?

"Can I, uh…" He gestured indistinctly at the car.

Leela flashed him a small grin. "Knock yourself out. The door's unlocked."

He didn’t need to be told twice. Joel reached out, fingers brushing over cool, crimson steel before yanking the door open. The new car smell hit him right in the face—leather, polish, something untouched by time. His chest tensed at the familiarity of it.

He slid into the driver’s seat, running his hands over the wheel, the knitting around the stick shift, and the soft beige leather of the custom interior. And just for a second—he let himself imagine it. Top down. Gliding down the I-10, no speed limits, no patrols, just him and the open road, wind in his hair, sun on his face, Raybans on. That dream all felt like a lifetime ago.

A soft knock on the passenger side window startled him back to reality.

Leela’s face appeared through the glass, her lips quirked in amusement. "Should I leave you two alone?"

Joel huffed, turning slightly to mask the grin tugging at his mouth. She opened the door and drudged her way inside, moving slowly. The descent had taken more out of her than she was willing to admit.

When she shut the door, he immediately rolled down his window, straining his ears toward the stairs. The one time he wished his hearing wouldn't betray him. Had he locked the door upstairs? Could he hear Maya if she cried? What if he couldn’t? How come Leela didn't seem to think about this? God, this girl really had no clue.

Her voice broke into his thoughts. "I wish I knew how to drive it." She ran her hand absentmindedly over the dashboard, voice softer now, almost wistful. "I believe the last great invention of man was the automobile."

"You said it," he mumbled.

Joel glanced at her and did a little mental math. She must’ve been nine, maybe ten when the outbreak hit. No middle school. No high school. No road trips, no late-night drives with her friends, music blasting. No first kiss. Just one world ending, and another one starting—a crueler one.

Leela exhaled, long and slow, sinking deeper into the leather seat like she could melt into it. Her fingers drummed idly on the handlebars, tracing invisible patterns, slipping into an old rhythm—one she didn’t even seem aware of.

Then, soft as a whisper, she started humming.

It was unhurried, quiet, like something she’d sung to herself a thousand times before. But it was enough to make Joel pause, something about the tune pulling at him. A half-buried memory, something from before. He knew that song. Hadn’t heard it in years, but it was still there, lodged somewhere deep in the creases of his mind.

"That’s—" He frowned, tilting his head, listening closer. "That Patsy Cline?"

Leela glanced up, surprise flickering across her face before something warmer took its place. "Walkin’ After Midnight. Yeah."

Joel hid a grin. "That is way before your time."

"So?" She smirked, tipping her head back against the seat, fingers still tapping, moving. "I had old parents. Rubbed off on me."

A layer beneath her words made Joel tread carefully. He, of all people, knew how age could sit heavy on a person, how some things weren’t worth prying open.

"Can’t have been that old," he muttered, though he wasn’t sure why he said it.

"My mom was seventy-eight when she passed."

Joel blinked. "W-o-w." The syllables came out slow, one after the other before he could stop himself.

Leela let out a quiet laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes this time. She glanced down, her fingers still moving, trailing over the leather, the stitching, following some old path only she could see.

"I miss them every day," she said, voice softer now, more distant. "I’m grateful they singled me out of those photographs. Brought me here." She gestured vaguely to the house above her, her home, before exhaling, like she was letting something go. "I just hope I’m doing them proud."

Joel felt something shift, and he realized: too much sharing. It had to go both ways. And he was never going to be ready for that. So he did what he did best, avoided and threw her off the scent.

"Man," he said abruptly, with a cluck of his tongue, "if I had the keys and some fuel, I’d ride the hell outta this beauty." The words came out before he could stop them. "And die a happy old man."

Leela laughed. A loud laugh, sounding much like her daughter just then, deep in her chest, like she hadn't done it in a long time.

"It’s got fuel," she said, still grinning. "You can still ride it."

"Just sitting here like it's nothing." He shook his head, a small laugh rolling out. "Christ. This is amazing."

He glanced down at the stick shift, thumb absently tracing the edge of the gear knob, but something else caught his eye.

Her nightgown. Hitched up, ruffled around the tops of her thighs, loose fabric pooling where she sat. Bare skin. Soft, smooth, taut over lean bone—too much of it. The way she shifted, unthinking, rubbing one knee over the other, restless. He felt a rock dislodge in his throat.

Fuck. For all that he could be—a guardian, a protector—he had to be a man.

His fingers curled against his palm, an old instinct, something long-trained. Look away, don’t think about it. He turned back to the wheel, forcing his eyes forward. Dashboard. Windshield. Glove compartment. The thin layer of dust coating the steering column. Anything but the way one more inch of movement would have left too much for his mind to comprehend.

But the problem was—she hadn’t bothered to fix it. She didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t care. So why should he?

He swallowed, jaw flexing tight. Because that was the kind of man he was. Greying, frustrated, scarce on love.

His fingers twitched, itching for something to do, something to grab. Instead, he moved without thinking, across the partition—one finger. Just a light tug, barely a breath of a touch, dragging the hem of her gown down, covering her knees. A simple thing. A quiet thing. A mistake.

Her whole body jerked, a sharp intake of breath—like she’d been touched by fire. Really, Joel felt it more than he saw it. The way her muscles tensed, a shudder raced, the quick clutch of her fingers as she held the fabric in place now, suddenly conscious of it.

Shit.

He withdrew instantly, fingers curling into a fist on the steering wheel. Should’ve just minded his goddamn business. Stupid, stupid man.

For a second, the air between them felt too tight. Even with the windows rolled down and winter winds howling outside, he broke into a sweat.

"Didn't see it," she mumbled.

He just shook his head, a small, dismissive grunt, keeping his eyes straight ahead. And that was that.

But the silence that settled over them after wasn’t comfortable. Not one either of them knew how to break.

Joel exhaled through his nose, fixing his stare on the windshield., fingers tapping slowly against the wheel, like he could smooth out the moment just by waiting it out. Jesus, he should’ve never touched her. Should’ve let it be.

“So, that prototype of yours,” he attempted to distract, voice rough. “You got it nearby?”

No response.

He frowned, risked a glance at her—and stopped cold.

Leela sat stiff in the passenger seat, her posture folded in on itself. One slender hand curled at her side, gripping the hem of her nightgown tight until her knuckles went white, the other was pressed to her face, knuckles braced against her nose. Her eyes filled with tears in seconds.

A long, slow breath in, too shaky.

Joel’s stomach sank. He knew that sound. He had seen a lot of it in his time. Had seen grief in all its forms—loud, violent, shattering. But this—this was different. This was quiet, heavy, desperate.

Her shoulders hitched, her breath sucking in too sharp like she was holding something back—something about to give.

And then, just like that, as if a thread had been cut, she sucked in another sharp breath, her whole body curling forward, hands coming up to cover her face—and it hit.

That same soft, keening sound he’d heard from her room almost every night. The one that came through thin walls, muffled by pillows, engulfed by fatigue.

But this time, she wasn’t hiding.

And Joel—he didn’t know what to do. His hands flexed against the wheel, confused and useless.

She wasn’t supposed to be crying. Not because of his pathetic self. Whichever way he saw it, this was his fault. He’d crossed a line, broken through a wall he’d meant to keep standing, and now she was here—crying. Because he couldn't keep his hands to himself.

His mouth opened, and his throat worked, but nothing happened. Fuck. What the hell was he even supposed to say? Everything seemed inappropriate. There was no justification for what he'd done.

His fingers curled tighter, nails digging into his palm. He had to fix it. Before it got worse.

His voice came out too rough, uncertain. “I'm sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Just go.”

It hit like a crack of thunder. A faint, clear command, strangled between a cry. His stomach twisted.

He hesitated for half a second, long enough to hear the way her breath hitched, how her fingers curled deeper into her hair, how she looked like she wanted to fold in on herself, disappear into the goddamn leather seat.

He swallowed, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

He'd had seen women cry before. Ellie, Tess, hell even Maria. He’d occasionally held them while they did. But not this. Not her. And he hated—hated—that it was because of him.

His fingers flexed against his sides, fighting the instinct to reach out, to fix something he wasn’t sure could be fixed. But she’d made herself perfectly clear. To leave her alone.

So he did.

He wrenched the door open, barely registering the way it swung shut behind him. Didn’t look back, didn’t breathe until he was back up the stairs and out the door.

As he jogged down the porch stairs, the cold biting sharper now, cutting straight through the thick weave of his sweater, Joel tried to breathe. Snowflakes clung to the expensive fabric, melting fast, sinking in. He barely noticed. His inhales came long, exhales too short, not quite ragged, but uneven—like he couldn’t get enough air, like something in his chest was pressing down too hard, and no matter how deep he pulled, it wasn’t letting up.

It wasn’t panic. He knew what that felt like all too well.

This was different. A slow, creeping wrongness. A feeling that something had already slipped through his fingers, something he hadn’t even realized he was holding onto. And now it was gone, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to fix it.

He pressed a hand to his mouth, and wiped it down the scruff on his jaw, trying to steady himself, trying to shove it all back where it belonged. It wasn’t working.

His fingers curled into an aching fist. His breath fogged in the air in clouds.

He needed that fucking drink now.

X

The cold still lingered in the morning air, settling deep in Joel’s bones, but that wasn’t the only thing weighing him down. He hadn’t slept worth a damn. Tossed and turned all night, drifting in and out of restless half-dreams—images he didn’t want, memories he didn’t need. He woke up cold, despite the blankets, with a dull ache in his joints, and a scratch in his throat. Maybe from the weather. Maybe from something else.

Didn’t matter.

What mattered was getting out of that house. Getting up, getting moving. Keeping his hands busy, keeping his mind from straying where it wanted to go—back to last night, back to the way she had curled in on herself, hands to her face, shaking with something he couldn’t fix. He despised being around something unfixable. Made him feel incompetent.

He gripped the stack of papers tighter, the edges digging into his fingers as he stepped into the stables. Tommy was there, adjusting the saddle on one of the mares, humming some old tune under his breath. The familiar smell of hay, leather, and horse filled the space, grounding Joel in the moment. He clung to that.

“Tommy,” Joel called, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

Tommy glanced up, brow lifting in mild curiosity. “Mornin’, brother. No hard feelings from last night,” he said, giving the straps one last tug before stepping back. His gaze flickered to the papers in Joel’s hand. “What’s all this?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just extended them out. Tommy brushed his palms off before taking them, flipping through the pages absentmindedly—until he wasn’t. His fingers slowed, putting together the pieces, his brows knitting together, his mouth parting just slightly.

"What in the... I mean—I talked to her about this,” Tommy muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "Told her we'd be having trouble. That was last week.” He let out a low breath, rubbing at his mouth as he stared at the pages like they had just appeared out of thin air. "She really did all this?"

Joel exhaled with a slight grin, feeling like someone had just handed him a gold star. An odd feeling settled in his chest—one he didn’t quite know what to do with. It wasn’t his place to feel this way, no right to. But still, pride curled warm and solid in his ribs.

“She stayed up workin’ on ‘em,” Joel muttered, not quite looking at him.

Tommy let out a short whistle, shaking his head. “Christ. This little genius just saved our asses out of the red.” He waved the papers at him. “Takin' this straight to Maria.”

Joel rolled his shoulders, clearing his throat. “Not just yet. There's a page is missing.”

Tommy paused and frowned, flipping through again. “The hell you talkin’ about?”

Joel crossed his arms, tilting his head. “I’ll give it to you if you let me fix that nursery instead of that goddamn kid.”

Tommy looked up at that, blinking. Then, realization dawned, slow and amused. His mouth curved into a smirk.

“For real, Joel?”

Joel scoffed, shaking his head. “Can’t even fix shelves right.”

Tommy cocked a brow. “He's just doing his job.”

“Little shit damn near had it fallin’ apart the last time I was there,” he argued. “Look, do you want the page or not? I'll just feed it to the horse.”

Tommy let out a sharp laugh, tipping his head back slightly. “You really got a bone to pick with this poor guy, huh?”

Joel’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t answer. Just kept his arms crossed, eyes unwavering. He wasn't backing down just yet.

Tommy shook his head, flipping the last page with a chuckle. “Fine, fine. You can fix whatever you want.” Then, without missing a beat, he held out his hand. “Now gimme the damn page.”

Joel handed it over without another word. But the way Tommy was still looking at him—grinning like he had something to say but was letting Joel walk away with his dignity intact—had him turning on his heel before his brother could get the last word in.

X

[ wow you read this far! now, if you're still reading, I'd just like to know - what song crept into your mind, about Joel or Leela, as you read this chapter? For Joel, definitely: Pain and Misery by The Teskey Brothers and as for Leela, ooooh: Wasteland by Royal & the Serpent! what about you? ]

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And to those in the reblogs, I have no idea how to respond to your sweet, sweet, wondrous words, but after reading them all, I have the most fulfilling, full eight-hour sleep I've ever had in three whole months! I love all the effort you put into commenting, and sharing your thoughts, I know it doesn't seem big, but really, you've made such a difference in my life :) Thank you all so much, and I'd love to keep hearing more!!

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[kermdoeswriting]

This was supposed to be a one-off thing but these reblogs inspired more so...

Also to answer ur question Roni would absolutely be petty enough to pull out a file to shut up her less than savory and judgmental co-workers. The kids are always put first regardless of background.

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

Roni got her answer on the bet about two weeks later. After her initial home visit to see how the twins were doing in Wayne Manor.

Even if it was never outright said aloud, just watching the way the family interacted with Ellie and Danny told her enough. Though the solo interviews with each kid did solidify it.

"So Danny," Roni watched as Danny nervously taped the side of his knee, half interested in what Roni had to say and half interested in the doorway that Ellie and the Wayne siblings had just exited through. "Before we start, I just have to make you aware that nobody is allowed to listen into this conversation and that whatever you say is completely protected between you and me."

Danny just nodded along to Roni's word, eyes still on the doorway before breaking off to look at her fully.

"Got it. Hit me with the questions, Roni."

Roni let out a small smile, shaking her head at him before flipping through her notebook to an empty page.

"How has it been living in the Wayne manor so far? Has Bruce been treating you nicely?"

Danny only shrugs as if that was his final answer. "He and Alfred have been kind. A little too Richie Rich if you ask me but other than that they treat Ellie nicely and that's all I care about honestly"

Roni feels her sympathy for the boy (and her own hesitance) return as she writes his answer within her notes but it escapes out of her like an amused snort.

"They tend to come off that way most times. Between you and me though?" She leaned a bit more to whisper. "I think Bruce just likes to spoil his kids with his riches to impress them and it just rubbed off with each one he adopted afterwards."

Danny snorted at that, eyes twinkling in his own amusement as he nodded along with her theory.

"Anyways, How about the Wayne Kids? Have they come around to introduce themselves to you two yet?"

"Some of them have, like Damian. He came home from summer camp earlier in the week. He's pretty cool, sarcastic to all hell, but cool." Roni hums and bites her cheek at the mention of the smallest Wayne. When she had first placed Duke into the Wayne's care, she had her doubts on how Damian would react since Gotham knew he had a short-temper with most things.

But now the two were packed together like a pack of sardines any time she saw them, so she wasn't too surprised Damian got along with the twins. It was probably the feral behavior the twins displayed that made them click.

"I also got to meet Cass, Dick, and Jason yesterday. Dick kept teasing us 4 for being like double twins. Calling us the quadruplets or something, Jason just smacked the back of his head and called him an asshole."

She couldn't help but smile at the mention of her past foster cases. Roni tended to try and remember every single kid that went through her care and office, so it wasn't hard to picture the three doing something like that around new company.

Although she would have to remind Bruce about excessive language amongst the kids, even if they were 13 respectively the law didn't really see it as appropriate behavior to show around fosters.

From there, the interviews went smoothly with them both and Roni honestly had nothing new to report for their files except for excellent care as it usual was. And, just as she guessed, a request towards looking into possible adoption within the Wayne household for both Phantoms.

Bruce had been quick to pull her side before she left to make the request, eyes looking fondly towards the twins play fighting with Jason, Tim and Stephanie (from what Roni remembered for the last one). Ellie sassing them as Jason cackled on the sidelines and Danny snorting in amusement, arms crossed.

When Roni looked back into Bruce Wayne's pleading eyes, begging her to look into starting the adoption process she just sighed fondly and nodded. Who was she to deny the richest man in Gotham's adoption addiction?

She called it 3 weeks ago anyways when she dropped them off. And heaven knows that twice the amount for the bet would do nicely towards a new car battery.

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

As Roni got back into her office that night later than she had even planned to be, she was pleasantly surprised to find a few things inside that hadn't been there before she'd left to check in on each of her fosters.

One of them was Red Hood, who was awkwardly standing there staring at her through his red helmet with a handful of familiar looking stickers in hand. Both of them were silent for a moment before Roni decided to save him the embarrassment and simply back out of the office room to allow him a graceful escape.

She did not get paid enough to deal with that situation. Not in Gotham anyways.

When she re-entered the room, Red Hood having disappeared silently, Danny and Ellie's files sat right at the top of her desk first and foremost.

A few different stickers greeted her this time.

Robin and Co. stickers, Red-Hoods stuck out like a sore thumb as it covered over Nightwing's at least half way as some sort of petty move, and one largely placed Batman one were now on the outside of both files, to let her know they were now watching over the kids and were Robin approved.

That alone put her at ease.

To know that the Bat was taking some time to look into the sketchy meta-trafficking ring the twins were found at was like getting an early Christmas present.

They would be even safer now beyond being in Bruce's care and she knew that even if Bruce never did end up adopting the twins (which she doubted heavily) they were at the very least a good influence on them from what she'd seen today.

That and the twins would probably never be able to really get rid of the Wayne's. Not really, anyways.

Most Robin approved files didn't really leave the Manor without getting adopted into it first.

Bruce Wayne's a Foster Parent. Also he avoids death a lot so a dead person can usually tell if a humans meant to have died but didn't.

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

"Bruce you know I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't have to but-"

Bruce just sighed from his side of the phone, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Nobody ever really expects to get a phone call nearing 3 am but exceptions had to be made when you were a legal foster parent and also a part-time secret super hero. If it wasn't one thing calling for him it was the other.

On the other side of the phone, Bruce heard the caseworker, Roni, chuckle.

"It's just for 3 nights and half of the day after, but I need you to be prepared for something before I can pass them off to you."

Bruce sat upright now on his bed, attentively listening to her words. Usually the kids didn't really come with any pre-warnings from the Caseworker themselves, letting anything about each Foster kid be said inside of their personal files that got sent along with them.

But when she gave out this information it was usually important. The last time Bruce had gotten a warning like this it was for Jason which was ages ago it feels at this point.

"What is it?"

"The kids are-" Her voice trailed off, like as if she was still searching for the right words to say. "They've been through what I can honestly only describe as the equivalent to a meta-kid trafficking lab"

Bruce shifted as he heard the driving continue on the other side of the phone.

"They're very guarded because of what they went through and they might display.. unusual behavior. More unusual then a meta-kids behavior after such a situation would be, but don't let it fool you! The kids are really sweet beyond being afraid."

Bruce frowns at the descriptions before replying to her, mentally trying to prepare himself for the idea of these kids and what they might have went through.

"I'll make a note of it then. Thank you, Roni"

"No, thank you, Bruce. I really appreciate this last minute placement. We'll be by really soon"

He was left with a click as he removed himself off his bed and threw the covers to the side of him. Alfred would want to know that they would have 2 new guests in the manor, at the very least to greet them and have rooms prepared even if they didn't need to have them prepared further then what they already were.

It was less then 5 minutes later that Bruce found himself, with Alfred, greeting the temporary fosters at the front door. Roni looked tiredly at them as she pushed the kids front and center.

Bruce could relate heavily.

"Hello Danny, Ellie. It's nice to meet you both, I'm Bruce Wayne."

Danny just stared at the mans outstretched hand for a second before he turned to look up at him, a pinched look on his face. Ellie matched his expression, although being a bit more subtle about it as she looked over Bruce as a whole.

Eerily, Bruce felt like his very soul was being judge the longer the kids stared at him. He also felt a sense of familiarity with these two kids the longer this continued.

They seemed detached rather than afraid like their caseworker had explained earlier, more so viewing the world as if they were outside of it rather then in it in any way.

Danny was quick to glare at him after another moment, "You're a fruit-loop, aren't you?"

Ellie broke from her own scanning almost immediately when she heard Danny's comment, cackling beside him before shoving him off with her arm. The action made Bruce smile as he took his arm back and placed it by his side.

Alfred also looked amused between the pair of siblings before turning attention to the task at hand again. Bruce just smiled at his pseudo-fathers usual fondness over children, knowing he was being reminded of his own grandchildren.

"This is Alfred. He's going to be the one to show you over to your rooms for the next few nights." Alfred greeted the kids in the same polite way he usually greeted all guests before he leaned down and extended his hands towards their belongings. He didn't grab their belongings just remained leaning over them before questioning the kids if they would like help to take their stuff to their rooms.

Bruce only really saw it faintly and if it were any other moment he might have ignored it as a sleepless hallucination, but for some reason he noticed the change immediately. The twins eyes go from a darker blue to a flashing bright green.

As if alarmed by the sudden movement towards their belongings.

Danny was quick to catch his own staring as well, eyes flashing back to blue for only a second before reverting back to green. Almost as if to give off some kind of warning.

Ellie noticed his staring immediately and shoved Danny again, this time more forceful for his attention before turning to whisper something to him when she had him back.

Bruce felt his skin crawl before turning away to face their caseworker, not really understanding anything they were saying beyond hearing a few words and feeling their eyes look between each other and his back.

Death Touched was an especially new description, and one that stuck in his head the second he heard it.

Bruce waited until the kids were guided away by Alfred before talking to their caseworker officially and waking her up from her half delirious tired drop-off.

"Hey Roni? Is there any chance we can extend the Fenton kids stay?"

There was something going on here with these kids and he was going to get to the bottom of it. One way or another.

[jybyls]

Haunted feelings || T.C

Masterlist

Synopsis: Fear turned out to bring out hidden feelings. (Thanks @darkpoetdreamer for the idea)

Warnings: Fluff, strangers to friends (?) to friends to lovers, haunted house, bad writing, not proofread, I think that's all.

Words: 2.3k

- 📜🎧🍂 -

Sam, Chad, Tara, and you were sitting in the living room, bored to death. You had no ideas of what you could possibly do, so you were all just minding your business on your side. Well, I'm not really minding your own business. You kept glancing up at Tara every now and then.

You wanted to talk to her but you didn't know what about, it's not like you guys weren't friends, actually you guys were basically best friends but lately it's been oddly hard to act normal around her and you couldn't figure out why. Yes, you did not use your brain on that one.

"Guys !! I have plans !" Mindy exclaimed as she ran into the living room, almost slipping down. Y'all looked at her excited frame, wondering what she had in mind, "What, Mindy ? Wanna do a horror movie marathon ?" Chad mocked his twin sister, which only led to her giving him a dirty look. You slightly giggled at the scene in front, looking at Mindy to hear her answer.

"Don't say this. I might consider it." She said and that ended up with all of you screaming 'no' because you're sick and tired of watching the same horror movies Mindy propose, "No, please, let's not consider that as an option of a plan. What was your main idea ?" Tara spoke up, but your brain didn't listen.

It just went, 'blah, blah, blah, proper name, place name, background stuff..' Safe to say you're a simp. It didn't go unnoticed by Sam. Her older sister sense has been tingling toward you for a moment now.

She definitely knows something is up with her sister and you. She kept her suspicion to herself, tho.

"Will you all shut up and listen to me ? My plan is to visit a haunted house. Y'all are down, or are you too afraid to follow me ?" Mindy exclaimed with a teasing tone, taunting you to follow her in her amazing idea.

"If we don't agree to come with you, you won't go. You're too afraid to go by yourself, that's why you're asking us." Sam, more than calmly, explained her point, which was true, but the shorter twin would never admit it. "That's not the point ! Are you coming or what ?" She shouted, distracting you from Sam's words. You all laughed at her.

"You know what ? Fuck it." Tara said, "Where's that haunted house of yours, anyway ?" The younger Carpenter mocked her friend, not really believing that place existed. "It's down town." Mindy grimaced and Tara reciprocated it, "Very mature of you, girls." You sarcastically said before standing up to get your jacket. They watched you with a dumbfounded look on their face.

"Well ? We're going or not ?" You asked. The twin immediately smiled and screamed, "YES ! Let's go, bitches." And with that everyone is outside, walking to that haunted house. Chad and Mindy were in the front, arguing, Sam was right behind them, not even listening to their faded words, while Tara and you were awkwardly walking next to each other.

You quickly became friends when she moved to New York. You were going to the same college and had the same classes most of the time. You didn't know Tara's story, you didn't know what she experienced, well, at the beginning of your school year you didn't even know who was this Carpenter girl and why was everyone whispering stuff about her and her apparently psychotic sister.

You didn't really care, tho, you thought it wasn't your problem until one morning in your English class your teacher assigned the class for a group project and you got teamed up with Tara. Everyone's eyes were on both of you, but again, you didn't care. You didn't know her, how could you judge her ?

By the end of this class, you came to the conclusion that you liked her. She wasn't mean, like students said. She was actually sweet. She did come up strong at first, but how could you blame her when the whole world wouldn't listen to her until she had nothing left to say ? Well, you couldn't.

You couldn't blame her for anything. And you felt like that when you just met her, so it's safe to say that now that you're down baf for her, it made it impossible to blame her.

Even with her trauma and her sister's advices for some reasons she trusted you. She quickly opened up to you and talked about what happened to her in Wosboro. She talked about Ambet, her sister, her parents, everything. You know everything about her, and you took care of that information. Obviously, you trusted her equally.

You told her everything she needed and wanted to know about you. And ever since you never left each other's side. Eventually, Sam learned to appreciate you, and so did the twins. Oddly enough, everyone agreed with Tara when she suggested that she should be part of the group.

It's been three mot hs now that you're part of the group, and they can all easily say that they like you a lot. You're trusted, and your company is always more than welcome.

You've currently all arrived at the so-called haunted house, holding you phones up with the flash lights on because of the darkness inside. Tara and you stayed close to each other, Sam was behind the two of you while Chad and Mindy were walking to the front, but they quickly backed up with a jump once they heard a noise.

"Did you hear that ?!" Minday whispered-yelled to all of you with a hint of dramatist, "Yes, I fucking did ! What was that ?" Her brother answered with the same tone. "It's the floor." The short brunette rolled her eyes at their dramatist, "It's cracking." You continued, slightly laughing at their reactions.

They huffed, "Yeah. No, yeah, we knew. We were trying to scare you guys." The boy answered with fake confidence, trying to stand taller. "Sure." Sam tried to hold back her mocking smile. You and Tara weren't has strong tho, not only were you mockingly smiling but also directly laughing at them, shamelessly making fun of their sudden fear.

The twins rolled their eyes, huffing again but eventually gave up. They knew they couldn't win with Tara as an enemy. The brunette might be small, but God knows she can and will bite back. With no mercy whatsoever.

You all walked, trying to call in any spirit, but obviously, nothing happened. The scariest thing you saw was a drawing of penis probably made by some teenage boys who found this place before you. The twins kept getting scared by random noises, and they also kept claiming not to be, which was quite ridiculous but strangely funny. It gives Sam something else she can mock them about, and that's enough to make this woman content.

Midnight suddenly hit your watch. You wanted to go home. However, you didn't want to ruin everyone's fun, so you stayed quiet. You lazily follow your friends around. Your mind was far away, thinking about a thousand different things but mostly one thing. Actually, one person. Your best friend, Tara Carpenter. This girl has been haunting all your thoughts.

At first you believed it was nothing, 'It's just because she's my new best friend. That's why I'm always thinking about her.' You told yourself, trying to get some sort of reassurance even tho you knew you were lying to yourself.

Because you knew damn well you're not supposed to think about what your best friend's lips taste like, neither are you supposed to think about her hands on your body and yours on hers. But since you didn't want to ruin your friendship with her, you closed your mouth.

Whenever you felt like telling her she looked pretty, you didn't. Or you'd just say something like, 'cool outfit' or 'cute haircut', when in reality you wish you could tell her how stunning she looks, how you can barely brung yourself to believe that she's real because of her beauty. You wanted to ramble about how much you loved her freckles, how you wanted to kiss every single one of them.

But you couldn't. That was the best you could do. Small, furtive compliments. You were to fucking scared to say too much and risking making her uncomfortable. Or worst disgusted by you. That'd be the end of your world. And your world resolve around her so it's easy to say that if she rejects you in any way you'd be a heartbroken mess.

Little did you know that the girl you were crazy about was head over heals for you. She wouldn't admit it to anyone, she barely even admitted to herself to began with but damn was she down bad for you.

She didn't want to say anything by fear of ruining your friendship. You were so dear to her she would never forgive herself for losing you. So instead of trying any kind of move on you she decided to stay quiet and cherish every second she gets to spend with you.

"Can we head back home or do you still want to walk around like idiots ?" Sam spoke up, clearly tired of this little adventure. You immediately nodded, "Yes, let's go home. I'm getting tired of this." Tara followed you, "Yeah, we're going home." Mindy whined however she agreed.

"Alright, alright. Let's go home. This place's a dump anyway." Chad led the way out of the building, Mindy on the other was terribly disappointed. She wanted to see a ghost or any spirit so badly but nothing happened. Sad for her, but good for all of you because it meant you could head home with a quiet Mindy.

The walk back home was full of teasing against the upset girl who kept huffing and rolling her eyes. You and Tara didn't participate much to the teasing since you shared earplugs with your shared playlist blasting in your ears. To make sure the earplugs wouldn't fall you stayed close to each other, your fingers brushing against one another. Your heartbeat went faster as you hardly blushed, thanks to the darkness it wasn't visible to anyone.

You hesitated for a moment before taking all your courage and interviewing your pinky with hers. You were about to pull away but she was faster to react, squeezing your pinky with hers. You looked down at your hand, a shy smile appeared on your face. You bit your inside cheek, trying to suppress your smile as you looked in front of you.

Beside you Tara was shamelessly smiling, evidently happy about what just happened. Neither of you spoke a word, the simple yet loving gesture meant more than anything.

The older Carpenter had a suspicious look on her face when she saw you and her sister hurrying upstairs the second everyone got home. She trusted you enough not to worry about anything, but her older sister instinct was hitting like crazy. She knew something was going to happen in this room. And she wasn't wrong.

You closed the door behind you as Tara connected her phone to her speaker, soft music was playing in her room. You sat on the chair of her desk while she sat on her bed. For a short time neither of you spoke, enjoying the calm music until Tara broke the slight awkwardness of this moment. "I think we need to talk." Her tone was eripus which cause you to panicked, "What-? What about ?" You faintly stuttered, your eyes widened a little bit. "About what happened earlier." She knew she was making you panick and this brat was savouring it.

You were overthinking like crazy, 'Did she just held my pinky by politeness ?', 'Did I make her uncomfortable ?', 'Oh my god. Did I just loose my best friend ?' Were one of the few questions that went through your brain when she mentioned what happened some minutes ago.

You shakingly breathed out, "What about it ?" You anxiously fidgeted with your rings, waiting for her answer but your mouth had other plans. "Did you not like it ? I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I really didn't mean to. It's the last I ever want to do. I love you too much for that."

Fuck.

Maybe you should learn to think before speaking in anxious situations. You both froze at your final words. You tried to speak again but nothing came out of your mouth. Oh, you definitely screwed it.

"You love me ? Like love me, love me ?" Tara asked but again you couldn't find any words to answer so you just nodded. She was dumbfounded. She didn't know how to react. She dreamt of this moment but never expected it to actually occur.

A long silence came between you, even the music couldn't make the situation less awkward. You were so incredibly ashame. You felt like you were burning. You finally found some words, "I should go. I'm sorry." You stood up however it wasn't in Tara's plan to let you go anytime soon. "No, no. Sit back down." Her tone was enough to make you melt. You listened without thinking twice, sitting back down on your chair.

The brunette shook her head and tapped the empty place next to her on her bed, quietly telling to sit next to her. You understood her command and moved to sit next to her.

As soon as you were next to her, her hand found yours. "You didn't make it uncomfortable. Yes, I liked it. And I love you too." She gently whispered, her soft smiled grew on her face, "Like love me, love me ?" You murmured, you barely had the strength to find your voice. The whole thing was unbelievable.

Tara chuckled then nodded, "Like, love you, love you." She nudged your shoulder which caused you to follow her chuckle. "How long have you liked me for ?" You quietly asked, "For too long. So what do you say we stop waiting, hm ?" She smirked as she looked at you. You instantly nodded, "Yeah, that sounds great." You smiled, squeezing her hand.

Waiting this long was worth it, you're finally with the one you love.

- 📜🎧🍂 -

A/n: Rushed end because I'm tired. This was supposed to be a Halloween fic- my bad lol. Have a good day/night. I hope you forgive me for how bad this is. Love y'all <3

[stayteezdreams]

How they surprise you for Valentines Day: SKZ Hyung Line

Plot: How they surprise you for Valentines Day

Pairings: Bang Chan x Reader (est. relationship); Lee Know x Reader (friends to lovers); Changbin x Reader (friends to lovers); Hyunjin x Reader (est relationship) *all Gn!Reader Inserts

A/n: These aren't going to be super in depth. I originally planned on writing multiple fics for Valentines Day but my motivation has failed me. But I wanted to get something out, so this is what I was able to do lol

Warnings: Gifts include jewelry, but I kept it vague so it could be anything really.

Words: 1.3k

((Maknae Line))

Ateez Version; Hyung Line; Maknae Line

Chris: Proposal

Chris would definitely be a 'day full of surprises' person

Starting with the classic, breakfast in bed.

He would make heart shaped pancakes (or waffles if you prefer), he would cut up strawberries into shapes of hearts as well.

All your favorite breakfast sides would be included as well as some of your favorite flowers.

Once you were up and out of bed, you would exchange gifts.

You got him a new watch, a cute stuffed animal, and some tickets to an event he really wanted to attend.

He got you a cute plush as well, a set of matching couple sweatshirts, and a piece of jewelry designed by him that he knew you would love.

Even though you offered to help with Valentines plans, he insisted he plan everything.

Though you were nervous, you let it slide, forgoing the anxiety surprises gave you.

Chris didn't plan anything over the top, and it ended up being a very cute Valentines Date.

You had lunch at one of your favorite spots, and then you went to a variety of stops both of you enjoyed and knew well.

The arcade you went to you on your first date, walked through the mall you first met at (introduced by mutual friends), you took photos at the photobooth he first asked you out in (to capture your reaction in physical form)

It was a walk down memory lane, going through the different phases of your relationship.

As the day progressed you began to grow suspicious he had something big planned.

And you were right.

When the evening came, you had dinner on the rooftop at the same place you celebrated your first anniversary.

After you ate, he presented another bouquet of flowers to you, before giving you a heartfelt speech, and getting down on one knee.

Even though you knew he had something planned, you didn't let yourself think too much about a proposal. But that was exactly what it was.

He wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with you. And you of course, wanted the same.

Lee Know: Camping/Get Away

You and Minho were not dating, but instead, close friends (who were secretly very in love with each other)

Both of you were not too excited about being around all of your lovey-dovey couple friends, so when Minho invited you to join him on his camping trip, you said yes.

It was a bit late that you realized you would be stuck together with the guy you had had a crush on for years. So you were struck with nerves a bit too late to back out from.

Unbeknownst to you, this was his plan.

You were staying together in one large glamping area, large tent, proper beds, tv, etc.

The first day, you walked and explored, made food for each other, and star gazed.

All the while, you noticed Minho was acting a bit softer to you, and finding excuses to be closer to you.

The second day (Valentines Day), you figured out why.

You woke up that morning to find Minho gone. He had gone out early and cooked you breakfast to surprise you with.

And he even presented you with a bundle of hand-picked flowers, the same ones you had pointed out and admired the day before on your walk together.

You were bewildered and very touched by this and asked him why he bothered doing it.

Though he tried to give his normal Minho straight-faced demeanor, you could tell he was a but sheepish when he said, that 'since you were here together, that you should be his Valentine.'

Not wanting to assume anything with his words, you thanked him somewhat jokingly, until he added on:

"Since you're my Valentine, we should be dating too, right?"

You were so stunned that he laughed at your expression before he confessed his feelings to you.

Minho is not great with heartfelt speeches, so he was quite straightforward, but this was better you thought, since it was more believable.

So even though you left on a camping trip single and annoyed by Valentines Day, you came back with a boyfriend and a very cute Anniversary date for the future.

Changbin: Cute Date In

You and Changbin were best-friends and had spent Valentines Day together for the last few years.

Buying all the cheesy stereotypical candy and foods, and watching a lot of stupid movies together.

This year, it was the same plan, at least for you. But to Changbin, it was going to hopefully be the first Valentines Day you spent as a couple and not just best-friends.

When he showed up to your house with flowers, it was a bit of a surprise, it was the first time he had brought you some.

The two of you would often exchange cute stuffed animals or weird cards instead.

But the flowers were beautiful and romantic, which was exactly what he wanted you to think of them.

He did bring you a card as per-usual, and inside, you expected to find the normal array of cheesy puns.

But this time, instead, it was a love letter, to you.

When you were done reading it, you looked up at Changbin with teary eyes, having never expecting the guy you had feelings for to return them.

He wiped your tears and admitted that he was afraid to say everything he wrote to you in case he messed it up.

After you confessed your own feelings, you spent the rest of the night having an actual Valentines Date with your now boyfriend.

The evening was spent nearly the same as the previous years, but with many more cuddles, shy glances, and yes, some kissing.

Hyunjin

You and Hyunjin each planned half of your Valentines Day together, wanting to try and pick something you each thought the other would like.

You booked an event at an Art Museum, where you went with your date, had a variety of drinks and foods, while painting each other.

It was casual, and fun, and you even made a few new friends.

Hyunjin's painting of you was beautiful and made your heart flutter. He titled it "My Muse"

Whether you were a good painter or not, no matter how your painting of Hyunjin came out, he would cherish it forever.

If it was a bad painting, he would love it because it made him laugh and cherish it because of how hard you tried.

If it was a good painting; he would hang it in his office, framed and all, and love that you painted him so well.

In between your chosen events, you went on a walk through a park hand-in-hand, talking, joking and just enjoying each other's company (and having some ice cream or other sweet treats).

For the second half of the date, Hyunjin had set up (with the secret help of Felix and Chris) a picnic on top of a building with the perfect view of the sunset.

The area was set up with twinkling lights, cute balloons, flowers, and a blanket with a bunch of cushions.

The food was a mix of both of your favorites, as well as some new dishes to try out.

Even though you had agreed no gifts, he did it anyways and gifted you a piece of jewelry before showing you his matching one.

(You also got him a gift anyways, it was a set of nice paint brushes he had been wanting, that you surprised him with later)

After you had your fill of food and watched the sunset together, you danced together to music, and star gazed while cuddling, talking about how happy you were.

You ended up falling asleep in his arms, and he let you rest for a while while admiring you, silently reminding himself just how happy and lucky he was that you ended up being such an important piece in his life.

He also decided that next year, he would propose on Valentines Day (if he was able to wait that long)

xx

Sorry they were a bit basic, I still hope you enjoyed them!

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Changbin: @lieutenantnLee Know: @hongjoongsprincessHyunjin: @dear-dreamie

[getaapologist]

The Tension and the Terror............Part XV

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length)

Summary: The chaos surrounding the death of Macrinus keeps Letha and Geta apart much longer than either of them expected. Geta has an urgent question for Letha.

Warnings: make-up sex, and a shitty understanding of ancient Roman procedures around rule, 18+ only.

Word Count: 3.6k

Part 15 of 15!

[ Part XIV ]

Series Masterlist

A/N: I would like to preface this by saying thank you for reading this self-indulgent slop. I hope you got some small amount of enjoyment out of it. Your comments along the way kept me engaged enough to actually finish this. It's the first thing I've ever started writing that I actually feel like I finished. There's so much I could've added to this post-reunion that this would've never been done. I could always embellish at a later date if anyone wanted it. I'm also a bit sad to finish this because I don't have anything to look forward to now. Thank you for your time and attention. It means a lot.

Also, mea lux is 'my light' I believe.

Almost two weeks passed before Letha laid eyes on Geta again.

It was prevented by a combination of things. There had been so much to deal with after the incident in the gardens. Geta had been embroiled in meetings, debating things Letha wasn’t privy to. There was a ceremony for Ancus, to honor him for his efforts to protect his Emperors. And at every party, everyone was so desperate to show face to their Emperors, to remind them of their loyalty in wake of the exposure of Macrinus’s plot. 

Though she wasn’t invited to any official meetings or ceremonies, there were situations where she could’ve sought Geta out at these fetes and events. But she didn’t. She was scared to have that conversation that needed to happen. 

She knew she was still treated as a guest in the palace. More like a fixture, really, available to distract Caracalla whenever the burden of rule grew too tiresome with more poetry, read under the shade of a tree in the gardens, Ancus always nearby. But aside from that, she felt quite restless. 

It’s not as if she expected things to go back to how they were, but she didn’t think it would be this hard to put her thoughts together. Leaving the gardens that evening, neck still sore, she was imagining how she’d look over at Geta the next morning and fervently apologize, for all of it. She’d tell him she would understand if he sent her away, and he would assure her that he wouldn’t dream of it.

But the next morning she couldn’t leave her bed, paralyzed by this new fear. She’d gotten a chance to see what her relationship with Geta could be, she didn’t know what she would do if it was not that. And the possibilities he’d promised her most certainly couldn’t and wouldn’t happen anymore. She stewed in the hesitance, the uncertainty, until she became convinced that it absolutely would be different. No matter what different meant, she was sure it wouldn’t be good.

And so it continued, Letha skipping mealtimes that used to be routine, bumping into servants gossiping on her way into the kitchens to eat. Occasionally she heard her name on their tongues, her appearance causing them to freeze as if Letha were Medusa herself. Not wanting to make a scene, she’d just duck right back out, resolving to return later.

Caracalla assured her his brother was just being kept very, very busy in the wake of the subterfuge and death of Macrinus, but she couldn’t help but feel like it was a little intentional. 

What did you expect, honestly?

She didn’t know why she was still allowed to wander the palace, as if she were back to being a guest. There were no guards posted outside her room, and for the last week she spent her evenings in the gardens, observing the moon, asking no one in particular what happens next.

She wasn’t naive, she knew Tegula didn’t trust her. And nothing spread faster than a salacious rumor. They weren’t so foolish as to speak poorly of their Emperor, so they resorted to tarnishing her reputation instead. She was a witch, had steered Macrinus to his end, was desperate to attach herself to the divinity the Emperors were entitled to.

It was ridiculous. If she had such powers, she sure wouldn’t have suffered all this. 

It was all just more fuel for her suppositions, perpetuating her unhappy cycle until she felt like it would be better if she just snuck out one night. She could become a ghost story. But against all odds, she still carried hope that the next day would be different. 

As for Geta, well, Geta was trying to prevent an economic collapse. Some part of him thought Letha might think poorly of him if he let the empire fall around them because he would rather be locked up in his rooms, curled up in her. Because that was what he wanted. But he had a duty, a responsibility to steer this monstrous empire in a direction he could have heirs in. Perhaps the danger had put things into perspective.

Listening to the senators describe just how involved Macrinus had been in arming their voracious armies became more and more painful as they dove into the minutiae of complex accounts and processes he never bothered to pay attention to before. It was overwhelming. But he knew their efforts were working. Still, there were moments where he’d trade it all for those eyes on him again. 

What little free time he had was spent trying to avoid Letha, because he needed hours, days, uninterrupted, for him to spill his heart to her. A few minutes here and there wouldn’t be enough to relay any of the complex emotions he felt. He couldn’t avoid her forever, though, because there was a certain conversation that had to happen. He needed to know where he stood with her before he picked a particular path to tread down.

So that was why he stalked the gardens that evening, waiting for her to appear for her nightly stargazing. And as he watched her spread out the emerald-dyed linen on the grass, he felt calm. Almost peaceful. He let himself forget the weight of all that had happened, the guilt, too. Everything they’d all been through. 

Well, not everything.

“You should have run far away from here,” Geta spoke, disturbing her peace. 

Letha looked over her shoulder, her breath held in her lungs as she appraised him. It almost felt like the first time. The first time she saw him and admitted against her better judgment that he was beautiful.

The moonlight glinted off the laurels and the golden chestplate he still wore, though the ceremony had long been over. His hair was shiny, neat, framing his fair face. His deep, dark eyes, still lined in crimson, were locked on her.

He looked close to divine standing there in the golden armor, easily one of the most opulent things she’d ever seen. He somehow looked taller, broader, in the armor. Untouchable, too. 

It was so late in the evening, he should’ve changed. He should be in bed. Anywhere but here.

No more hiding. 

“I was locked in a cell, I wasn’t running anywhere.”

He surprised her by sitting beside her on the blanket, the ceremonial armor quite uncomfortable to lay down in. He kept his arms slung around his knees, the bindings of the tall sandals flexing over his shins as he joined her in staring up at the large moon.

“What about after?” After Macrinus. “You’ve had no chaperone for well over a week now.”

Letha felt her stomach twist. “I’ve thought about it.”

“But?” Geta supplied, turning his head away from the splendor of the night sky to peer down at her where she laid out beside him. A challenger to the celestial might hanging above.

“You know there would be no point.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I do?”

She rolled her eyes, a treasonous activity if done by any other, but it filled Geta with warmth, bringing the beginnings of a smile to his lips. It all felt so familiar.

“There’s something that is keeping me here. Besides the fact I wouldn’t last a day out there with nowhere to go.”

“I dared to hope,” he admitted, taking her own admission and shoving it into the cracks that were slowly mending, a makeshift mortar.

She looked over at him, a line forming between her brows as she studied him, thinking very hard about what to say next. He reached down with a finger, gently pressing at the center of her brows, pushing away the line.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, the pressure of his closeness becoming overwhelming. 

“No,” he shook his head, moving his finger lower to press to her lips, silencing any further unnecessary apologies. “It is forgiven.”

Letha felt relief, could feel a tear forming at the corner of her eye. But she didn’t want to cry, not now. She recalled her apology muttered into his hair that day. He’d told her ‘no’ then too. 

“Do you still care for me?” he asked, his voice low.

“Of course I do,” she whispered, feeling the tear slide down the side of her face. 

He noticed it, moving his fingertip to wipe away the trail before resting his hand on the ground beside her head. He licked his lips, staring at her, all his weight bearing down, as if daring himself to collapse onto her. 

As much as he might have enjoyed frolicking beneath the stars, removing this armor was not a graceful job, even for two. 

“I want to show you something.” He pushed off the ground and sat up, the haze of him dispersed. She made herself sit up, kept her eyes on him as he stood up. He could feel a swarm of bees in his stomach moving angrily as he held a hand out for her to help her to her feet.

There was a split second of indecision and he nearly faltered, but her tight grip on his hand was a balm, immediately settling his nerves. As she leaned down to gather up the blanket, he tugged her hand, urging her to leave it. 

Geta  lifted the small chest off his desk and carried it over to where Letha sat on the side of the chaise in his room. It sank into the plush seat and she looked up at him, surprised. 

“It’s quite heavy.”

“I can manage just fine,” he smiled, his teasing tone returning.

It was so easy to get caught up in his magnetism. She wondered if he knew he possessed such a thing.

“Go on,” he urged. “Open it.”

She obeyed, pushing up the lid, exposing a rich ruby interior, the box created to house this one ornate bauble. Laurels, golden and sparkling. There were small, dazzling red gems hidden among the leaves here and there.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, reaching in to run a finger along one of the gilded leaves. “Seems a bit small for you,” she admitted.

“It is,” he confirmed. 

“Well I think Caracalla will love it,” she smiled, lowering the lid. “It’s a thoughtful gift.”

Geta reached down, pulling it back open. There was a look in her eyes that gave him pause, all the smiles and teasing forgotten. As if she knew already what he was about to say. To ask.

“It’s not for my brother.”

His words sent an icy chill down the center of her back, forcing her to sit up a bit straighter. He was already moving away, pacing.

“I have been busy, Letha,” he admitted. “I’ve spent more time with the senators than I can possibly stand. And in exchange for those long hours, I got this.”

“Geta, I—”

“Don’t feel like you need to say yes right now. Just promise me you will think on it. I know these last couple of weeks have been difficult, we’ve had a hell of a time trying to navigate—”

Letha stood and walked over to him as he rambled. She reached up and curled her fingers around the collar of the chestplate, pulling him down by it, pressing her lips to his. 

Geta recognized the action immediately, bringing one of his hands up to cover hers where she held the armor, moaning against her lips. He pulled her in by the small of her back with his free hand. Her necklace clattered against the metal plate until it was muffled by the press of her against him. 

He could not get near enough air into his lungs. He felt dizzy, incoherent, his blood at once diluted but also thickened, leaving his limbs feeling heavy with a honeyed sludge passing through his veins. The pressure of her hauling him down to her eager mouth by the bronze plate persisted in his brain, in his gut, and he suspected he would relive it for the rest of time. 

“Letha,” he breathed, his palm pressing to her heated cheek. “You can take time,” he offered, though he would be lying if he said he was satisfied with this and nothing more.

“I’ve taken it,” she replied quickly, releasing the armor. 

Before the dissatisfaction crept in, he felt her fingers at his side, brushing the underside of his arm that he immediately lifted. She worked at the buckle, pulling the leather free before moving down to the woven golden string keeping both halves together. 

Once his brain caught up to hers, he pulled at the cords holding the pauldrons over his shoulders, the both of them picking up speed as an unspoken sense of urgency grew in the silence. It all hit the floor with a loud clattering, the pteruges joining it not long after. 

Free from the weight of the heavy armor, Geta reached for Letha’s neck, pulling her into him, groaning against her lips as he attempted to make up for lost time.

As he held her, he realized she was working herself out of her dress. It was bunched up on her shoulders by the time he looked down. The next chance she got, the two of them needing air, she threw it off over her head. 

“I would have gotten to that,” he breathed, allowing himself to look her over. 

“Like I said, I’ve taken it.” she spoke with intention. He felt it low in his belly.

She got to spend only a moment more on her feet before he collected her in his arms and carried her to the bed. She let out a laugh as she sank into the plush arrangement of silks and pillows. He stared down at her, feeling that blooming of warmth in his chest that only she gave him.

 “What are you waiting for?”

As the words left her lips, Geta threw off the white tunic and joined her, crawling up her body to seal his lips to hers, finally allowing the weight of him to press her down into the bed. He had missed this. Her skin, already hot beneath his hands, her movements only drawing him in further, seeking his touch, his lips.

It had been a long couple of weeks.

He felt her bring a leg up around his hip and he reached for it, fingers digging into her thigh as he rutted against her. The ragged moan that left his throat said more about his desperation than anything else.

The tension in his arm trying to hold him up off of her was too much to ignore. He turned onto his side, clinging to her thigh, slowly bringing her with him until he was on his back. As she settled in this new position, she looked down where they met, a bashful smile on her face.

He couldn’t deny the wonder that overtook him at the sight of her above him, the way her mussed hair hung around her face, a few strands now loose. She was radiant, even in the night. Her nervous smile took hold in his chest, and he knew then that he would make it his goal to continue to find ways to draw that same smile from her. 

“I missed you,” she admitted, eyes cast down to the expanse of his torso beneath her hands. “I thought we might never…”

“Letha, you possess me.” Her eyes widened, her body frozen in his hands. “I think that was why it hurt so much to be separated from you.” He shifted his hips, forcing heat into her cheeks. “And I owe you an apology.”

“It is forgiven,” she insisted.

He shot her a look. “I could have lost you. It was cruel and impulsive.”

“We are fortunate your brother had the good sense to intervene, then.”

“Please, do not speak of my brother right now,” he pleaded, squeezing her thighs. 

She laughed at him, covering his hands with hers. “Let me distract you,” she offered, bringing his hands up higher, his fingers skimming her belly before she pressed his palms into her breasts.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, his hands squeezing her soft skin. 

She ground herself down on him, using him, the sight filling him with desire for her. How he ever got pleasure from anyone else, he could never know. This was all he ever needed. He could only thank the gods, the fates, whoever brought her to him. 

She surprised him as she swung her leg over him, leaving him there in the bed, a pathetic whine leaving his throat as the air hit his slick-wet cock.

Letha felt a bit unsteady on her feet as she walked through his room. She was ready to show him that she would take on the mantle, the responsibility of keeping him sated and happy. 

Possessed him? She would never get over it. 

She found the chest and lifted the lid, reaching down for the delicate crown. Even in the dim light it sparkled. Her prize in hand, she set it on her head and nearly sprinted back to Geta.

He still laid in the middle of his bed, a vision of long limbs and pale flesh. At the sound of her feet padding on the floor he craned his neck, his large brown eyes passing over her, lingering on her head, where the crown sat precariously.

His full lips parted in a grin. “Eager to fulfill your duty, Empress?” he questioned, his voice low with desire. He held his hands out for her, helping her return to her place astride his hips. 

“Do you like it?” she asked a bit bashfully, her hands leaving his to steady the crown in her hair.

He let out a deep breath. “Mea lux,” he smiled, reaching up to pull her down to his chest, “you spoil me.” He stole a kiss from her lips before he reached up to adjust the crown so it would sit more securely on her head. She leaned into every touch, relishing the sensation of his large hands on her skin, skimming, gripping, squeezing.

She was so overwhelmed by him that she didn’t notice him preparing to shove into her, her only warning a quick swipe of him through her slick. They let out matching sighs as he filled her, like this was all they needed. Letha sat up, a hand pressed against his abdomen for support as she reacclimated to him. 

“W-What exactly are the duties of an Empress, Geta?” she asked. His hips snapping up forcing a wanton moan to leave her lips. 

His flush extended from his face and ears down to his chest. “Besides the obvious?”

She nodded, shifting her hips, moving on instinct, eager for relief. 

He grunted, letting his head fall back. “Well,” he began, bucking his own hips up slightly to reward her. “You will sit with me in all the boring meetings. We will suffer together.” 

“Mhmm,” she moaned, nodding. “I can do that.”

“You will advise me, keep me in line,” he grunted. “Tell me when I’m being a fool.”

“I will relish every chance I get,” she grinned, chasing her pleasure.

“Don’t look so excited,” he chuckled, biting his lip. 

She felt her thighs burning, but she didn’t dare stop, the coil pulling ever tighter. “What else?”

“You will guard my heart, Letha,” he breathed, his eyes meeting hers.

Her hips stilled. 

Geta flipped them, bringing his face down to hers. She ran her hands up his sides, over his shoulders, tangling in his hair as he kissed her. She relaxed beneath him, her legs wrapping around his hips as he drove into her at a steady pace. 

“Can you do that?” he asked, meeting her eyes. 

“Haven’t I been already?” 

He blinked down at her, absorbing her words. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she echoed, pulling his face down to hers.

In the kiss, he quickened his pace. She felt like she was falling apart in his hands, unable to form more words. He reached down between them, his fingers finding home in the apex of her thighs, his nose brushing against hers as he urged her to her release.

She clung to him desperately, choked gasps leaving her throat as he pressed his lips against it. She clenched around him, the coil finally snapping and giving way for her hard-earned release. He pushed her through it, her hands squeezing his hips in an effort to slow him down, too sensitive. 

He sat up, pulling her to him by her hips, grunting as he pounded into her.

“Is giving you an heir part of my duties as well?”

He laughed. “Not a requirement, but–” He cut himself off, burying himself in her as he fell on top of her, pulsing into her. “–a perk.”

He settled on top of her, his lips pressing to hers before he buried his face in the side of her neck. She held him close, running fingers up and down his back, enjoying the warmth of him despite all the sweat. 

“I would stay like this forever,” she sighed, trying to fight off the exhaustion she felt. The last thing she wanted to do was sleep now that she had him back.

“I have no pressing business for two days, mea lux. You’re not leaving this room,” he spoke into her skin. “And when we do, we will be wed.”

She felt nervous, but optimistic. “Should we not have waited until after for this then?”

He lifted his head, his warm eyes settling on hers. Full of love and mirth. “Oh, no, dear Letha. I believe you said you have already taken your time to think,” he winked, “and I would not deprive my Empress of anything.”

[ fin ]

Thank you for reading!

[omamervt]

oh my god every one of these replies is so stupid. I was content when it was just one to block and move on but y'all kept going, Jesus.

From top to bottom:

"Review embargoes are good, though!"

If you wanna miss the point, I can help you understand. If you're just wrong, I can try and help you see why. But if you're gonna be wrong WHILE missing the point, nothing you have to say is worth saying.

Ignore for a moment that none of the perks of an embargo in your eyes benefit READERS, only the reviewers, their publishers, and the game's publisher. Because even if I agreed with THAT point, do you think review embargoes had a bad reputation back in the day because of the NON-toxic patterns? No! The point is that reviews aren't allowed to come out now until the game's release is so close that it's too late to inform everyone who pre-ordered that they might want to cancel! And that this went from a predictable indicator that a game was gonna suck on launch to a near-universal practice! And AGAIN, that the editors and reviewers would rather maintain a positive relationship with AAA game publishers than with their own readers!

"influencers can play and stream the game before reviews are out, as long as they stick to certain talking points and avoid others"

In other words, you can only review the game if you don't leave a bad review? do you not think that JUST MAYBE that would fall under the category of "problematic embargo pattern?"

"why are you going to a video game magazine for ttrpg news instead of like, Dicebreaker?"

oh, I don't know? Maybe BECAUSE POLYGON HAS A FUCKING TABLETOP SECTION? Maybe because as great as Rascal and Dicebreaker and the like are and need support when they do good work, it doesn't change the fact that if Polygon wants to have a Tabletop beat, they should at least try and do a good job with it? And the head of that section writing an open letter to people his department has straight-up ignored, despite them doing everything right, and saying, "be more marketable!" You can't pretend it's not a bad look. Ignoring the work of members of his own team, who are doing the thing he's saying needs to be done? You can't pretend it's not a bad look. ESPECIALLY when you acknowledge that WoTC has a LITERAL MONOPOLY on the TTRPG scene!

and shieldfoss, I know you won't see this because I blocked you because you're an idiot arguing in bad faith, but everything you said is exactly what I meant by "debating the role of a games journalist in a way that lets them off the hook for not doing their job." Because actually, it IS a journalist's job to inform their readers, not just spoon-feed them what they want to hear, with info they could just as easily get directly from WoTC.

As it stands, the likes of Polygon ARE serving as part of the marketing for major products and services. And that's a BAD thing!

Oh, and about your analogy: If I were going to an e-bike repair man, then no, I wouldn't expect him to try and sell me a new e-bike. BECAUSE HE'S NOT THE PUBLISHER OF AN E-BIKE MAGAZINE! However, I WOULD expect an e-bike magazine to keep me as up-to-date as is reasonably possible on e-bike product launches, even if it's only via reviews. I would expect them to have a handful of guys whose job was to keep their ear to the ground to research up-and-coming e-bike makers. And if one E-bike brand had a monopoly on e-bikes, I'd hope that e-bike magazine would do everything in its power to at least not COME OFF as a shill for the company that holds the monopoly.

And it's all fascinating that two out of three of these replies are, again, still largely in the context of "this is an issue with Charlie Hall, specifically, writing an article about not wanting to have to do any investigation or research to populate his TTRPG section with TTRPG articles" when, as I've been saying from the beginning, this is bigger than him. It's bigger than Polygon. Every major publication has these issues, and they have them in regards to ALL types of games, not just TTRPGs.

So no, none of these people had good points.

I've often heard people debate the role of Games Journalists and their duties relating to coverage of Games, but its usually in the context of letting them off the hook for just taking the easy route and shilling for the AAA industry.

After This Article from Polygon today, whose TTRPG beat is almost entirely covering WoTC press releases, written by the editor for the TTRPG beat, talking about how indie TTRPGs need to do better about getting press coverage themselves (hmm wonder how that would happen, Charlie!), while neglecting to highlight his own team members' work to do so, but finding plenty of time to bemoan the lack of any upcoming Curse of Strahd-tier adventure modules from WoTC?

Yeah we're done with that. No more. Don't even think about it.

[moregraceful]

one take that is also going to make me a huge asshole is that persistent fandom thoroughline of, the author has disclosed that it's their first fic or if it's one of the first works on their page, so it's probably not very good or worth reading so ignore? which pisses me the FUCK off

when i was ten i posted a work on a stargate sg1 archive. in it i said i was ten and it was my first fanfic. there is NO WAY this was a good piece of fiction. first of all, i was ten. second of all, i was ten. i just wanted to share my work. and this was in the days of self-hosted archives right? so there was no comment section, people had to email you feedback directly. so i put in my little aol email address and had no concept of receiving feedback bc i was, again, ten years old.

and i got one single email about it, from a married couple. they told me they read my fic together and they really enjoyed it and they hoped i would write more because they liked my fic so much.

i cannot overstate enough that this was the work of a TEN YEAR OLD. i doubt it was readable. it certainly wasn't good. and i think that feedback sustained me all the way through high school and kept writing EVERYTHING fic, poetry, creative nonfiction EVERYTHING and kept me trying to be part of creative fandom communities online for decades after that. because one couple were kind enough to be like, let's encourage the kid.

and i think about that a lot when we talk disparagingly about works that are not very good? like idk maybe because i read pretty widely within my fandoms and tend to read mostly rarepairs, but i am always in those trenches experiencing baffling characterization issues and strange pacing issues and awkwardly written prose and basically every sin imaginable that has people turning up their noses. but there is always always always something interesting in it, or the spark of something good, or something in it showing that the author is trying to convey something important to them. i don't really think it's fair to say, well, it's the author's first work so we're just going to ignore it entirely. that's not how fandom works!!!! it just sucks so bad to me that people will dismiss works completely out of hand just because it's someone first work. how are we supposed to grow and maintain a community if we don't welcome new people into it??

[ladyhoneydarlinglove]

{one piece, zosan, ficlet} first impression

(i seem to have gained a sudden influx of new followers who i'm assuming found me through ao3? so uh, hi! i'm sophie. sometimes i write things. usually those things end up being very long. so here's a little ficlet from that time i challenged myself to fill a bunch of prompts while keeping it under 1K, then gave up after doing two lol.)

~~~~~

Rating: G Notes: pre-relationship

The first time Sanji heard the name Roronoa Zoro, it came from a table of drunk Marines.

He had come by with a few more bottles of wine for them just in time to hear one saying to the others, “I’m tellin’ you, everything you’ve heard about Roronoa Zoro is true! That man’s more demon than he is human!”

“Rubbish,” scoffed another. “He’s just another lowlife bounty hunter, ain’t nothing to be scared of.”

“You didn’t see him at the base last week,” the first man muttered. “Brought in a body he’d cut clean in half. Just dumped it in front of us and asked for his payment, like it was nothin’. He looked right at me and I swear his eyes were glowin’ red.”

“Were his eyes glowing, or were you just drunk on shift again?” someone else piped up, and Sanji got caught up in the ensuing brawl when someone carelessly knocked an entire plate of pasta on the floor.

He didn’t think much of the marine’s story until a few weeks later, when he heard the name Roronoa Zoro again; this time coming from a group of nearby islanders out celebrating their Mayor’s birthday. 

“They say he’s more monster than man; a demon in disguise,” a pretty lady with chestnut hair and plunging cleavage said, smiling coyly at Sanji when he handed her a free aperitif and making him swoon.

“Probably true,” the Mayor laughed. “Certainly no man I know could have cut down ten pirates in a single blow. But he saved the village from them, so I can’t rightly complain.”

“Did his eyes glow red?” the lady asked, hiding her smile behind a delicate hand; Sanji had never been more in love. “I’ve heard gazing into them is like looking into the fires of hell itself.”

“I don’t know that I’d go that far,” the Mayor answered. “Though I will admit, his stare was quite intense. I felt like I couldn’t look straight at him.”

“How fascinating. I’d love to meet him myself someday,” the lady sighed dreamily, and even though Sanji didn’t know him, he decided at that moment that he hated Roronoa Zoro, and if he ever met this so-called demon, Sanji would show him what real hellfire looked like.

Stories and gossip flowed more freely than wine at the Baratie, and tales about the Demon of East Blue kept coming in; his unmatched skill with a blade, the incredible haul of pirates both dead and alive he’d dumped at naval bases, the evil red glow of his terrible eyes. If he so much as looks at you, you’re already dead, Sanji heard whispered more than once. 

He didn’t buy that for a second, but he did start to wonder what the pirate hunter’s eyes actually looked like, given how often they were mentioned, always with an undercurrent of awe and terror. Maybe they really were red. Maybe they really did glow. Sanji doubted he was really a demon from the depths of hell, but then again, he’d heard stories of impossible things out on the Grand Line from Zeff plenty of times. Maybe he was a devil fruit user, and his power was somehow held within his eyes.

Slowly, an image of the infamous Demon of the East Blue began taking shape in Sanji’s mind, and while he couldn’t have said exactly what it entailed, it was definitely something only vaguely human with terrible, glowing red eyes. So when a swordsman with by the name of Zoro showed up one afternoon at the Baratie following his captain-come-Zeff’s new chore boy, it didn’t register to Sanji that this was Roronoa Zoro until the idiot challenged Dracule Mihawk to a fight, and one of Don Krieg’s men started screaming about a pirate hunter.

And as Sanji stared at him, this myth of a man, this terrifying swordsman, this supposed demon from the depth of hell itself, he only had one thought. I can’t believe no one’s ever mentioned how fucking stupid his hair is.

[plutosillywrites]

some simon x gamer! reader mentioned, just a little angst comfort for a certain self indulgent writer (me. it’s for me…)

you were sat nice on your boyfriends, simon’s, couch. playing some new online video game that you’ve never played before because you usually play more peaceful slice of life style games.

you’re trying to shoot at the characters in front you but you swear they’re going so fast you can’t see them— simon is laughing with you and trying to help until you hear another players mic cue up and it’s just angry yelling.

you can’t even tell what he’s saying but you hear “fucking trash at the game—“ “are you stupid or dumb?” and you kinda retreat back into your shell, sliding the controller into simon’s hands.

“i don’t want to play anymore.” you say solemnly, hands tucked in your lap. simon can’t— won’t stand for this fucking shit. his pretty, smart girl sad because of what some worthless bloke said? hell no. he slides the headset off your head and onto his, flipping the mic down and just letting loose.

every frustration, every small angering thing left him bellowing at this man, berating him— “you think you’re so good? you’re the reason we’re losing..” you listen in n out of the conversation which is more just simon’s yelling and the other guy not getting a word in.

as the match concludes your boyfriend ends it with a “if you ever tell my smart girl she’s dumb again, i’ll gut you, and feed you to your worthless family.” which is shockingly scarier with a deep british voice.

he looks to you, a soft smile on his face and sliding the headset off. “well… at least you’ll never be matched up with him again probably.” he says, rubbing your knee softly, but you can’t shake the words of some random guy.

he frowns and pulls you close to his chest, laying down onto the couch and softly playing with your hair. “people are awful mean sometimes— and i know it’s hard to let their words wash off you..” he begins, hand tracing circles on your back. “there will be people like that— and you just have to remember that i think you’re the smartest, most talented person in my life.. besides- i thought it was funny you kept dying.” he laughs a little breathlessly at the memory of you dying two times in a row.

“what i’m trying to say is— i love you, and i will always yell at someone for you, cus no one speaks to my girl that way.” he mumbles, his lips kiss the crown of your head, and forehead, and both of your cheeks before finally giving you a soft, gentle kiss on your lips that makes you wanna melt into a puddle.

and when you pull away you tell him, “thank you. you know i’d do the same too..” you both snuggle up, you falling asleep first, and and simon’s slowly drifting off after.

an: i had the biggest asshole in a video game and desperately craved some comfort and who better to write it than me.. ANYWHO enjoy!! :33 srry if it’s bad i just wrote what word vomit was coming out

[vannyisinsanity]

to be quite honest, i first noticed sienna around may-june of 2023 back when i was going on a few dates with this one girl. i had watched the first terrifier before then (if i remember correctly), at least bits and pieces. i was hanging out with my older cousin one weekend and we rewatched the first one and then watched the second one. i remember not feeling romantic feelings for sienna at the time. i just remember going “wow, this character is pretty and bad ass and went through a lot. she also has a pretty name!”.

it didn’t become romantic until i was (ironically) on a date with a man back in October 2024 and we went to see the third terrifier in theaters. they did a pretty big time jump about half a decade or so later.

everything that made sienna seem cool to me was just amplified at that point. i remember empathizing with her loss and trauma because i had suffered the same. i remembered thinking she was so gentle with gabbie and it was so attractive to see her that soft. i wanted to know all her psychiatric hospital stories, and i really thought all her pain just made her that much more stronger and beautiful. i started noticing that she was a writer, she was writing more, and trying to handle her own emotions in fears of burdening others. i remember thinking she would never burden me.

she desperately wanted connection like me, and she wore the scars on her face/body with pride. despite all she went through, she didn’t give up on herself. she wore a lot of yellow too, and i kept thinking she was so beautiful and looked like sunshine. well, fast forward 4 months later and here we are. i never went out with that girl or guy again.

i moved 6 months ago to a new town for college and left all of my friends. i spend most of my time currently either at school doing homework or online obsessed with this fictional mf. despite being pretty and friendly, i just struggle making friends. i think it’s due to people boring me and me losing interest fast. like i will see certain flaws and decided that between that and my own (like my severe trust issues), i just can’t maintain it.

does anyone feel similar ? it’s always funny when people think some of us self ship bc we are lonely losers who are desperate. many of us have jobs, partners, friends, responsibilities, get asked out a lot, yet still have an obsession with our F/Os lol.

like i don’t love my blorbo because i don’t get pursued. i get pursued and still prefer my blorbo. i can’t make this stuff up. it’s been going on 2 years technically that i think about the terrifier series nearly every day.

DIS IS MY GF -

Writing backstories for why u and ur f/o got together is so difficult. Like I rizzed them up by existing and then we ran away into the sunset idk what to tell you, you just had to be there

[thatoneautisticshark]

Would you consider writing about hybrid Ghoap? Wolf hybrid Simon "Ghost" Riley who has always considered the 141 his pack but is still fairly solitary and dog hybrid John "Soap" MacTavish who also gets the pack instincts but in a more domesticated dog-ish way who somehow managed to get close to Ghost is on my mind more often then I'd like to admit. Lots of wagging tails. I've never sent an ask before but you seemed sad with how few you had :)

Ghost, safe to say, was pissed. The higher ups decided they needed a new team member into their pack, but they were totally fine.

Not only that, he was a canine hybrid?

They had a wolf in the group already, adding a second canine hybrid, that they had never met to the pack meant almost certain fights, and dominance issues.

At the very least the new Hybrid was only a sergeant. So even if he was a cocky bastard trying to be the dominant dog, Ghost still out ranked him.

Although Gaz was excited, he at least understood Ghost's annoyance. The time they had tried to add in another harpy did not go well.The fights that had started were viscous, the new one didn't want to accept that Gaz would not bow to him, and it ended with the new harpy downright trying to fuck up Gaz’s wings with fire, just so he could have the dominant position.

Price was the only one without an issue. Lynx were rare in the military, and usually Reacted more with an automatic bond, then fighting.

But Price understood Ghost's reluctance, and promised he'd deal with the brat if he caused issues.

And so here he stood, with his pack on the tarmac, waiting for the new mutt to arrive. Gaz had dropped his wing over the wolfs shoulder in a little show of comfort that Ghost appreciated.

The truck finally pulled up, containing the new team member. Out hopped a pup with a stupid mohawk? At the very least he wasn't a wolf, and didn't smell of cocky young dog.

The young one, Soap, walked over, his tail lazily wagging. “Heya! I'm John Mactavish, callsign soap. Hybrid of German Shepherd and a retriever.”

Price stepped forward first, introducing himself. “Captain John Price, lynx hybrid. Good to have you on the team.” He introduced, shaking the dogs hand.

Soap nodded “Good to meet you sir.”

At the very least he seemed to have manners, Ghost mused. He wasn't immediately trying to challenge the captain.

Gaz stepped forward, introducing himself as well. Although Ghost could see the tension, he was worried about how the pup would react to Ghost. “Hey mate. Sergeant Kyle Garrick, call sign Gaz. Harpy hybrid. Nice to meet you.”

Soaps' tail was wagging, making him look like an excited pup as he responded. “Nice to meet you too! I like your wings, they look cool.”

Well he was either good at flattery, or very sweet and excited. He moved Infront of Ghost, who was still glaring.

Instead of any kind of challenge like Ghost was tensed for, Soap showed submission. Bowing his head slightly, ears moving back, and tail dipping. Ghost blinked at him for a second, not expecting him to immediately acknowledge Ghost as the wolf in charge. It took him a second to right his brain, before speaking “Lieutenant Simon riley, Ghost. Wolf hybrid.”

The dog kept his head slightly bowed “Nice to meet you”

By the time a few weeks had gone by, Ghost was amazed there had not been an issue. Soap was talented, that was sure, a good shot, skilled fighter and amazing with bombs.

Him and Gaz had struck it off well, already being close friends, and he got along with Price.

He was quickly becoming a part of the pack, and Ghost, surprisingly, didn't resent it.

Soap was always respectful, and still showing signs of submission with Ghost, however ever did seem to seek him out.

Whenever Ghost spoke to him, his tail would be wagging slightly. And despite himself, Ghost found himself enjoying the company of the new pup.

Almost always sitting by him in the mess, working well in tandem, and thinking of him as part of the pack.

So naturally when management decided 3 months after Soap had joined that, no he didn't fit, they had a better placement.

Soap wasn't happy. He thought he'd been bonding well, but he supposed not. He was a bit hurt; none of the team had just told him, rather than getting him moved.

He wasn't expecting when the general brought it up in a briefing that he would be being removed, Gaz to jump to his feet, wings fluffed up in anger demanding why the fuck they were moving soap.

Prince sprung up, ears against his skull in anger “Why are you moving him? He fits in perfectly well?” His voice was laced with anger and growl.

The general stammered slightly “I well.. you guys already have a canine so it'll cause arguments with Ghost” He tried, before being cut off by a deep growl from Ghost.

Ghost stood up, grabbing Soap and pulling him protectively behind himself. “Don't you fucking dare.” He spat “Johnny is part of our pack. I will rip out your fucking windpipe if you try.”

The general froze.. “Uhm.. change of plans, soap is a permanent member.” He quickly stammered.

Ghost gave a huff, nuzzling Soaps, who looked dumbfounded, head.

That was really the jumping point for the close bond. Pretty soon, if one was seen the other wasn't far. After long missions in the heli, they'd be sitting against one another, tails wagging as they nuzzled eachother.

[brain4stew]

anons are having a field day in ur asks HELP anywho im back 2 request more hehe may i request builderman x reader x shedletsky hcs? i want to see how you interpret them :]

They are… 😞💔 I REALLY THINK I GOTTA PAY A THERAPIST FOR THE ANONS ATP. 😭😭

Also, tysm for requesting thisss, I have no idea how to write 2 characters with reader, but I sure as hell can try. 💪 watch me cook! (Fail)

(Again, I do not know the exact personalities of the characters, so they might, if not most likely will be OOC!!)

That being said, headcanons under the cut!! ;

• For the sake of the hc, we’ll say that those two, Builderman and Shedletsky, are together. And you’re a support person.

• They met you when you were a new survivor, and obviously very confused on what to do, and how to do things.

• Builderman was the one who taught you what to do, and what not to do and so on. (He doesn’t entirely trust Shedletsky on telling new survivors things… Because another person you were with, got taught by Shedletsky and died way too many times.)

• The first one to catch feelings out of the two, was Builderman. You were protecting him when he put up sentries, and dispensers.

• He kept yapping to Shedletsky every once in a while about you, which, in return, made Shedletsky a bit jealous. (And become a bit competitive…)

• Shedletsky always went to find Builderman when the rounds start, spotting you by him. You were just looking for the killer. But, when Builderman was done with putting up his dispenser and sentry, you left.

• (Presumably to help aid Elliot in healing him and giving him speed.)

• After a while, Shedletsky too, fell for you. He was confused at first, but told Builderman about the confusion feelings he had for you.

• Safe to say, they both agreed that they love you, and fell head over heels for you. (Quite literally-)

• Whenever you are going to aid someone with speed and healing, Shedletsky follows with, to stun the killer.

• Whenever you’re low on hp, and Elliot has died, and your abilities are on cooldown, Builderman stays by you, to warn you of the killer.

• After a while, they both agreed to ask you out back in the lobby. (They did, and you accepted.)

• To say that you all have a healthy relationship is an understatement, even with some arguments here and there.

• (The guys are the first ones to apologize if they had an argument with you. But it takes a while for them to apologize to each other if they had an argument together, which, you had to help out on.)

• Overall a nice relationship! 🫶

[doctorofmagic]

Doomstrange headcanons! Go!

Gods, how can I ever refrain myself and not write a whole book? /hj

Usually I'd go with "which era" but since there's no specification, I'll just... write for each one of them *evil laughter*

T&T era:

- Since it's canon Stephen spent 45 days in Latveria, let's just say that at first Victor intended to keep things as professional as possible, but soon he realized Stephen has excellent taste in things: books, movies, plays. It's the common ground they were able to find since they don't seem to agree with their respective politics and philosophies. Stephen also tasted legit the best wines in the whole world and adored the local cuisine inspired by Victor's mom's romani heritage. They certainly had dates, although none of them are aware those were in fact dates.

- Stephen is friends with Boris and still sends him cards and letters.

- I know Stephen is a genius but he couldn't learn a whole new language in just a few weeks. I like to think that he kept learning Latverian after T&T (also canon that he's fluent).

- Stephen would also befriend Kristoff if he were part of the story. I do believe T&T is set after Kristoff's adoption. Chronology a bit iffy due to the whole mantle and trial, but let's keep it that way.

- Canonically, they both can play the piano. And they did play together a few nights. (*jumps off a cliff*)

- Victor is jealous of Silver Surfer, Adam Warlock and Clea during the Infinity Gauntlet arc because he never knew Stephen was so loved by the hero community.

- Stephen vouched for Victor every time a hero brought up his evil side.

- Victor never sought the mantle of Sorcerer Supreme before Blood Hunt because he trusted Stephen at being the best magic user capable of carrying the burden. He never agreed to Stephen's methods, but at least he respects the man. (I like to think that he hesitated when the opportunity happened because he didn't want to break Stephen's trust, although his need for power and approval spoke louder in his heart)

Secret Wars era (in which I'll go insane):

- Victor allowed Stephen to decide whether or not to take the power of the Beyonders first because he trusted Stephen more than he could admit. Or maybe he knew Stephen deeply enough to know he would decline. In any case, for a single moment, Victor put his hunger for power aside and trusted Stephen's judgment.

- This is why Stephen became his sheriff, though. They built Battleworld together and treasured their creation. And no one was bold enough to go against Victor's temper but Stephen.

- Stephen knew Victor's marriage with Sue was a lavender one so he wasn't bothered by it. Moreover, there were RUMORS by the Thors here and there, to which Stephen remained silent. It's not like they'd say that to GOD EMPEROR DOOM's face, after all.

- I think it's here that they started calling each other by the first name. Which gave a sense of humanity to Victor since he was considered a god by the whole world, except for his friend. And, although it was important for Victor to be seen as a human by a single person, it also made him torn because he was expected to be perfect. By the people, of course, but mostly by himself.

- Victor has never forgiven himself for what he did to Stephen. He will never admit it but he became kinder to him because of it, and also he's afraid Stephen will learn about it one day (delicious angst potential nom nom nom).

Infamous Iron Man era:

- Like, I know it's canon that they have each other's numbers but they made calls often during IIM because well, magic shenanigans and Victor was really committed to proving himself to the world. So what's better than having the Sorcerer Supreme at your side to vouch for you? (gay ppl real)

- They grew closer during this time.

- Stephen tried to visit Victor after he was scarred by The Hood, but was turned down every single time (*cries*).

Post-DODS:

- Stephen can definitely sees Victor's face behind his mask. In addition, I absolutely adore this headcanon that Stephen's hand scars match Victor's, especially when he cups his face (*dies*).

- Savage Avengers wanting me to believe Stephen had a fling with Elektra when in fact it was Victor all along. They both showing vulnerability to each other was PEAK, especially when it comes to Victor, a man who literally won't scream of pain while dying the worst death possible out of pride. (*banging my head on the wall*)

- If not that night after their first fight against Kulan Gath, then definitely after the post-victory banquet.

- Their divorce era started when Victor didn't show up to Stephen's funeral/helped him with the murder case. I like to think that he didn't have the guts to attend the funeral because it would remind him of Secret Wars. Although the mantle was his by right, he was also jealous of Clea.

AND MY MOST CURRENT HEADCANON

I have no idea what Ryan North will do BUT it's a fact that Victor is holding a piece of Stephen's soul. And if this fact alone doesn't entail a whole crisis of conscience or doesn't affect Victor in any meaningful way... I will have to fix that with fanfic. I'm just waiting to read the whole event and adapt canon like I usually do with my fics, but I NEED THAT ADDRESSED!! *slams table*

--

Ok, ok, definitely left some hcs out because I forgor/memory issues. But I hope you liked those the same way I adored that you dropped this ask for me. So a hundred million "thank you" from the bottom of my heart and soul 🥹💜

PS: I didn't want to write couple headcanons BUT if you want them, don't hesitate to send another ask 👀

I'm so normal about them....

[partyanimal167]

Hello~ I absolutely loved your Cowboy Crocodile headcannon! I desperately need more if you would be willing 🖤😭

Yes!!! Anything for a fellow Crocodile lover! I really do enjoy writing for my nice man. I need to see more of him in the manga/anime~

Thinking more about Cowboy!Crocodile....

Cowboy!Crocodile who didn't think he'd stick to life on the ranch at all. He'd get dropped off at his grandfather's as a youngster and hated it!

Cowboy!Crocodile who was shocked when the horses paid him no mind as a kid and wanted to make those large creatures submit!

Cowboy!Crocodile learned patience from working with the animals over the years. It took different strategies and communication styles. People still irked him though.

Cowboy!Crocodile was never bothered by you though. Oh never you. He just wanted to lurk by whenever someone was too close and it didn't seem related to business.

Cowboy!Crocodile noticed when you'd pop by his office though it was floors above yours. You're always welcomed, but you didn't want anyone getting the wrong idea. (The secretary knew)

Cowboy!Crocodile was mostly attentive when you'd present him with new information about different ranches and studies on cattle raising. His mind did wander to you wearing his hat, and he plotted with the other percentage of his mind.

Cowboy!Crocodile who's shocked when you invite him to a lounge after work. It was not his usual scene or music, but he'd try his best for you.

Cowboy!Crocodile kept an eye out for creeps under the brim of his hat after you insisted on getting the next round of drinks. He didn't mind. He'd slip it into your next paycheck any way.

Cowboy!Crocodile who nearly blushed when you pulled him onto the dance floor and he didn't know what to do because again, not his crowd.

Cowboy!Crocodile who easily maneuvered you closer when someone was getting a bit too close for his comfort even though you weren't against dancing with others.

Cowboy!Crocodile who huffed his cigar smoke when you both were back in your seats. He shot daggers at those who looked in your direction while you were ever clueless.

Cowboy!Crocodile nearly choked on that cigar when you suddenly popped up with the bright idea of riding the mechanical bull. He wanted to stop you, but you dashed away. He might have miscounted the amount of drinks you both had.

Cowboy!Crocodile whose face got hot as he watched you lift yourself up and down trying to keep balance on the bull. His eyes definitely did not peek at your jeans or the bit of skin that teased him.

Cowboy!Crocodile was the first one to help you up after you fell off. You were all giggles though.

Cowboy!Crocodile got you home later that night as you laughed a little tispy recounting the moments he was by your side for.

Cowboy!Crocodile tried to play the gentleman act at your door, but you were quicker.

Cowboy!Crocodile's brain paused when you gripped his bolo tie and pecked him on the cheek.

Cowboy!Crocodile thought about that moment as he stared at his boots once home. He'd give you a proper kiss next time.

~~~

Aaah thank you for requesting! I hope this wasn't rushed. I don't normally get requests, so I didn't want you waiting. Crocodile come spoil me please~~~

I want to find all the Cowboy!Crocodile art I can. I'm obsessed!

[angstigone]

(A/N): hello there, lovelies!

this is my valentine's day gift for @akifordessert!

thank you for listening to my silly talks and encouraging my writing, it means the whole world to me and I had to put somehwere all the new knowledge about nagumo that we got.

WARNINGS: 18+ minors/ageless blogs don't interact, very selfship-based, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, vaginal sex implied/referenced, dub-con (they are both a bit wasted, but also this has been building up for a long time), implied/referenced trauma/murder/gore/survival guilt, relationship angst and commitment issues, manga spoilers, set in an au where they get some rest.

the bottle had been a bad idea from the get-go.

still, it'd have been rude to be invited to your friend's penthouse with empty hands, especially when you were celebrating something big, like the jaa finally being debunked and his reinstatement into the order.

well, there had been a lot that had gone through the months and hence the moment that you had received a message on your phone from an unknown number with a familiar code to decypher, you had been well aware that you couldn't say no.

still, you could have not bought the wine bottle.

a whole wine bottle.

you weren't exactly a lightweight, and drinking and eating always ensured that you'd get at best a positive buzz which made you slightly more sociable than usual.

assassins were trained to handle alcohol in quantity and to recognize their own limits, although there was only so much that could be done with somebody's metabolism.

as in the case of nagumo.

your glass wasn't ever empty and neither was his as he kept on pouring while each recounted the current state of affairs you were working on.

"... should have seen shishiba's ugly mug when he saw me again"

the first sign that the night had gone too far should have been the way that nagumo took the occasion to lightly come closer to him while he slurred the comment.

"... I think he's still butthurt about that one time when they gave us chase and you kicked osaragi's ass while I was doing the same to him".

"can't blame him, although I think it's more that he just really can't stand you".

still, the buzz had felt good and nagumo's added warmth after years of having denied it to yourself was as intoxicating as the liquid that kept being poured into your glass.

"... surprised they let you join again. especially after you... let me think... tried to kill a few of its members...".

"you were with me onto that!" he protested cheekily, and lightly making his glass overflow onto the floor although neight of you seemed to care.

"... oh and you also threatened the same man who recluted you, didn't you".

"yotsumura hasn't gone that far to hold a grudge because of such a silly thing" nagumo exclaimed, as he downed the liquid in his glass in one shot, making you giggle at the childish display.

"hey, pace yourself!" you shot back, grabbing the glass from his hand and trying to ignore the way your hand lightly itched where you had touched, inevitably a sign that it had been too long "... or you'll throw up and I am not your cleaning lady".

"yeah, she's actually nice to me".

"because you pay her!".

he was far too gone, to try such cheap tricks; comments onto your meanness hadn't ever worked onto you, especially after graduation. there was so much more that he could have used to hurt you: betrayers, double-faced and especially a personal favorite, coward.

«you have grown quiet» hadn't you? «... should I put some music? or do you want me to fill your glass».

«no to both or we'll get an headache» another glass and you'd effectively border onto uncharted territories, especially when nagumo looked like he was far past them although still himself deep down.

and yet, the way he was slightly slouching, with his hair falling down his face.

there had been a time throughout the mess that had come before this peace that you had been so close to tell him what you had felt for him.

that despite the bet on your feelings back at jcc, you still loved him and hadn't changed your mind even though you had been horrible to him while working.

"it was all an act, but somehow I know you could see right through it".

«you ain't funny» he shot back, moving to push back, probably to do either of his proposed activities as he regularly disregarded your desires. probably because he knew you better.

you went to stop him out of habit, but as he turned to you, you only then realized how close you were.

how you could see the subtle way in which his eyelashes flustered and his eyes dipped to your lips for but a moment.

sober nagumo wouldn't have done it.

or he'd have but not in the almost dorky way in which he rushed your gaze back to you, scared to be caught.

you had a protest right at the tip of your tongue and yet held back.

something was more urgent as your hand went to thread softly into nagumo's hair and before you knew it, you were pushing him closer to you, till your lips clashed into an awkward kiss, as your dizzy brain hadn't properly valued the measure of distance.

you found yourself kissing his upper lip more than his mouth, and the slight space between his nose and mouth, in an awkwardness that hadn't been there even on your first kiss, which had been coincidentally with the same person whose mouth you were slobbering.

when shame got to you and you moved to detach yourself from him, still, nagumo brought you closer.

he whined, like a puppy, pawing at your shoulders and adjusting for you your heights as he went to straight up lick into your mouth with even less coordination than you. the result: your lower lip felt humid and you chased after him finally meeting in the middle.

his hands went from your stiff shoulders onto your back in matters of minutes while your own pulled onto his hair, fisting it enough that you didn't know why it didn't hurt.

it was clumsy as you made out like two hot teenagers at their first fondling session, and yet, as unrefined as it was you found yourself quickly moving your hands lower as nagumo's own slipped underneath your dress - of course, you had worn a fucking dress, thinking that it only fit the rich aesthetic he gave off.

you hadn't thought at all about the easy access it gave him, as he stroked gently over your panties.

«... wet...» he mumbled against your hips, pushing out his tongue as he licked against your cheek, no better than an overexcited puppy and somehow the sight felt endearing.

especially with one of his hand creating friction between your thighs

«... fuck, I missed... I missed feeling you get wet against my fingers».

«you are drunk» it was important to reinstate that, if not for him, for yourself; what were you even doing crawling into bed with the man that you had been loving since you were eighteen, drunk and ditzy? «... you are seeing... seeing things».

«no, no... I... it isn't... seeing» he giggled cutely and you hadn't thought that it'd ever come back, the slight openness of eighteen and not yet, being tainted by your respective sins «... I can... fuck... you feel exactly as you used to do. you feel like in my fucking dreams».

had he dreamed about this?

about the moment that you'd clutch your thighs against his hand not to make him leave you, although your mouth said the opposite.

in vino veritas or some shit like that and if your mouth was too sober yet, your body didn't share the same curtesy.

and maybe that's why although you knew this was wrong - you were ditzy at best, old enough to consent and definitely the tension had been brewing for years at his point - you let nagumo push you down on your back, splaying your messy hair on the floor, cold marble, enough to make you giggle.

"... you have an expensive house and the place where you first fuck me since we got back, is your floor?" you teased, catching a glimpse of something almost genuine in his displeasure with himself as if he had thought that your comment had been serious.

«come» he said, as he got off you, making you inevitably whine at the loss, although you didn't know whether it was the loss of his warmth or the fact that you felt extremely clingy due to the alcohol.

read as in you had missed him, so tantanizingly much.

normalcy wasn't even close to a concept for what could happen between you; neither of you would ever come close to quit your job anytime soon and you wondered whether a family was even in the works, as it felt presumptous to think that a simple drunk fuck might be enough to restablish a relationship between the two of you.

although you did follow him - you'd be awful to have your host stumble through his mansion - as he led you to his bedroom; similarly to the rest of the place it was expensively impersonal and yet, you didn't see much because the moment that the door was closed, you were slammed against it.

nagumo had, at least, the decency to cushion your head clumsily with an head before he resumed the series of sloppy kisses, moving downwards your body as his hands fiddled with pulling the skirt of your dress up, exposing yourself to his huge black eyes.

for once you were thankful of the alcohol, as in any other state, you wouldn't have been able to hold the sight of his eyes as he slowly slid your panties - one leg and then another, strangely patient for a drunk guy - before he left them on the floor, looking back at your heated core.

he didn't do much for enough time that you thought it was done, he'd be soon asleep in the alcohol haze.

instead, he dived forward enough that hadn't you had the door behind your back, you'd have stumbled backwards.

hands dug into your thighs to keep you in place, as a clumsy tongue tried to spread your foldes while his nose inevitably bumped into your engorged clit; oh fuck, if your knees hadn't doubeld over before, they certainly did now, as one of your fingers dug into the wood of the door as if you could leave marks.

«sl... slow, nagumo» you plead and ordered at the same time, unsure of whether you should make this quit for both of your sakes but holding yourself back «... it's been... it's been a while».

«good» he sounded so self-satisfied, with his face shiny from your juices «... I fucking want you to come to me, for this. only me».

«pres...» your voice cracked pathetically as he adjusted his positioning and dug his tongue into you while his thumb went to flick your clit.

it was too much as you hadn't been lying when you said it had been a long time since your orgasms hadn't been hand-delivered by yours truly, but you simply took it.

«... ump... presumpt... fuck, right there».

whatever he blubbered against your sticky folds was probably a comeback to your patheticness. to the fact that even in your alcohol haze, you surrendered to him.

the bottle of wine had been a terrible idea and yet, you found yourself not regretting it one bit.

---

coming back home to nagumo always felt like being greeted by an overexcited puppy that had grown overnight and hadn't yet gotten used to his measures.

«... eggs! eggs!» you screeched, holding the groceries bags away from him as he smashed himself against you wholly, pressing your chests impossibly closer as if he wished for you to become one, which wouldn't have been surprising «... and I was gone for two hours at max!».

«bed felt cold and you left a note» he simply muttered back, nosing his way through your neck and after weeks of enduring this, you had an inkling that it might be because he was trying to sniff any male cologne, although you usually just went to the daily farmers' market nearby.

as nagumo wasn't a morning person - and neither were you - you usually took advantage of his sleeping pattern to get a few rounds done by the time he'd wake up.

usually this would entail grocery shopping, checking a few stuff for work - although both you and nagumo were supposedly off - and restock on stuff you couldn't have gotten to through the week.

a silly deal between you and nagumo was that you'd use one of the two days of the weekend to do something productive, instead of lazying around his bed as he wished; the other, you'd do that till he got bored. or hungry which was more likely.

the newfound routine felt at times constricting and far too domestic and there were times when you'd be walking around the farmers' market and wonder whether you did deserve it.

whether the blood on your hands would ever taint what you were building.

thankfully, being smashed into your boyfriend's - self-appointed - tits felt quite grounding in that department.

«... yeah, yeah, but you know that each saturday I have my routine» it was the last signature of singlehood that she mantained although not many approached you due to the ring on your left hand.

a huge rock that got you oftentimes worried that somebody might have the brilliant idea to mug you.

and you'd have to beat somebody for it which felt like unnecessary paperwork.

«now, I have to shower and then I can join you back in bed till lunch time».

«mmh» her muttered appreciatively, although his kisses were definitely anything but, as they dragged hot and heavy against your exposed collarbones, making you flustered as you lightly started slapping his back to be released.

«no, you can't join me in my shower» you shot down the unspoken question, hearing an hiss and a whine.

did you mention that you boyfriend - wait, fiancé - was an overgrown puppy?

«... entertain yourself with the new sudoku magazine i got you».

at that he was off you, making you almost chuckle at his antics as he went - almost childishly - to reach for the bags in your hands, digging his hands to grab at what you had promised and giving you the chance to look at him; nagumo was always pretty in a way that got you to genuinely want to chew down onto something but him... in the morning... with you?

devastatingly gorgeous.

messy hair, eyeabgs that were going away and geeking out like a nerd for his silly sudoku game.

hhm, although your favorite look on him had to definitely be his drunken gaze when he finally slotted himself inside of you again, a few months ago. when he had looked up at you while you tried to control yourself from tightening around him, not wishing to give him the upperhand.

it had all been useless, because the moment that your eyes met he had uttered.

"fuck, I am never leaving you, again" and that had been it.

«so, you do love me!».

you were taken aback by your horny thoughts, when again a pair of arms was carelessly thrown at your neck, although with far more intensity than before; this was meant to annoy you as he nuzzled his nose into your collarbone.

«ahhh, you do like me! you like me so much that you remember what I like! and...!».

«... and that's enough» you pushed me lightly; you knew that nagumo had better reflexes than that and he could have easily enveloped you again, but you guessed being in a relationship required bargaining: you agreed to sleep into his bed till lunch time and let you handle your stuff in peace «... you get an headstart but don't think that I won't finish my crosswords first, alright?».

«that's because you cheat» he said with a soft smile, moving to turn towards the bedroom «... look up the words while I am asleep».

«if somebody wasn't a huge big baby...» you teased genuinely, simply receiving a clear glare although even that didn't feel threatening in the slightest. and even if it did, it was in a good way.

as of lately everything felt ... threatening, but in a good way.

[magnetokisser]

Can you write Clark Kent x reader (ft. Perry White) who is a newswoman for the Daily Planet and is Perry White's daughter. Lmao the idea of Clark dating his bosses daughter is so funny to me. He is so shy and akward, him being more nervous all of a sudden after y'all start dating, trying to keep the affection on the down low. Knowing damn well you can't hide anything from your dad, or a building full of journalists, who job it is to you know, figure out the new!!!!!!

the daily planet's worst kept secret!

summary: despite your father’s growing disdain for Clark Kent, you can’t stay away from him.

pairing: clark kent x reader

warnings: none!

word count: over 1.7k i lost count

author's note: my first request omg!!! Im sorry this took so long to write, I’ve been swamped with testing and school. Life’s been catching up with me, but I hope you enjoy!! Perry’s a gossip girl in this :p. also, my requests are still open!

you thought you were being sneaky, but alas, nobody could ever hide anything from perry white. especially when it had to do with his daughter and a co worker.

he didn’t necessarily hate clark kent, he just enjoyed giving him a tough time. besides, his old fling with lois lane was something he enjoyed watching. to him, love was a world that clark didn’t know how to navigate. so imagine his surprise when he found out you were dating the daily planet’s resident golden boy. he had questions— and he had a lot of them.

that’s how you found yourself here, sitting in front of your father’s oak desk. it was place right in front of a window that you felt was far too big, and was a pure invasion of privacy. but your father was all about invading privacy— be it yours, or your now not so secret boyfriends.

“you know why you’re in here?” he asked, placing a fat cigar in his mouth. this made you frown, the smoking. but it was apart of his character, was it not?

“stop talking like that, you’re not a cop.” you grumbled, placing one leg over the over as you crossed your arms. despite his tough exterior, you two were still able to joke with one another. it was just one of those things that flowed easily between the two of you. “when were you going to tell me, your father, might i remind you, that you were dating clark kent?” he asked, leaning over the desk. his eyes bore into yours, but you could see the hint of amusement in them. he’d give you shit about it, but he just wanted you to be happy.

“i would have told you eventually. you know, maybe once i’m a couple hundred miles away from you.” you smiled, finally relaxing in your seat. he let out an over exaggerated exhale, rolling his eyes as he did so.

“why kent?” he asked, puffing out a cloud of smoke as he clicked around on his computer, his brows furrowed in curiosity and slight confusion. you had a sigh of your own to let out at this question. you were never able to tell if he liked clark or not— which is exactly why you weren’t ready to bring the man around your father just yet. he was an intimidating guy, and clark was one of the most shy and awkward people you’ve ever met. just thinking about it felt like an understatement.

“because he’s kind and treats me well? and he’s very caring, thank you very much.” you explained. “oh, and he’s superman!” you thought, wondering how your father would react to that. but that was clark’s place to tell him— if he ever did. not yours.

“let me find out he tries something you don’t like..” he trailed off, giving you the stink eye. you rolled your eyes and stood up, brushing your skirt off as you looked at him. “i know, dad. you’ll tear him a new one and probably fire him.” you smiled, walking around his desk to give him a side hug. you swore he was almost as grumpy as batman.

you eventually left his office and returned back to work. just because you were his daughter didn’t mean you were exempt from working. you had to work the same boring journaling job as everyone else.

the day went by as it usually did. superman saves the city, and the daily planet is on it. even though they’ve been separated for a while now, lois still couldn’t give up the role of being superman’s star reporter. as much as it made your stomach churn, you knew everything would be fine.. right?

wrong. you were completely and utterly wrong. walking into the break room, you ran into your father giving a very jittery clark the stink eye and the infamous ‘you hurt my daughter and i’ll hurt you’ talk.

“dad!” you exclaimed, rushing over to clark with a frown. the poor guy looked like he was ready to have a heart attack. “why are you patronizing him?!” you asked, moving to cover clark. to anyone walking in, it would look comedic. clark was so much bigger than you were, it was like a child trying to hide behind a lamp.

“i was not.. patronizing him. i was just giving him a very down to earth talk!” your father said, giving you a look full of fake innocence. you raised a brow, watching as he looked back at clark. “i wasn’t patronizing you was i, kent?” he asked, causing you to deadpan and turn around to look at your blue eyed boyfriend. “don’t answer that. and if you do, don’t lie just because he’s your boss. if he fires you, i’ll quit too.” you spoke, a grumble from your father coming from where he was at across the room.

clark swallowed, his eyes darting between you and your father. “i-i wouldn’t say patronizing..” he trailed off, averting his gaze from yours. “you know what— clark, we’re going to the cafe next door on break. a little date!” you said, glaring at your father. he’d have to accept your and clark’s relationship sooner or later. with that thought in your mind, you grabbed clark’s hand and dragged him out of the break room.

the next few weeks were.. calm, to say the least. your father kept bothering clark, but only how he did before he found out the two of you were dating. you knew something was off about it, but you couldn’t exactly pinpoint what. that was until cat grant finally broke and started asking you a bunch of questions about clark. so your father let it break. how wonderful.

“sooo? you and kent?” the blonde sang, standing next to you as you filled up your coffee. you had to bite back a groan and hold yourself back from rolling your eyes.

"yes he's amazing, no he's not using me to get over lois, and yes perry knows." you said, rolling your eyes. “and i know dad sent you over here to try and figure out if there’s trouble in paradise, but there’s not. you can go ahead and tell him clark is taking me to some fancy restaurant tonight.” you spoke, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. with that, you strut off, going back to work.

later, you found yourself getting ready for your date. this was the most expensive one to date, with clark saying something about having a friend who paid for it for free. you wondered where he got all of these friends from.. either way, you were excited. you had only hoped your father hadn’t scared him away. your thoughts were soon interrupted by a knock on your front door, and you smiled. rushing over, you opened the door, meeting a red faced clark who was holding flowers.

“you– you said you liked these.. but if you don’t, i can just throw them away!” the blue eyed giant stammered, holding a bouquet of red hyacinths. you felt your face grow hot as you took them, your eyes meeting his. “thank you, clark. they’re lovely. this feels more like a first date than our first date actually was.” you giggled, setting the flowers inside before meeting him outside and locking the door behind you. you watched as he visibly relaxed, seeming like a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders. he lifted his arm and let you take it, leading you towards the lobby of your apartment building. every time clark took you on a date, you’d walk. not because you didn’t like driving, but because you enjoyed taking as much time as possible to spend with him. today was the only exception, as the restaurant was halfway across the city.

“my dad hasn’t been giving you a hard time, has he?” you asked, your voice soft as you looked up at him. his blue eyes met yours, and you nearly melted on the spot. “no– well, i have to say no, because he’s your dad, but i think he’s just acting how every dad would!” he nervously laughed. he opened your car door, smiling as you kissed his cheek before getting in. “my dad isn’t like other dads. he’s a bit.. how do i say this, psychotic when it comes to me?” you said, looking at clark as he got in the driver’s seat.

“i mean, he did say he’d fire me and make sure you never saw me again if i broke your heart, but..” he trailed off, backing out of the parking space. “he’s so aggressive. i doubt you could ever break my heart. besides, i get to say i’m dating superman,” you said, adding the last bit in a low whisper, “i’m practically the most special girl in the world.” you smiled. clark smiled, and the two of you talked for the rest of the car ride before stopping in front of some expensive restaurant. clark got out and opened your door for you before you could even think about getting out of the car, and it was almost comical how shy he still was. holding his hand, you followed clark into the restaurant, looking around in awe.

“i want to know who this friend is and where you found them at.” you said, wide eyes gazing around the room. clark chuckled, his body vibrating as he did so. he was so shy all the time, you almost forgot how deep his voice was. “uh.. one day.” he said, his face a soft tone of red.

the two of you were quickly seated, and you were quick to look at the menu. clark didn’t say anything and listened to you talk about how good or how weird the food looked, staring at you with love in his eyes. and no, he wouldn’t tell you that he noticed perry in the corner of the restaurant hiding behind a newspaper.

you looked up, your eyes meeting his through his long eyelashes. his eyes were full of love and affection, making your heart stutter. you paused for a moment before your lips slightly curled up in a smile, and you knew that you were set for life. clark was everything you could've wanted in a man, and to top it off, he was literally a symbol of hope.

you were pulled out of your thoughts by clark, who had his head tilted as he looked at you. "you're staring at me and smiling. are you making fun of me in your head?" he asked, his voice holding a nervous undertone to it. he always worried too much-- but it was endearing. to you, it showed he cared.

"you worry too much. i was just thinking about how lucky i am to have you." you explained, taking his hands across the table. he blushed, a shy smile gracing his features as he took in your words.

the rest of dinnee went well-- clark felt like everything was perfect. he was more comfortable and had gotten you buttered up. he didn't even notice the look of begrudging approval perry gave him before leaving the resturant, and didn't miss the text your father sent you as he carried a very sleepy you into his apartment. though, something told him perry wouldn't stop the teasing.