#these are all so good!! I love your style!

[barrenclan]

Alone in the middle of a desolate wasteland, BarrenClan is a hardy and irritable group of cats. They have lived there for generations, and eke out survival in this unforgiving land. But one of their new apprentices, the bold and curious Pinepaw, is determined to discover the terrible truths buried under the sand, as well as rise to meet the changes coming to his Clan.

"Pinepaw and the Forgotten World" was a Warriors-inspired illustrated prose comic that ran on this blog from September 2022 - February 2025. As it is currently completed, this blog will contain MAJOR spoilers for the comic. If you are a new reader, please use the "Next" link below to be taken to the cover of this project. You can also read a mirror of the project on ComicFury, linked below. Navigational tags and other information are tagged below on this post as well.

Next >

ComicFury mirror

Yes, you have my permission to use a style and/or format inspired by this comic for your own projects. 

This comic is not based on the text-based game ClanGen/LifeGen. It was based off the Clan Generator challenge, which you can see in this video.

Helpful tags for navigating this blog (click on the search icon):

#issue: a list of all the completed issues. Use this tag to only see issues of the comic. 

#reference: reference sheets for the characters. 

#lore: background information about the world of the comic. 

#extra art: drawings I create outside of the comic itself. 

#fanart: drawings other people have made for the comic.

Allegiances: Family Tree (spoilers)

PATFW Discord: https://discord.gg/y3hAGVbfUK

PATFW Playlist: Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0GZWVmucv2DvA4H7uLwquk (Song Guide)

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLwTmUrr_9zUlCvQijucEkukNtiRpwktqs

Complete masterpost of issues, underneath Keep Reading link:

Issue 1 - Dry Heat and Cracked Earth

Issue 2 - I’ve Never Heard That Name Before

Issue 3 - Stupid Little Kit Daydreams

Issue 4 - It’s Just Like Falling Asleep 

Issue 5 - Smoke and Ash and Fire and Salt and Blood

Issue 6 - Healers Hear All The Secrets

Issue 7 - Foxholes Bite Back

Issue 8 - Do You Really Think That’s Your Destiny?

Issue 9 - It’s Only a Deer

Issue 10 - What Was That Now, Dear?

Issue 11 - We’re Held Together By Spiderweb

Issue 12 - The Shining Towns

Issue 13 - To Kill Is Right. To Kill Is Good. To Kill Is To Live.

Issue 14 - The Rotten Stench of Blood

Issue 15 - Was It Something I Did?

Issue 16 - I Bet You Can’t Catch Me

Issue 17 - You Are the Darkness Before the Storm

Issue 18 - I Met Him Under a Warm Dawn

Issue 19 - Kindness for the Dying Is Easy to Spare

Issue 20 - KITTENS! KITTENS! KITTENS!

Issue 21 - Lovebug

Issue 22 - A Favor for a Favor

Issue 23 - Your Voice Was So Soft

Issue 24 - Lost In a Haze

Issue 25 - You Don’t Speak to My Daughter That Way

Issue 26 - My Heart Is Too Heavy to Sleep

Issue 27 - Little Paws Take Little Steps

Issue 28 - Viscera, Shiny in the Light of Day

Issue 29 - We’re Not So Different, You and I

Issue 30 - Time Is a Circle

Issue 31 - Blood

Issue 32 - Cassandra

Issue 33 - Hurt Me! Beat Me! Just Please Don’t Leave Me!

Issue 34 - Sunset Days

Issue 35 - The Death of BarrenClan: Part One

Issue 36 - The Death of BarrenClan: Part Two

Issue 37 - The Death of BarrenClan: Part Three

Issue 38 - The Death of BarrenClan: Part Four

Issue 39 - The Death of BarrenClan: Part Five

Issue 40 - Aftermath

Issue 41 - Oracles

Issue 42 - Our Lasting Legacy

Issue 43 - Farewell, and I Love You

Epilogue 1 - The Last Ruby-Red Drop of Flame

Epilogue 2 - Moth-Soft Murmurings

Epilogue 3 - A Dream, A Nightmare

Epilogue 4 - Sunlight Here and Shadows There

Epilogue 5 - Gold Flowers

Epilogue 6 - Binary Star

Epilogue 7 - While You Were Dead

Epilogue 8 - The Ash of Memory

Epilogue 9 - A Rule of Fear

Epilogue 10 - The Vaster World

[moonwoodhollow]

Studio PBP Reimagined by Moonwoodhollow I love Del Sol Valley, it's a great world that unfortunately offers very little when it comes to the prebuilds, which is why I always steered clear of it, except for building in the less glamorous neighbourhood. When a lovely person commissioned me to rebuild Studio PBP in an Art Déco style I was a bit intimidated at first but thanks to the absolutely incredible Bioshock CC-Set (1|2|3) by @surely-sims, @doctorsimcraft and @lumenniveus I was able to recreate Studio PBP as a lounge/bar/nightclub worthy of Del Sol Valley and its celebrities. I hope you'll enjoy this build and escape to the roaring twenties with your sims!

More screenshots, info + download link under the cut!

building background

Art Déco is one of the best-known architectural styles of the first half of the 20th century and originated from Jugendstil, Cubism and a few other art and architectural styles (Wiener Secession, Avantgarde, Futurism to name a few) in the latter half of the 19th century. While it's a global architectural style, there are a few regional differences, but for Studio PBP I concentrated on mostly US-American Art Déco buildings and used a somewhat less playful style for the facade that is still very bold. Since Art Déco was also hugely influenced by Ancient Egyptian art and architecture and Mesopotamian Architecture, I added some 'Egyptian' details to the lot in the forms of columns, sphinx and statues. There's so much more to write about this multi-faceted gorgeous architectural style, but this is meant only as a small introduction and to set the mood for the build:

So what do you get?

Studio PBP Reimagined is a 40x30 lot best placed in Del Sol Valley in the Starlight Boulevard neighbourhood. The lot is currently set as a bar lot but is playtested for the lounge and nightclub lot type as well. Currently, everyone regardless of their celebrity status can visit the lounge, if you'd like to change this you'd need to change the entry doors on the first floor. The lot consists of 3 floors and a huge outdoor pool area where your sims can lounge or swim. The first floor is designed to host the Starlight Accolades, whereas the 2nd floor is the bar area of the lot, where your sims can sip cocktails, and hold clandestine business or affair meetings... I won't judge! The 3rd floor is the nightclub portion of the building and is perfect for dancing the night away!

Uses items from the following packs: looks best with almost all packs. But a tip: take a look at the build in the gallery and click on the packs to see the items I used from that pack, it will also look good with fewer packs, as in without the kits.

Download: google drive (430mb) | and up on the gallery: aeromantica (but you’ll need the cc from the drive folder)

Is the cc included? yes.

-> The cc is updated for DX11.

TOU: Please don’t claim as your own or put behind paywalls etc. If you find any issues please let me know + tag me if you’ll use the building, I’d love to see it in your games.

If you like what I do and want to show your appreciation, I have a ko-fi!

[heavyhitterheaux]

NSFW Alphabet

See Me Through You Series

Synopsis: It's pretty self explanatory lol 🤭

Pairing: Husband!Joe Burrow x Wife!Reader

Requested by: a gorgeous anon 😍

Series Masterlist

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

A (ftercare)- Joe has always been a gentleman in this regard from the first time you two slept together (which was also your first time ever and was very surprised when you told him). He always helps you to the bathroom, but not before turning on the shower first in order for the water to heat up. He usually gets in with you before going to change the sheets on your bed. He then helps put your hair up no matter what style its in, feeds you if you want something before you both settle into a deep sleep.

B (ody part)- Joe's favorite body part of yours is your eyes. As cliche and cheesy as it sounds, he could get lost in them for hours on end. The color reminds him of honey which is no surprise considering what a sweet person you are to everyone around you.

Now your favorite body part of his was his hands. You loved when he inserted his fingers in you of course, but you always found yourself wanting to hold his hand or having him touch you. Joe doesn't know this, but he always brings attention to them and he obviously doesn't mean to. A lot of times that would consist of him playing with his wedding band.

C (um)- You like to be covered in it and Joe likes to see you covered in it. His favorite place to release besides inside of you was your chest and your face. But ever since he got it in your hair that you had just gotten done hours before, he's been put on restriction.

That interaction ended in A LOT of yelling.

He paid for you to get it redone the next day as an apology.

D (irty Secret)- Joe loves to face fuck you and see you whimpering and moaning underneath of him. The two of you don't do it often, but when he does it takes no time for him to release in your mouth.

Besides that, he absolutely loves watching you sleep and this has been a thing ever since the first night you stayed with him in his apartment at LSU. He loves how peaceful you look and when you had been terrorizing him all day, he can finally be at peace too (But he'll never admit it out loud).

E (xperience)- Although Joe wasn't your first boyfriend, he is the first person that you have had sex with and you're definitely glad that you waited for him. He is always so thoughtful and takes his time with you.

Joe on the other hand had a few girlfriends in high school and when he was at OSU, so the experience is there. Because he knows you aren't as experienced as he is, he takes his time and introduces you to different things slowly and not all at once.

F (avorite position)- As simple as it is, missionary is his favorite simply because his eyes are on you the entire time. As mentioned before, he loves the sounds that you make as well as the faces to go along with it.

Bonus if he can get you in front of a mirror to take you from behind. He makes you keep eye contact with him the entire time. The moment you look away, he stops.

A close second is you riding him as he tightly holds onto your hips.

G (oofy)- Joe takes your pleasure as well as your well-being very seriously which is no surprise. But of course, he has a smile on his face just about the whole time because he has your full attention.

Especially when he knows that you're close.

H (air)- There is definitely a happy trail present and it's very neat and trimmed. You on the other hand hate having hair anywhere on your body except your head so to the wax lady you go.

I (ntimacy)- Joe always makes you feel loved and deeply cared for and you have never felt any differently. He takes his time exploring every inch of your body as if it was the first time.

He has always been possessive of you and makes sure to tell you that he knows that no one will ever be able to make you feel as good as he does.

Your eyes are trained to stay on him the entire time.

J (ackoff)- So does he do it? Not a lot since you officially moved to Cincinnati to be with him. However, the long distance took a toll and the two of you put facetime to good use.

Mutual masturbation.

You also remember getting a surprise in the middle of class which was a video of Joe jacking off. It definitely sent you over the edge and your vibrator got put to good use that night over and over again.

K(ink)- Joe loves to tease you every chance he gets which happens to be often. He'll bring you so close to the edge where you feel as if you couldn't take it anymore and immediately pull away, making you complain. But when he felt as if he had teased you enough, when he did bring you to an orgasm, you swore you could see stars.

Choking is another kink, but more so for you than for him. It's not the fact that he doesn't like it, but it's not his favorite. The only reason why he does it was so that you could reach your peak faster.

He does love tying you up and blindfolding you and you simply go along for the ride knowing that it's going to be worth it.

Spitting is something that you absolutely loved and that's all Joe needed to know in order to bring you as much pleasure as possible.

L(ocation)- Favorite place to pleasure you is of course your bedroom, but his car used to be a close second.

He had toned down a lot since having his NFL status and being in public was now usually a no go.

His most recent spot that was now considered a favorite was the balcony of your newest house in Louisiana.

M(otivation)- Seeing you in lingerie that he himself picked out for you was his number one motivation, but something that also turned him on was you doing the most simple everyday things.

You could be doing something as watching a movie and you would casually be sitting there on the couch in one of Joe’s t-shirts and nine times out of ten nothing else and he would literally walk up to you and throw you over his shoulder and you knew what was about to happen.

N(o)- Something that Joe would never do is cause you physical harm on purpose. One time he tied you up a bit too tight and once he took them off, all you could see was red and indentations on your skin where they had been. He beat himself up over it for a while despite you telling him that it was okay and that you were fine, and you knew that he didn't mean for it to happen.

He literally didn't do anything again with you until everything properly healed despite your obvious protests.

O(ral)- Joe could spend all day in between your thighs and it was his favorite place to be and you obviously had no complaints. He loved making you feel good with his tongue and your favorite thing was obviously when he sucked on your clit.

Now when it was time for you to switch roles, Joe absolutely loved when you deep throated him. As many things as he would do for you, you were more than willing to return the favor.

P(ace)- He loves to take his time with you and make sure that you knew that he loved and cared about you through his actions and him making you feel as if you were on cloud nine.

If he could have you underneath him all day he would.

Q(uckie)- Not normally his favorite since he liked to make you cum multiple times and not just once. But this would happen sometimes in the morning when he had just woken up and wanted to feel you near him.

Inside and out.

R(isk)- Joe is always down to experiment, but of course he has to hear what your thoughts about it are first before anything can happen. If it's another way to make you feel good, he'll do it.

S(tamina)- During the season is a little different than when it's the off season and for good reason.

Joe is so focused during the season so you might get two rounds out of him on a good day. But, once the season is over, Joe is attached to you every second of every day and if it was left up to him probably wouldn't let you go until the paint on the walls were peeling.

T(oys)- During your first semester when the two of you started dating, he bought you a vibrator as an early Christmas gift and he kept it at his apartment to use on you whenever he wanted.

However, over Christmas break, you took it home and put it to good use on a facetime call with Joe because you were missing him so much.

He also bought you a rose vibrator for your 19th birthday and that combined with him inside of you at the same time was a pleasure like no other.

U(nfair)- Joe will tease you to no end and as much as it might annoy you, you also knew that when that orgasm hit that it was going to be like a ton of bricks.

And you better not cum unless he tells you too.

V(olume)- You can never get over how Joe's moans sound and it was like music to your ears. You really loved it when you two were in missionary and you would have your legs wrapped around him as his head is buried on your shoulder and you can hear his soft moans directly in your ear.

W(ild Card)- You two definitely had sex in the locker room at LSU after hours and it's your little secret.

While you happened to be wearing his jersey.

X(-ray)- We've seen the dick print and we know that there isn't anything small about him.

He makes sure that you always feel every inch of him.

Y(earning)- It’s not the fact that Joe's sex drive is high, but if he knows that he wants you, there isn't a reason for him to hold back so he is of course going to tell you.

Z(zzz)- When everything is said and done, his usual position when he falls asleep is on top of you as his head lays on your (usually) bare chest.

Clothes are probably unnecessary at this point, so when he wakes up he has easy access to you.

[xeansicemane]

"So, Rose, run me through the dossier again?" I asked the AI assistant, re-checking my coat's onboard systems.

"Not sure what we're looking at here, seems like some ex-cop got into a supersoldier serum and yadda yadda yadda" the computer added the sounds of flipping pages for effect "and early reports say he's fully broken with reality, just doing violence to whoever he thinks he needs to, been tearing through the beach - Irons Brigade is another thirty minutes out, but Tidewater is already on scene"

"Is it going well?"

"No local feeds yet"

"Huh" I muttered to myself, shrugging my coat on, the reactive components all reading nominal. I took a deep breath, untensing my shoulders as I felt the autonomous trailer rumbling along the road, thank goodness for light traffic.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"Rose you're reading my brainwave patterns you tell me" I answered not unkindly, this was an old routine between us as well as half the users of the system.

"You know you don't have to keep kayfabe if you don't want to - just a concerned citizen laying the law down can be the play"

I grimaced performatively at the mention of law. "Oh come /on/. I love the game - nah, he's on my turf and he didn't pay his dues. Let folks see how much I do for them, that's enough."

"You really love the PR work, don't you?" The flat robotic voice took on an edge of amusement

I stood, rolled my shoulders, and grabbed the handles that would facilitate my dramatic entry. "Like Presentation and Decoration says - ain't no reason to do this if we're not doing it with style."

The truck was driving down a city street, close to where the carnage was happening - the onboard AI had found a location that would allow the truck to block all obvious lines of sight on its' passenger side. The effect? Truck drives by, I suddenly appear as it passes. The mechanism? Frankly it was a waste of an inertial buffer field emitter but I thought it looked too cool not to do.

I cracked my neck, cursed the heavens that everyone else cleared for combat work was out of town for MAGfest, and turned, the truck turning off into a side road to reveal three burning cars and a heavily damaged pharmacy.

"Fuckers really got a hard-on for corner pharmacies don't they" I mumbled, the headset I was wearing keeping me connected to Rose and allowing an internal livestream - not a lot of the org was watching but it really wasn't for everyone.

"Truth, Justice, the American Way, and overpriced soda is how the saying goes down there, I think?"

I took off at a sustainable jog, scanning the wreckage and following the trail of broken paving concrete.

"Hrrrm" Rose said, something of concern in her voice "Looks like he had or has a weapon - parking meter is my guess."

"And he was just roid-rage pounding it into the ground, lovely." I said, keeping my breath even as I kept the jog up.

"Hey! Fuck you!!!" A concerned citizen said as they sprinted in the other direction. Okay I was close.

I heard something crash, something break, and gunfire.

I picked up the pace, transitioning into a skating motion, keeping a thin layer of solid oxygen between me and the ground - easier to find than water and the leidenfrost effect keeps you up wonderfully.

"Hey! Kick that guys' ass!" Another citizen yelled, camera out. I smiled, winked and pushed on to the beach, slowing into a run again.

The scene did not instill confidence. There was a man with his back turned to me, shoulders, hips and long muscles all bulging in the worst way I could imagine, veins glowing red. I surmised this was my target.

"So what happened to not littering?" I asked, high school theater stint yet again coming to my aid - one really must project when issuing a challenge.

He snapped around and stared at me like he was about to eat me. Several bullet holes were visible, none were slowing him down as he whipped up the parking meter to point at me.

"You. I knew you'd come, freak" He was seething, spitting even with those words. My headset had finished compiling data - his body suggested his metabolism was running too hot for purely biological processes - joy of joys he was paracausal, great.

I snorted loudly, mics were good these days but presentation needed work. "Whatever. You're on Korps turf. My turf in particular. Mayhem, damage and destruction is my gig around here. Scram and find some where else to lay a claim".

"Fuck off-" he screamed as he tore the leg off a lifeguard station and threw it at me, I caught another syllable as he was starting a slur but the noise of the structure coming apart covered it.

One of the fun things about being able to fuck with temperature is I could fuck with air pressure, enough air pressure and I could fuck with wind. Enough wind and I could redirect a thrown chunk of wood.

I was already approaching him, skating was a no-go on sand but I could manage a sprint when needed. My target was behind him and to the right, the crumpled form of Tidewater. He was a good kid, in his 20s, mixed up with the wrong crowd but a good heart.

A few carefully timed freezing blasts locked the berserker's joints for just long enough for me to scoop up Tidewater and keep the sprint, dropping a few dozen square meter patch of slick water ice without looking back.

"Hey, kid, you doing okay?"

He didn't answer, I slowed, controlled my breathing, and layed my hand against his back, turning just enough for my visor to get a scan of his neck. Nothing. Couldn't feel a heartbeat and sensors were showing zero electrical activity. I dropped to a knee and laid him on the ground.

"Okay okay okay fuck okay, just gotta cool him off for the medics to get to and"

"Jötunn" Just one word, my name spoken soft and human, from Rose.

I'd carefully not been looking at the chest - caved in. Caught the parking meter dead center of his sternum. His entire cardiopulmonary system had to be pulp.

"Okay. Shit. Rose shut that down. Access permissions 298 stroke midnight stroke ocean" I said, getting back to my feet, shivering stopping halfway through. I didn't like doing this, blackboxing a single emotion wasn't possible but the neuro folks had worked out how to temporarily induce a depersonalized state - I still felt grief over the the loss of this on again off again rival, but it was a million miles away. I could focus. I could ugly cry back at base. My coat caught something, a rock thrown hard enough to break ribs if the carbon substrait hadn't solidified in response to the force.

I turned, he was ten yards away in a dead sprint.

Cryokinesis is often considered pyrokinesis's under-performing cousin. I couldn't reduce a tank to a puddle of slag or melt through a pair of handcuffs at will. The techs back at base would rib me by asking me to cool their drinks.

But I want you to ask yourself, what happens if you rapidly condense the air? Cool it off enough it becomes a liquid. 11 liters of air suddenly becoming one-thousandth the volume.

Now imagine I can do that to 100,000 liters of air.

I can't melt a tank, but if I have the mind to I can reduce the internal atmosphere to a functional vacuum.

The sound was almost exactly like an explosion going off half a meter behind him. It was, just going the other way. The implosion ripped him off his feet while the ice around my ankles dug into the ground kept me in place.

He was still trying to get back on his feet when the first refrigerator sized brick of ice hit him. The second knocked him back down, the third dissuaded further attempts, and the fourth was for show. I stepped closer, focusing on pulling energy out of the ice block on top of him, shaping it into a single mass. I could feel his heat right until I couldn't. Liquid oxygen and nitrogen was running down the sides of the mass, the water condensation forming a cloud suitable to hide me.

"That was for Tidewater, ass. Rose, blockers off. We need a wake back at base." I felt the pain hit me, my chest tightening. I turned and stalked off, towards the extraction point. I heard sirens and I didn't care, the news showed a grief-stricken baddie and I didn't care.

You pretend to be a small-time villain. At most, you annoy the local supers, but your crimes never hurt anyone. To you it's all good fun. Things change when a truly sadistic supervillain invades your turf and murders a few of the supers. No one has seen the extent of your true powers until now.

[no-144444]

dive- c.sainz

summary: f175 is a new experience, and a confession is shared.

pairing: carlos sainz x fem! singer! reader

(inspo from the song dive by olivia dean!)

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

“It isn’t workin’, I’m a tidal wave of question marks and you’re just surfin’.”

Carlos weaved through the expensive-looking crowd as he heard your angelic voice over the speakers. Charles sent him a knowing glance, a smug smile that said everything he needed it to; “you’re whipped.”

And he was right. Carlos had been waiting for this for a month. His busy schedule meant he’d never seen you perform live, and he was desperate. He felt cheated out of it when he found out that you’d be performing straight after the Williams showcase, so he rushed out. He couldn’t see you, not quite there, but he knew he would, and that was enough. 

“Leanin’ into me like it’s an art.”

“You look smart,” Lando smirked beside him. He noticed everything, it was weird. “Put on a bit of extra cologne?” he teased. 

He rolled his eyes, a playful smile. “Is it a crime to love a woman?” 

Lando pushed his shoulder, his jaw dropping. “It’s love now, is it?”  

“Yes, it is,” he said, matter-of-factly. “And I’d appreciate it if you would leave me, so I can go see her.”

“Does she know that?” he teased, pulling on Carlos’s tie. 

“She will,” he shook his head. “She does.”

“It’s so crazy lately. You just understand my feelings make me see I’m capable, I’m fine,”

“Have you told her?” he asked, stepping closer as the area they were in became increasingly crowded. 

“I plan on,” he offered with a half-smile/ half-grimace. “I just need-”

“The right moment?” Lando shouted over the music. “Trust me mate, there’s never a ‘right moment’ for that,” Why the fuck was he listening to relationship advice from Lando ‘man-whore’ Norris? “ Just talk to her. And soon. I heard she was Henry Cavill’s celebrity crush.” 

And on that note, Lando moved on, leaving Carlos with a few more insecurities than before. He again fought his way through a sea of people, all wearing expensive perfume and clothes, all complaining about something or other, all trying to get a peek in at the drivers. He didn’t care. He had to see you. 

“And I’m feelin’ beautified tonight, and I’m ready to dive-”

He finally got a look at you and, wow. Your flowing navy dress (a subtle ode to him, he hoped), your perfectly styled hair, your bright smile, your voice. All of you. To be honest, if he wasn’t totally transfixed by you, it would’ve knocked him on his ass, how beautiful you were. He smiled as you danced to your own song, your band joining you. Your voice was perfect, gentle and sweet, the voice he’d fallen in love with. The voice he woke up with, the voice he heard throughout his apartment when you’d come to stay, the voice he loved. 

“Maybe it’s the lovin’ in your eyes!” 

You met his eyes and offered him an enthusiastic wave, making his heart ache in this hopeless way, because he knew without a doubt, he was in love with you. He just wasn’t so sure you were in love with him. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You smiled as you sat beside him for the remainder of the night, and he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. You easily spoke with everyone, meeting his teammates (past and present), and even dealing with what he called a ‘Lando situation’, aka Lando doing something stupid and you having to deal with it. This time it was nearly stabbing Zak Brown with a fork, and while Carlos wouldn’t much mind if he did, he didn’t condone public violence. 

“You were radiant tonight,” he murmured as he buried his head in the crook of your neck during a break in the show. 

“Thank you baby,” you smiled back, your hand going up to run through his hair. “You looked pretty good yourself.”

“Oh yeah?” he smirked. 

You nodded, a bright smile on your lips. “Oh yeah.” 

He chuckled against you. “Mi vida, you’re perfect.”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You’re wonderful.”

“I love you,” he whispered. “So much.”

You turned your head, your eyes wide and almost… confused? Were you confused? Had he read your relationship wrong? Oh fuck-

“I love you too,” you smiled, and surged forward, pressing your lips against his. 

He breathed out a little laugh as you kissed him, noticing how Lando was filming the two of you. He didn’t care.

"I thought you were going to say no," he admitted with a light laugh.

You stared at him, shocked for a moment. "Did you listen to the lyrics?"

He shrugged. "You're very pretty?"

You playfully hit his arm. "I'm ready to dive. Maybe it's the loving in your eyes? Maybe it's the magic in the wine? Maybe it's the fact that every time I fall I loose it all, but you've got me from my head to my feet, and I'm ready to dive," you chuckled at his stupidity.

He sighed as he placed his head in his hands. "I am stupid."

"That's my line!" Charles barked from the table behind the two of you, sending all three of you into a fit of laughter.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

williams & merc masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

[damneddamsy]

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

summary: Birthday dinners and blues, laughter over a crowded table—and Joel, caught between the past and something new.

a/n: are you ready for your prescribed serotonin boost :) are you reading to die :) are you ready to have your heart broken :) are you ready for pain :) if yes, it's here, and it's fucking good! can you spot where exactly I had a mental breakdown? virtual bear hugs for those who get it!

Joel had faced a lot of things in his life—clickers, raiders, shit ration food, the long, merciless stretch of empty roads—but this?

This might actually do him in.

He sat on the edge of the bed, hands braced on his knees, staring at the open boxes like they might bite. Three whole boxes. Packed full of baby clothes, soft and delicate, in shades too clean for a world like this—pale yellows, powder blues, faded pinks. Those colours didn't belong in this world anymore.

He exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his beard. It was just one of those things, one of those moments where life threw something at him he wasn’t built for anymore. Throwing a punch, taking a knife, breaking his nose—those, he could handle. But picking out a damn dress for a baby?

“This ain’t my thing, baby girl,” he muttered, glancing at Maya sprawled out beside him on the bed. She kicked her legs, fists flailing like she had strong opinions on the matter. The second he walked through the door, she’d lit up, beaming that wide, gummy grin at him like his very existence was the happiest thing in her tiny world.

Joel shook his head. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. You ain’t the one stuck pickin’ through all this.”

He waved a hand at the neatly folded mass of tiny expensive dresses, bloomers, and booties, smelling faintly of time and soap. They’d been Leela’s once. That part stuck with him—the fact that these had once clothed her, when she was no bigger than Maya.

His rugged fingers hovered over the fabric, hesitant. Everything was so soft, worn down in the best way—not ragged, but loved. Clothes, to him, had always been practical. Denim, leather, sturdy boots. He’d spent years in a world where softness didn’t last, where anything delicate got torn up, dirtied, or lost. And yet, here it was. Preserved. A little piece of the past, kept safe.

He picked up a tiny white dress with a lace collar, holding it to the light. “This fancy enough for a birthday dinner?” he asked, squinting at Maya. “Hm, looks like your mama's dress, doesn't it? Just missin' those... buttons.”

She just cooed, kicking harder, wiggling like she might crawl right out of the blanket. He set it down and picked up another, something in a buttery yellow with embroidered flowers. Lighter, easier.

“This one. Like a pretty sunflower.”

Maya squealed like she agreed, flailing her arms toward him. Obviously sick of laying there, wanting to be up here with him.

He snorted. “You got strong opinions on style, huh? Don’t take after me, then. I ain’t got a clue.”

And yet, here he was. Doing this. Going through the whole process because Leela had asked him—because it mattered to her. The realization settled in, quiet and solid. He was doing this because he cared. About Maya, sure. But about Leela, too. Enough to sit here, sifting through baby clothes like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He shook his head, picking up a tiny pair of bloomers and setting them aside with the yellow dress. “Guess that’ll do. Don’t want you upstaging your mama.”

Maya gurgled in agreement, and without thinking, Joel reached over, scratching a hand over her belly, feeling the warmth of her through the fabric of her onesie. Happy, just because he was here.

And he was only here because Leela had asked this of him. After all, she was downstairs, turning the kitchen into a goddamn laboratory. She’d been at it since morning, long before he even peeled himself off the pullout in his living room. The kitchen light had been on when he woke up, spilling a soft glow onto the snow outside, and through the open window, he caught glimpses of her—stirring, measuring, dicing and slicing with careful, mathematical precision.

At one point, she’d pulled out a scale. A scale. Like she was preparing for an experiment instead of a birthday dinner. Her own birthday dinner, that is. The one Maria had specifically asked her to butt out of because then it'd be pointless. Don't think Leela caught that part.

He’d spent his morning like that—half-awake, watching her move through the kitchen with the kind of focus that made his chest ache. Maya was strapped against her in a sling, her dozing head tucked beneath Leela’s chin, and her mother’s long braid trailed past her back, swaying with every movement. She barely stopped to sit down.

And Joel—still groggy, still warm from sleep—just lay there, watching.

Watching from the outside. Watching a life that wasn’t his, but could be.

Maybe, in some version of things, he’d be sitting at that damn marble island with her, sipping coffee, watching her openly instead of from behind the glass. Maybe he’d be close enough to tease her about overcomplicating her own birthday meal, close enough that she’d smile that shy smile, but lean into him anyway, chin up for an apology kiss.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to wonder what it would be like—because he’d already know.

He exhaled sharply, shaking the thought off. Right. First things first.

He crouched down, dragging Maya closer to him over the bed, the buttery yellow dress draped over his arm. “Alright, darlin'. Let’s get this over with,” he murmured, slipping her tiny arms through the sleeves. She surprisingly went along with it without a fuss, blinking up at him, her round face curious, watching him.

Joel worked quickly, big fingers clumsy against the delicate buttons, careful not to tug too hard. “Y’know, you make this real easy,” he said to her, smoothing the fabric over her legs. “Your ma ever tell you that? Some little shits scream their heads off over this kinda thing.”

Maya just cooed, trying to catch her toes, like she knew she was being praised.

He snorted, lacing up her brown booties—useless, yet so adorable. “Don’t let it go to your head. You're still trouble.”

With a final adjustment, he lifted her, tucking her against his chest. She fit there like she always did, perfect and warm, her breath puffing against his throat. The second she was settled, her legs kicked in delight, hands curling into the collar of his shirt—habit, just like always.

Joel huffed, pressing a steadying palm against her back. “Beautiful girl,” he whispered, rocking slightly, just enough to keep her from getting squirmy. “Yeah, you are.”

Maya gurgled in response, gripping tighter, like she had any real strength to keep him there. Like she thought she needed to.

Joel didn’t move for a second, standing there, one hand spanning nearly the whole of her back, feeling the tiny rise and fall of her breaths against him. He arched his head to brush a kiss at her ear and turned toward the door.

Then he noticed it. The humungous closet doors were open.

It wasn’t like him to pry, but something about Leela always pulled at his curiosity. He glanced at Maya, as if seeking permission—she only pushed her lips into a pout—so he stepped inside.

Due to lack of better words in his dazed head: it was a rich woman’s closet. Joel had worked on plenty of houses back in the day, done high-end custom storage, and seen his fair share of luxury—but he’d never been around long enough to see it lived in.

Drawers lined one wall, sleek and built into the cabinetry. Rows of dresses, coats, scarves, bags, and belts filled another. Shoes—so many shoes—lined the shelves, some still wrapped in plastic, some broken in just enough to show which ones were loved. In the centre, a long glass table gleamed under the dim light, scattered with jewellery. Diamonds, rubies, and jade sat in their cases like they belonged behind some jeweller’s counter instead of lying out like an afterthought.

Maya made a soft, curious sound, leaning forward in fascination. Joel caught her before she could squirm right out of his arms. "Woah, kiddo."

His attention snagged on the dress draped over the table, carefully selected from the clutter.

Black. Velvet. Long-sleeved. Nothing flashy. No lace, no frills, no shimmer. Just smooth, short, heavy fabric, dark as ink, the kind that’d cling in all the right places. Understated, sure—but that only made it worse.

Joel swallowed, jaw tightening. Christ, that can't be it, can it?

But Leela didn’t dress up much. Hell, he was used to seeing her in practical things—thick holey sweaters, clean jeans, and overstretched socks. Even the night dresses she wore were simple, easy. Unbearably cute.

But this? This was intentional. This was her putting thought into it, picking something that would fit her like a fucking glove. Black so stark against her skin, those big eyes, her legs. And Joel—he needed to stop thinking about that immediately.

He shifted Maya in his arms, clearing his throat like that’d help steady him. She was still staring, as if equally entranced, her small hands flexing toward the diamonds glinting under the glass table. He sighed, pressing a kiss to her temple as he stepped back.

“Don’t even, sweetheart,” he muttered. “I ain't raisin’ no flashy tastes in you.”

She gurgled in protest, kicking her feet, and Joel took that as his cue to get the hell out of there.

Now mind you, the past two weeks had been a state of grace.

He didn’t know what else to call it—what else to call the way he found himself here more often than not, the way it felt more natural by the day. He wasn’t just some frequent visitor anymore or a guest, or that guy who'd come around to hover with his tools. If he wasn’t on patrol, he was here with them. Even after patrol, he still ended up on their porch, dropping his rifle and pack by the door before stepping inside like it was just a given.

Hell, it kind of was. A little 'honey, I'm home' moment, if he really brooded on it.

Breakfast. Dinner. Sometimes all three meals, if time allowed. And they’d sit together on the kitchen stools, him and Leela, Maya on either of their laps, silent but companionable, sharing the space like it had been carved out for them alone. They didn't talk about much, sometimes Joel would hit her with a 'back-in-the-day' spiel, or Leela would inform him what happened in her workshop, though most of it went over his head. He liked to listen hard when she spoke, especially when she gave so little. And each morning to come, each evening in leave, Joel would feel it—that want, quiet but persistent, tugging at him, already pulling him into the next day.

Even Leela was eating again. Not much, but enough. It relieved him that she hadn't entirely given up on herself. He noticed the way she still picked at her food sometimes, however delicious it was, pushing it around more than eating it, and he never said a word. Just let her be, let her do what she could. He’d take what he could get.

There were moments, though—times when she got stuck in her own head as if phantom hands had reached out, clawed in and dragged her back to whatever had put her here in the first place. He’d see it clearest when she nursed Maya, like something about it sent her spiralling inward, caught in something he couldn’t see. But he could pull her back to him. He quickly learned how.

“Hey.” His voice was always low, careful, like he was trying not to spook a horse. And then a distraction, a lifeline. “How about I get us a cut of lamb again tomorrow? Y’know, those meatballs you made last week?”

Her eyes would clear, focusing again. “Yeah. Koftas.” And that smile would come alive, trademarked in his name. “Did you like them?”

“Too much. Hits the spot.”

It helped that Leela was a stupidly good cook. It wasn’t about the skill or the recipes—though she sure as hell knew her way around those—it was the way she did it. The way she measured things down to the last goddamn granule, cut with a precision that could’ve put surgeons to shame. She had a scale drawn onto her chopping board, and every damn herb on her windowsill was labelled like she was running a test kitchen instead of a home. He thought about it sometimes and had to bite back a smile.

"Is there anything you can't do?" he'd asked her once while stuffing his face with generously salted roast potatoes he'd passionately complimented. "I dunno, deadlift three thousand kilos? Roofing? Fix a busted engine? I bet that's nothin' to you."

She'd laughed, aimlessly twirling her fork in her hands. "Hmm... I'm quite inartistic. I can't strum a guitar as well as you. I can't sing or dance either."

"I'll give you five days until you're a pro guitarist," he challenged playfully.

She tilted her head. “I don’t know, Joel. Now that I think about it, I might be a lost cause.”

He scoffed. “Bullshit. You learned how to do everything else, didn’t you?”

She shook her head, smiling. “Not everything. You make me sound like some superhero.”

Joel stabbed another potato with his fork. “Nah, I bet you’d pick it up fast.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” He chewed, swallowed. “You got the... hands for it.”

Leela looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers like she could see what he meant. She had the prettiest fingers, long, soft, wide nails that would've graced those fancy designs once upon a time, and pale nerves coiling over lean bone. Jesus, he really was losing it.

“You say that like you’ve given it some thought,” she mumbled.

Joel just shrugged, lying through his teeth. “Not that much thought.”

Her mouth quirked, but she didn’t push. Just filled his cup with more water. “I still don’t think I could do it.”

“Why?”

She tapped the prongs of her fork against her plate. “I don’t know. I guess… it’d feel too good. And then I’d have to wonder why I spent so many years not doing it.”

Joel watched her, the way her fingers fidgeted, the way her eyes had gone elsewhere. He thought about telling her that was the whole damn point. That just because you hadn’t done something before didn’t mean you didn’t deserve to now.

Instead, he just said, “Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”

She met his eyes, and after a second, she nodded. “Yes. I do.”

And the way she stated it—gentle, effortless, like it was unmistakable—had Joel suddenly very interested in his plate again.

Then there was little Maya. His ray of sunshine. Growing like a wildflower, changing in ways he barely had time to keep up with. And he was there to see it. More than that—he was there for it.

Like that day, sprawled on the living room carpet beside her, lying flat on his back while Leela worked at the blackboard nearby, mumbling numbers under her breath at miles per hour, the scratch of chalk entwined with the dusty warble of Merle Haggard on the record player. Just another quiet moment, another stretch of time folded in between everything else.

Until Maya grabbed at his hand.

Her fingers curled tight, her little voice rising in breathy coos, calling for his attention. And then—just like that, way too ahead of schedule—she twisted, flipped herself over onto her front, and grinned at him like she’d just conquered the goddamn world. All that, in scarcely three months. The kid's going to be a genius just like her mama.

“Shit!” Joel breathed, pushing up on one elbow. “Daggum, girl. C'mere. That was really good, baby, real nice. You're just perfect, aren't you?”

She grinned wider, pleased with herself, kicking her legs against the carpet. He lifted her right off and plunged her in the air, pulling out a happy squeal. He brought her all the way down to push three deep kisses into her bunched cheeks.

Leela turned, brows raised, eyes flicking between them.

“Finally rolled over, she's been trying for weeks,” he told Leela, laughing, out of breath.

“Oh,” she mouthed. “Rolled over?”

“Oughta get a picture or somethin’,” he muttered, still looking at Maya, pride swelling in his chest in a way he hadn’t expected. He ran a hand over her downy-soft hair. “It’s a milestone. Turnin’ point, as I say.” The pun slipped out before he could stop it, and he cursed Ellie in his head.

Leela just blinked at him. Like it hadn’t even occurred to her. And maybe it hadn’t. Because, later that night, without a word, she passed him a little silver digital camera and said he spent more time with Maya than she did.

Joel had caught her elbow before she could walk away. His voice came out quieter than he meant it to as he told her, “You’re doin’ a great job at being her mom. It's not just me here.”

It didn’t help, not the way he expected to. She just nodded, scooped up Maya, and left the room.

That was the thing about Leela.

She didn’t believe it. She didn’t think she was in a position to care for another person. Like she was still caught somewhere in between—stuck in the space between whatever hell had given her Maya and the life she was trying to build around her.

She didn’t even have to say it. Joel saw it.

He saw it in the way she tried. The way she forced herself to be soft, forced herself to hold Maya just right, forced herself to soothe her, talk to her, to touch her like it was second nature instead of something she had to teach herself from scratch. It was in the way she hesitated when Maya reached for her like she wasn’t sure she deserved to be needed. It was in the way she lingered outside the nursery door some nights, just standing there, like she was working up the nerve to go inside.

It wasn’t easy for her. But she tried. Joel marvelled at that, her patience despite whatever tormented her. And yeah, progress was slow, but it was there.

Joel’s boots scuffed against the freshly washed mat at the foot of the stairs—he’d done that himself, thanks for fuckin’ noticing—as he made his way to the kitchen. Leela was crouched in front of the oven, arms wrapped around her shins, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

He leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Somethin’ wrong, or you just real interested in watchin’ bread bake?”

He barely had time to brace himself before the scent hit him—sweet and sugary, with a crispness that wasn’t quite like bread or cake, something lighter, airier.

Leela still didn’t look up. Whatever was in that oven had its hooks in her.

Joel pushed off the doorframe and stepped closer, bending just enough to peer in. White. Puffy. Looked like a cloud. “The fuck is that?”

“Pavlova.” Her voice was muffled against her knees.

He squinted at it. “Uh-huh. The fuck is that?”

She exhaled, shifting just enough to glance at him. “For Eton mess.”

Joel lifted a brow. “You just sayin’ words at me now, smartass?”

She huffed a quiet laugh, but there was something in her posture—the way she kept her nose tucked between her knees, fingers lightly gripping her calves. She was nervous.

“It’s meringue,” she admitted lowly, like she didn’t want to say it too loud in case that made it collapse in the oven. “It’s delicate. Needs to set just right.”

Joel straightened, rubbing at his jaw. “So it’s just sugar?”

Her mouth twitched the closest thing to a smile she could manage while preoccupied. “And egg whites.”

“Ah, so fancy sugar.”

“Trust me, you'll love it.”

He snorted, ready to argue—but then Maya leaned in against his chest, watching them with big, curious eyes, her tiny hands reaching for the oven knobs. She was getting handsier every day.

Leela finally turned, and for the first time, she really saw Maya, and took her in—the tiny white dress, the soft embroidery, the way her dark eyes blinked down at her with nothing but unfiltered, open-mouthed joy. No fear. No hesitation. Just love for her mama, plain and easy.

And just like that, Leela’s whole face softened. Melted, almost.

“Oh, Maya,” she breathed, reaching for her. “You look so pretty. Aw, my sweetheart.”

She scooped the baby out of his arms without a second thought, cradling her close, and tucking her against her shoulder. Her fingers ran through the fine baby hair at the nape of Maya’s neck, gentle, reverent, like she was trying to memorize her.

Then, before Joel even knew what was happening, she leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Maya’s forehead.

Not him. Oh, never him. But he felt it anyway. It relaxed in his chest, warm and unwanted, curling into the space he’d been trying real damn hard to keep empty. Like a ghost of something he wasn’t allowed to want.

He forced himself to look away, exhaling through his nose, adjusting his stance like that might shake the feeling off. It didn’t. Because the truth was—he’d thought about it. Too much. Too often.

The way she tilted her chin when she looked at him, how her mouth softened when she spoke to Maya, the bare curve of her throat when she laughed—all of it had lodged itself in his head, taken up space like it belonged there. And the worst of it?

He’d imagined it. His own mouth against hers. Slow and deep, catching the breath between her words, pulling that softness into him, feeling the curve of her spine, the softness of her hair twisted into his fingers.

And it was fucking ridiculous. But it didn’t stop him from thinking about it. Didn’t stop the way his gaze snagged on the spot where her lips had just been, where his had been too—because yeah, he’d kissed that exact place on Maya’s cheek before. More than once.

That was different, though. Right? Had to be.

His hands flexed at his sides, restless, needing something to do. He settled on the island, finally taking in what was right in front of him.

And, Jesus. Five trays. At least.

Stacked and spread out across the counter, gleaming under the low kitchen lights. There was no rhyme or reason to it—roast lamb chops, some kind of stewed eggplant, rice flecked with peanuts and saffron, a whole mess of things he didn’t recognize.

Still, she was gonna lose her goddamn mind. Not because Leela had transcended her at her own game—but because she’d cooked her own birthday dinner. Like she didn’t know how to sit still, even for that, or that she couldn’t let people do for her the way she did for them.

Joel shook his head, dragging a hand down his beard. One of those things. Something about Leela that made sense and didn’t, all at once.

“I’m going to go get dressed before Maria gets here,” she said, finally pulling his attention back to her.

Then, casually, like it was nothing, like it didn’t send something tight curling in his gut, she added, “I laid something out for you, too. If you'd like to wear something nice.”

And then she was gone, disappearing down the foyer, leaving Joel standing there, staring after her like an idiot. Like a man in deeper than he had any right to be.

X

Joel had thought long and hard about what to get Leela for her thirtieth, and it had damn near driven him mad.

He wasn’t good at gifts. He wasn’t good at a lot of things, really—at knowing what people wanted, at knowing how to give without feeling like he was handing over pieces of himself. It felt impossible.

What the hell do you give someone who already has everything—even in the goddamn apocalypse?

Leela didn’t need anything. She had a home, one of the nicer, better-built ones, passed down to her like an heirloom. She had clothes, ones she patched up herself, sewn with delicate little stitches. She had music, kept safe on a high shelf, and books stacked in neat piles by the fireplace. She had cars, she had diamonds just sitting up there in a closet, and she even had her own plants thriving.

She had all that and more. So, yeah. He’d considered it all. Clothes. Music. Books. Lights. Pictures. A cat, even. Something that meant something. Significant.

And then, out on patrol, he’d found it.

A cherry tree. Growing wild, untamed, tucked between dense brush and the gnarled twist of maple roots. Dark fruit hanging low, the weight of them bending the branches, like they were waiting for him.

At first, he’d strolled right past it. Just a tree. Just cherries.

And then he’d stopped, brows furrowed. He’d remembered the way she wove them into her life. The careful little cherry embroideries, the tiny red-painted symbols on her sugar and salt tubs, the delicate pattern etched everywhere.

She loved them. Enough to keep them close. Enough to mark them as hers. And so, like a damn fool, he’d kneeled and plucked them.

In a few hours, he'd picked the whole thicket clean. He’d stuffed them into his jacket pockets, let them fill the space in his backpack, red staining the fabric, fingers sticky and sweet with their juice.

It had felt right at the time. He'd felt so proud of himself. She was going to love the shit out of this.

Now, standing by the front door, having Tommy and Maria say that they'd managed to acquire a goddamn Polaroid camera for her—yellowed with age, probably out of photo paper but still lasting—Joel felt like a massive fucking idiot.

At least their gift had value. At least it wasn’t perishable. But, she already has a digital camera, his conscience reasoned with him. Sure, but especially to her, it was the thought that counted. She wouldn't be out here, letting Joel borrow cashmere sweaters and luxury denim on the fly.

And then Ellie had showed off her gift—another layer of shit over his confidence—a handmade journal, stitched together with patience and effort, thick pages bound in soft, timeworn leather. Thoughtful. Meaningful. Her best friend, Dina, definitely had a hand in this. Ellie didn't have the patience to craft something this considerate.

And Joel was the one to talk—well, Joel had a box of cherries. Fucking cherries. Cherries he’d spent hours picking, his fingers raw, his back aching for two days straight. Cherries he’d plucked in pairs, stems still intact, trying to mimic the little embroidered ones she stitched into her life. He’d thought he was being thoughtful. Now, how the fuck was he supposed to compete with journals and cameras?

So he did what any man with an ounce of self-preservation would do.

He pretended they didn’t exist. Let them sit out on the little porch shelf where he’d left them, where he figured he’d grab them when the time was right. Except now, the time wasn’t right. Never will be. And he’d just let them sit there forever, let the cold creep into them, let them wrinkle and rot and become another thing he never got around to.

Better to just let everyone think he was a callous, inconsiderate bastard than actually admit he’d put his heart into something. Easier that way.

As Maria and Ellie jogged upstairs, loud and chattering, off to greet the birthday girl and Maya, Joel made his way into the kitchen—only to get cornered by Tommy’s knowing look. That damn eyebrow, he got that from their dad.

Joel ignored him. Busied himself with laying foil over that one lonely tray, the rhythm of his hands methodical, grounding. It wasn’t until Tommy leaned against the counter, arms folded, voice low and amused, that he finally spoke.

“I knew you hated sappy shit, big brother, but this is a new low.”

Joel exhaled slowly, flattening the foil more aggressively than necessary. “Not now, Tommy.”

“Not now,” Tommy mimicked in a baritone, shaking his head with a chuckle. “You couldn’t even get her somethin’ small? The girl was ready to let you move in, for cryin' out loud.”

Joel didn’t answer.

“Hell, Maya, at least?”

That one stung. He didn’t know why. And somehow, the thought of that bothered him more than the idea of disappointing Leela. Maybe because he could take being an asshole to her. Could brush it off, let her think he was callous, numb. That was easy, safe.

But Maya? She was just a baby. His little girl. This tiny thing with nothing in the world except her mother, who carried all the pain and all the worry, while Joel sat on his hands and pretended like he wasn’t thinking about them more than he should.

He pressed down on the foil harder, smoothing out creases that weren’t there. He could feel Tommy watching him, expectant, waiting.

“Right,” Tommy sighed, knowing what to expect. “I’m gonna go drain the lizard.”

He scowled, finally looking up. “That's some real dignified talk. Better tone it down at dinner.”

His brother just grinned with a playful salute, disappearing down the hall.

Joel stomped his way into the dining room, fists stuffed into his pockets. Not because he knew what the hell he was even looking for, but because he had to move. The ache in his chest was getting to be too much, and if he sat with it any longer, he might actually have to acknowledge it.

Leela had transformed the shit out of this dining room, and Joel took it all in. Candles flickered across the table, their golden light pooling over the wood, catching on the edges of intricate ceramic plates, and warming the dark corners of the room. The food that Leela had slaved away to make was spread out, lavish, rich, the kind of meal that had no business existing in a world that had already ended. As if this little town, this home, was untouched by the decay beyond its walls.

The blackened, humungous yard outside those slightly gaumed French windows—he ought to get around to that this week—was paved with a clean sheet of snow, and it was clear what lay under it. A manifold garden of some sort, from the cursive-letter markers sticking out from the ice. And a pond, maybe.

It was all so soft. Painstaking. Conscious. Like everything Leela touched.

A sudden thrum of light, breathless, girlish laughter echoed from upstairs, Ellie's the most rambunctious of the lot, obviously having fun with that new camera.

“Maya, smile...” Then later, “Ha-ha, she's got no fuckin' teeth!”

It flushed a small smile of his own at the sound. He hadn’t heard that kind of laughter in years. Not since Sarah. Not since the days when she and her friends had holed up in her room, voices tumbling through the walls, their shrill giggles slipping into his evenings, melding with his exhaustion, belonging there, like a part of his house itself.

Back then, he’d barely noticed it. In fact, he'd wanted them to shut the hell up so he could focus on paperwork. He’d never thought to savour it. And now? Now it pressed against the deepest crevices in him, brittle and aching, something he couldn’t touch without it breaking apart in his hands. It still hurt like hell.

And then, as dinner time neared, the big room filled out—oh, Joel hadn't meant to look. Hadn’t meant to let his eyes linger that way. Fuck, he forgot how Leela was going to be tonight.

No. He dragged his eyes from her, yet the image remained seared into his head.

But there she was, standing at the far end of the room, completely different and exactly the same.

That velvet dress—Jesus Christ, he needed air.

He’d known it’d be trouble the second he saw it. It fit too well, soft in places he shouldn’t be noticing, snug over her hips, floating around her legs bare, smooth, unfairly right there. Her usual braid was pulled back tight, but a few strands had already come loose, slipping against her cheek, catching at her collarbone, and softening her face. A thin strand of pearls nestled at her neck—simple, understated. Like she was one of those lunching ladies in country clubs, lugging their crocodile leather bags, and clutching their pearls. Fucking adorable now that it registered, she was probably dressed like what she'd seen her mother wear back then.

And in another life, a girl like her would’ve walked right past a man like him. Would’ve mistaken him for a valet. Would’ve never even looked at him. He should be thanking his stars that the world went to shit and brought him her.

Joel clenched his jaw, forced his gaze away, and focused on the room instead. Maya, the real star of the show, was being passed off between the rest like a pack of smokes, her little chubby arms reaching, everyone cooing, fussing over her pretty, new dress.

Everywhere except. Leela...

She had drifted toward the bar cart at the edge of the room, breaking out the good stuff. He glimpsed the label—vintage Pinot Noir, knotty French scramble and expensive as hell. Didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that somehow, without even thinking, he’d ended up standing beside her.

And when she looked up—she smiled at him. Small, a little shy, the kind of smile that said she was nervous for no reason at all.

“Hi, Joel.” Her hand smoothed down her stomach as if flattening that cute little belly bulge, fixing something that didn’t need fixing. “Do I look okay?” she murmured, hesitant. “Is it too much? It is, isn't it?”

Too much? For him, fuck yes. Fine? Fine wasn’t even in the same goddamn ballpark.

So, he opened his mouth. Closed it. Nothing.

“No.” A beat. “You…”

Nothing again. He was drawing a blank. The words dried up before they even had the chance to form, like dust in his mouth.

It wasn’t like he was trying to be poetic about it, but there was nothing in his head that felt close to good enough. No simple word, no half-mumbled compliment that could measure up to her tonight.

Leela stood in front of him, shifting slightly, looking down, constantly pressing her palm over her stomach like she was suddenly self-conscious. She was always incredible. She always knew her way around things. That wasn’t news.

But tonight, she just...—his jaw tightened. He wasn’t even gonna let himself finish that thought. His throat worked as he opened his mouth again, ready to force something out, anything—

“God, this smells fucking delicious!” Ellie’s voice tore through the moment, shattering it.

Leela startled slightly, before blinking, exhaling a soft laugh, and looking away. And just like that, the moment was gone.

The next thing he knew, everyone had settled in, chairs scraping against the wood, good wine flowing, voices overlapping, the liquor kicking in, laughter beginning. The candlelight flickered against the dishes, the soft golden glow catching on deep greens, bright reds, and the spread of food that looked like something out of a damn painting.

Joel wasn’t even sure where to start, but Ellie had no such problem. She was going to town, her plate stacked high, fork stabbing into rice and lamb and eggplant, making a goddamn mess of herself.

Maya sat in her lap, eyes wide, fists curled into her mouth, watching every movement with a sort of blank curiosity, like she was studying some unknown species.

Joel almost smirked. Baby girl had better instincts than most.

Meanwhile, Maria was not having it. She sat back in her chair, arms folded, watching Leela with something sharp in her gaze.

“Why would you cook your own birthday dinner? I told you to let me handle it.”

Leela shrugged, reaching for Joel’s plate once more. He barely had time to grab his plate back before she was scooping more roast potatoes onto it. Christ. At this rate, she was gonna have him fattened up like a prize hog by the end of the night.

“I had to say thanks to all of you somehow,” Leela murmured, matter-of-fact like it truly was that simple. Like, it wasn’t the most Leela thing in the world. “For everything you did for Maya and me. Thank you.”

Maria sighed, shaking her head, but before she could say anything, Tommy beat her to it.

“Honey, there’s no thanks between family. You just take it and be happy about it.” His laugh was muffled by a sip of his wine.

Leela, in the middle of reaching for another serving spoon, paused. And Joel saw it—the way she responded. It was subtle. Not a gasp, not anything dramatic, but something small. The way her lips parted, just slightly, like she wasn’t sure if she should smile like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to. He let his own smile grace his face as he did.

Before he could think on it too much, he caught movement from the corner of his eye—Leela, still standing, still serving, still doing everything but eating.

Joel set down his glass with purpose.

“Sit down.” His voice was low, and firm, leaving no room for argument as he grabbed the spoon from her hand and dropped it onto a tray. “Eat. They're grown-ups, they can serve themselves.”

Leela sighed and sat. Finally. “Okay.”

Joel didn’t give her much choice, pressing the chair in behind her knees, setting her plate in front of her like it was law. He caught the flicker of hesitation, the way she lingered as if she had something else to do, something else to fix. But there was nothing left. The food was hot, everyone was fed, and she was out of excuses.

He scooped a little of everything onto her plate, careful not to overdo it, careful to leave out the eggplant. He didn’t know when he’d learned that about her, just that he had. And she didn’t object, just picked at what landed in front of her, moving the food around with her fork. She didn’t eat right away, not really.

Maria, Tommy, Ellie, and Joel had a rhythm. They talked over each other, ribbed each other, passed stories back and forth like well-worn cards, easy and unthinking. They'd raised a toast to the birthday girl, Maya's new dress, this astonishing dinner, Joel smiling for once—it felt… safe. Loud, but not in a way that grated. Just lived-in.

He wasn’t sure what she thought of all this. Maybe it was too much, too loud, too different from what she was used to.

Especially when Tommy, halfway through a sip of whiskey, nearly choked and gawked at her. "Wait, wait—back up. You didn't know turnin’ thirty was a big deal?"

Leela blinked, clearly lost. "Why would it be? It’s just… a number."

Tommy clutched his chest like she’d stabbed him. "Oh, Jesus. Joel, tell her. Tell her what happens when you turn thirty."

Joel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, glancing at her, smirking. "Your knees start makin’ noises you ain’t never heard before. The hangovers last three to five business days. And suddenly—" he jabbed a finger at Tommy, "—this clown starts talkin’ about cholesterol like it’s the Grim Reaper."

Tommy pointed back at him, indignant. "It is the Grim Reaper! You think I like checkin’ my blood pressure for fun?"

Leela stared between them, unimpressed. "So, you’re telling me turning thirty means getting old and miserable?"

Joel shrugged. "Pretty much."

Tommy raised his glass. "Welcome to the club, darlin’. It’s all downhill from here."

Leela huffed a small laugh, shaking her head, but Joel could feel her eyes on him. Not in an obvious way—Leela wasn’t like that. But he could tell. The way she always tucked herself into the background, listening instead of talking, watching instead of stepping in.

Like she was still trying to figure out how all of this worked. How they worked. And Ellie, for one, was having the time of her life.

She jabbed a finger at Joel, like she was about to make some grand accusation. "I swear, it’s like clockwork! Dude’s got, like, five phrases in rotation. Seriously, he's some old Western cowboy stuck in a fucking time loop. It’s insane."

Joel exhaled sharply, already tired. “The hell are you talkin’ about, girl?”

Maria smirked, leaning in like she knew exactly where this was going. “Go on, let’s hear it.”

“That one didn't count. You ready? Okay, let's go.” Ellie straightened in her chair, cleared her throat dramatically, and then—“‘Ain’t my first rodeo.’”

Tommy barked a laugh. Maria made a face that said, damn, that was actually a good one. Joel just shook his head, but he didn’t argue.

Ellie pushed on with that wicked smirk. “‘Coulda told you that one.’”

That got Maria and Tommy good, they were already in fits. Joel sighed, reaching for his glass. Meanwhile, Leela pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.

“See? See?” Ellie counted on her fingers, riding the high. “‘You ain't gonna like the answer.’ Huh, Tommy?”

Tommy wiped at his mouth, shoulders shaking. “Shit.”

Joel took a drink, resisting the urge to bang his head against the table. That one was sadly dead on.

Joel scoffed, shaking his head, but Tommy only leaned forward, grinning wide. “Oh, oh, what about ‘Never said I was a good man’?”

Ellie, inspired, went for the kill. “Right, yes! And my personal favourite, ‘Shit’s fucked,’ obviously.”

That one did it.

Maria actually turned away, full-on wheezing hard. Tommy clapped a hand on the table, throwing his head back to roar out a laugh.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, reaching for his whiskey. “Table’s turned against me.”

He flicked his gaze to Leela, watching her reaction—like maybe if she thought it was funny, it would be worth the humiliation.

She met his eyes over the rim of her glass, her expression unreadable for a beat, then—slowly, her lips curved. She took a sip of her water like she was trying to hide it, but he caught the way her eyes softened, the way she tucked her chin slightly, almost sheepish.

Leela finally spoke, her voice a soft, amused murmur. “I think they just know you too well, Joel. It's nice.”

Joel paused mid-sip, watching her as she turned back to her plate, finally taking a bite.

It was a simple thing, but the words sat with him. It wasn’t just that they were teasing him. It was the fact that she was here, part of it, taking it in, letting herself be in this moment. He realized then—that Leela had spent so much time holding herself apart, hovering at the edges of things, always wary. Not tonight.

Joel exhaled, shaking his head like he wasn’t entertained, even though the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Whole lotta talk for a bunch of ingrates,” he muttered. “Maybe I oughta keep my words to myself. See how y’all fare without my wisdom.”

“Your wisdom? Are you fucking kidding?” Maria scoffed, still wiping at her eyes. “Joel, the day we take life advice from you—”

“Will be the day the world actually ends,” Tommy finished, reaching for his drink. “Again.”

Ellie snorted, still looking way too pleased with herself. “Go on, old man. Say something profound.”

Joel didn’t dignify that with an answer, just took another sip of whiskey, glancing at Maya on Ellie's lap. That same warmth ravaged him for a moment.

But when he looked to his side again, his eyes found Leela. She wasn’t laughing like the rest of them—not outright. No sharp, teasing glances, no knee-slapping or head-shaking.

Just that same small, quiet smile, the kind that broke his fucking heart in two.

He wasn’t sure how long they looked at each other, just that he noticed how the candlelight softened her features, how her fingers smoothed over the rim of her glass absentmindedly, how her braid had loosened slightly throughout the night, one long stray wisp of hair curling by her shoulder. God, she took his breath away.

And then he noticed the table. Maria. Tommy. Even Ellie. Side-eying and smirking like damn fools.

Joel scowled, bracing himself. “What now?”

“Not a damn thing,” Tommy said, though the way he fought back a grin suggested otherwise.

Ellie waggled her brows. “Oh, no, you just—look really wise right now.”

Joel fought the urge to groan, letting his head tip back slightly. “No, really. Thank you.”

Leela shifted, clearing her throat, poking at her plate like she wanted to disappear into it.

Tommy looked like he had more to say, something locked and loaded, but before he could get it out, across the table, Maya started to fuss, her hands curling and uncurling toward the plates on the table, making that small, needy noise. Baby girl was the centre of attention, as always. She had a way of pulling eyes to her without even trying like the whole world naturally revolved around her.

But the moment Maria chimed in, her voice carrying easily over the table—“Maya, honey”—that was when it happened.

Her eyes snapped up, searching the table with a determination far too strong for someone so small. Her fingers flexed, hands opening and closing in that telltale way, reaching, waiting—and then Maria tried something else, something that shouldn’t have stood out, except—

“You wanna say hi to Joel?”

The second it left her mouth, Maya’s little head swivelled, locking onto him with that same urgency, that same expectation. Maya made a soft, almost questioning noise, like she was waiting for something, her arm stretching further, fingers still curling and uncurling.

He didn’t even think about it. Didn’t think about how much she knew him now. How his name meant something to her, how she was already learning that when she reached, he would be there.

“Ugh. But I just got you,” Ellie clucked her tongue, bouncing Maya slightly. “Can’t believe this, you're straight-up ditching me for a fogey. Breaking my heart, kid.”

“Guess she's just sick of you, kid,” Joel teased.

“Shut up.”

Maya squirmed, unsatisfied, her arm stretching further. Then came that stubborn cry, the kind Joel had long since learned to recognize—the warning before real tears, before she got herself all worked up.

And, well, he had tried to resist it before. Tried to tell himself to let her be, that she needed to settle on her own, that he wasn’t supposed to get her used to always having him right there. Didn’t matter one fucking bit. The minute those eyes got glassy, he was already reaching across the table.

"C'mere, baby girl," he muttered, hands steady as he lifted her from Ellie’s grasp. “There you go. Hi.”

She melted against him instantly, her warm little body pressing into his chest, a fist curling into the fabric of his shirt. He barely had time to adjust before she shoved both hands into her mouth, hiding that big, gummy grin like she was suddenly shy.

He chucked her chin. "Happy now?"

Maya let out a tiny giggle, then dropped her head forward against his shoulder, burrowing in, pressing her face into his collar like she wanted to disappear inside him.

"Yeah, that tracks," Ellie said, smirking. "Guess she just likes dinosaurs."

Joel only fed the fire. "I think it's my rugged good looks."

That drew out a few annoyed groans around him.

Ellie snickered. "Not that she’s got much to compare to, though.”

It was a silly joke. A throwaway line. She didn't know any better.

But Joel felt it shift the air at the table, quiet but undeniable, like the slow pull of a storm rolling in.

Leela’s grip on her fork tightened, her knuckles paling around the metal. It was barely a reaction. Just the barest pause. A slow blink, calculated and measured, like she was pushing something down, pressing it deep, locking it behind her ribs before it could surface.

But Joel caught it. He wasn’t sure what it was—not exactly. He only knew the way it felt. The way a sharp sense of awareness dug into the back of his skull, the way his chest clenched, like something inside him had just brushed against a wound he hadn’t known was there.

Maria noticed, too. She shot Ellie a look. Just a quick, subtle thing, but full of meaning.

Ellie’s chewing slowed, the realization dawning. "Shit. Sorry," she muttered, suddenly fascinated with her plate. “I'm so sorry, Leela. I wasn’t trying to—”

Leela’s voice was too even, barely managing the dismissive smile. “It’s alright, Ellie. It's nothing.”

It wasn’t. She was practically forcing this lie out of her mouth.

She pushed her chair back. “I’ll go... um, be right back.”

Joel caught the way she moved—not hurried, not frantic, just a little too controlled, like she was forcing herself not to make it obvious that she needed to get out of there.

He should’ve stood. Should’ve gone after her, said something, done something.

Maria was already moving. “Let me check on her,” she said softly, chair scraping against the floor as she followed Leela through the kitchen doors.

Joel exhaled, slow through his nose.

The warmth of the meal, the easy hum of conversation—it all dissipated like heat off an open plate, leaving only the scrape of utensils, the occasional clink of glass. The space Leela left behind stretched thin, like a too-wide gap in a picket fence.

Ellie exhaled, pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead. “I really wasn’t trying to… god, I have such a big fucking—”

Joel adjusted Maya in his arms who was busy combing fleece off the expensive cashmere on his chest. “Ain’t your fault, kid. 'S’all right. Just a touchy subject.”

He didn’t look at her when he said it. Just kept his eyes on the rim of his whiskey glass, watching the candlelight slice through the amber liquid.

Because it was the truth. It wasn’t Ellie’s fault. That didn’t mean he wasn’t wishing he could take back that moment, wipe it clean. Like smudging out a scuff on a wood floor—pretending it had never been there at all.

Ellie nodded, but her fork just scraped uselessly at the plate, pushing food around in slow, absent-minded circles. She curled in on herself, shoulders drawn tight.

Tommy cleared his throat, voice pushing for something lighter. “Think it’s time we brought out dessert, huh? Said it was some trifle or somethin’.”

The words hovered, waiting for someone to catch onto them, and keep the momentum going. But no one did.

Joel didn’t answer either. He just tipped his whiskey back, letting the burn roll slow down his throat.

“Ah, what the hell,” Tommy muttered, scratching at his jaw.

Joel barely registered it. His mind wasn’t here. It was behind that door, past the threshold of the kitchen, where Maria had gone.

He should’ve been the one to follow. But Maria knew better. Knew when to step in, when to let someone walk away without pressing.

And Joel—Joel just sat there, gripping his glass too tight, holding Maya closer, listening to the faint rattle of silverware, the flicker of candlelight, the distant creak of the floorboards in the kitchen.

The moment had died out. They just hadn’t called it yet.

X

Maya's nursery looked different now.

It used to be dim and quiet, a place half-lived in, half-abandoned—just a room with a crib shoved into it, like it didn’t belong there. Like she didn’t belong there.

Now, it felt like a home. A place meant for a child to grow. Soft, muted green stretched across the walls, warm in the glow of the low bedside lamp. Shelves lined with neatly folded onesies and tiny socks, stuffed animals tucked into corners like silent sentries. The window bench had been cleared of dust and laid out with a fresh quilt, facing the snowy street below—facing his house.

Joel rocked on his heels, shifting Maya higher in his arms as the low murmur of voices drifted up from downstairs. Goodbyes being said. Chairs scraping back. The door cracking open to the cool night air.

He should go. He knew that.

But hell, it was barely ten. He never left before Leela fell asleep—not until he was sure she was actually going to sleep. And that wasn’t for another couple of hours, at least.

Not that he was leaving anytime soon. Not unless he figured out a way to pry this little troublemaker off him.

Maya wasn’t having it.

He’d tried everything—rocking, pacing, humming low in his throat—but she refused to close those pretty eyes, just kept watching him, Her fingers patted at his chest, curling into his shirt. Then she'd reach up, clumsy and determined, fingers smushing against his nose, his cheek, his scruff.

Joel exhaled, shifting her slightly in his arms. "What's the matter, sweetheart?"

Maya blinked up at him, all big, dark eyes and stubborn little fists. He knew how much she loved conversing with him, even if it seemed deranged to talk to a fucking infant.

"You gonna let me put you down, or you plannin’ to keep me hostage all night?"

Maya made a breathy 'o' up at him, mouth parting in a wide, drooly grin. Like that would get her off the hook.

Joel snorted. "Yeah, that so?"

Another coo, this one higher-pitched, like she had a whole argument ready.

He shook his head, tired but amused. "Mhm. I'm convinced."

Joel sighed, lifting her up so they were at eye level, holding her by the armpits. Her legs kicked in the air, her chubby fists went straight to her mouth, and she tilted her head back, distracted by the warm glow of the nursery lights.

Too big. She was growing too damn fast.

He felt it in the way she relaxed against him now, her body stretching longer, heavier. Felt it in the way her head fit differently in the crook of his neck, in the way her fingers, once barely able to grasp his thumb, now had a grip strong enough to tug at his shirt.

It was frustrating. Fucking unfair. She'd only been in the world for a few weeks, and just when she was starting to fit perfectly in his arms, she was already growing out of them.

Joel swallowed thickly, staring at the soft roundness of her cheeks, the dark lashes fluttering against her skin. His fingers traced the slope of her back, feeling the tiny, steady rise and fall of her breath. How can you miss something that was not yet lost?

A lump pressed against his throat.

“You know I love you so goddamn much, right?”

It wasn’t much more than a whisper. A thought barely forced out past his lips. And yet—it felt so final. How long until he heard it back from her? Another year? Two years? Would he still be around when she said it to him?

Joel clenched his jaw, sighing. Hard as hell, saying it out loud. Felt damn near impossible, like something fragile, like something that wasn’t his to admit. Like if he said it too much, too often, he might have to face what it really meant. That he’d already taken responsibility for her, or if anything were to happen to her—

Maya let out a breathy giggle, legs kicking, fingers smacking against his cheek.

Joel blinked, barely catching himself before he smiled.

When he pulled her closer, she wriggled against him, pressing her small, warm face to his, her tiny palms patting at his chin, his nose, his temple. Soft puffs of air landed against his skin, clumsy, open-mouthed, like her own sloppy, little version of a kiss.

He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. This was really all he needed in whatever was left of his life. It seemed too easy to make it enough.

“Fine, you win this time,” he muttered, voice rough, thick.

Maya gurgled against his cheek, cooing, like she understood his plight.

He descended the stairs slowly, careful not to jostle Maya too much, hoping the rhythm might finally lull her to sleep. Her head lolled against his shoulder, tiny fingers curled into his collar again, but she was still awake, just blinking wide-eyed at the world.

Joel paused at the landing when he caught voices near the door—Ellie and Leela, still lingering. A strange sight, to be honest.

“Look, I really messed up back there and—” Ellie started, arms tight around herself, like she was bracing for impact.

Leela didn’t let her finish. Instead, she pressed something into Ellie’s palm—a tightly rolled set of charts. “Joel told me you love astronomy,” she said simply. “These belonged to my mother once. She was like you, too.” A beat. “They should go to someone who’ll actually use them.”

Joel shifted against the railing, watching as Ellie unrolled the top just enough to glimpse the faded celestial maps inside—one for each month, constellations inked in delicate, ghostly lines.

Her breath hitched. “Holy shit.”

Leela blinked. “Is that a good 'holy shit' or—”

Ellie nearly lunged forward—almost, but not quite. She caught herself, scratching the back of her head instead, a grin breaking through like she couldn’t hold it back. “Best fucking holy shit. Thank you.”

For a moment, she just held the maps, careful, reverent, like something fragile. Then she exhaled, shaking her head with a laugh—the kid really couldn’t believe her luck. “This is so sick. I’m gonna—I don’t even know, but it’s gonna be fucking awesome.” She clutched the charts to her chest, voice lighter than it had been all night. “Thanks, Leela. Really.”

Leela gave a slow nod, like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with the gratitude. She hesitated, then tested out a cautious, “Um. Have... fun.”

Ellie barely caught any of that. She whooped into the night as she left, the charts still hugged close. Oh, Joel was definitely not going to hear the end of this for at least a month.

Leela lingered in the doorway, lips parted, watching Ellie disappear down the street. Then, almost like she didn’t quite believe what had just happened, she slowly shut the door, pressing her back against it. Her hands lifted, covering her face, fingers threading through her hair. A breathy laugh escaped her—soft, disbelieving.

Joel caught the tail end of it, the faint curve of her smile before she tucked it away. Small. Quiet. Like she didn’t quite know what to do with it.

And hell, if that didn’t do something to him.

“I take it you enjoyed dinner then,” he said, his voice rough with amusement.

Leela startled slightly and hadn’t realized he was still there. Her eyes flicked first to Maya, softening instinctively before settling on him. The edges of that smile lingered—that wasn’t quite ready to leave yet.

She stepped closer, hand brushing over Maya’s back. “Little troublemaker fighting sleep again?”

Maya let out a big, sleepy yawn, eyes drooping but still resisting, gripping the fabric of Joel’s shirt like she could anchor herself awake. Stubborn baby girl.

Joel huffed, shifting his hold on her. “Like she doesn’t even need it.”

Leela hummed, tracing slow, absentminded circles against the baby’s onesie. Joel expected her to say something, but when he glanced up, he found her watching him—something different in her gaze. A glint, teasing but warm, something playful in a way he hadn’t seen before. It softened him in places he wasn’t prepared for.

Then she took a step back, and before he could think too much about it, she reached above the shoe rack, retrieving something small and wooden. A box.

Joel tensed the second he saw it. Goddamnit. Should've buried that thing in the snow.

She bit back a smile, shaking the box near her ear. “So, um… Tommy found this on the porch shelf,” she mused. “Told me you went through a lot of trouble to get it.”

Joel clenched his jaw, exhaling hard through his nose. He knew exactly what Tommy had done—ran his mouth just enough to make sure Joel would have to sit through this whole damn thing.

Leela tipped her head, all exaggerated curiosity. “I wonder what it is.”

“Yeah, real mystery,” Joel muttered, walking past her like he could simply exit this situation.

Instead, he focused on Maya, carefully easing her onto the soft padding of the playmat. The thing was space-themed—little planets and stars dangling overhead, catching the dim glow of the living room. Her tiny fingers curled around a plush moon, legs kicking as she let out a gurgled sound of delight.

Joel let out a quiet breath. This was fine. He could watch her do that. Much easier than watching Leela.

But there was no avoiding it, not really. Not when she was already lowering herself onto the couch, patting the cushion beside her. “Come, sit.”

He hesitated, looking away. He could’ve bif goodnight, walked out the door, and left her to open the damn thing by herself. He could’ve avoided this whole moment, let it pass, let it go.

With a great, defeated sigh, he sank down beside her, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Leela carefully slid the lid open, and the ruby cherries sat there, dark and glistening, their juices staining every inch of the wood. The smell of them hit the air—ripe, sweet, unmistakable.

She sucked in a breath, quiet but sharp.

Joel pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to explain himself. That it was dumb. That it didn’t mean anything. That it was silly. That he’d done it because—hell, because. Because he wanted to see her smile for him. Because he wanted to leave some sort of a mark on her special day.

But he didn’t say any of that.

Instead, he cleared his throat. “Thought you liked ‘em. It's not much, but...” yeah, it was from his heart. And he went on with a gruff, “Happy birthday.”

Leela nodded with a gentle laugh, but she didn’t say anything at first. Just reached in, plucking one between her fingers, rolling it like she wanted to feel every dip and curve of it before finally slipping it past her lips.

Joel tried not to watch too closely. The way her lips curved around the fruit, the divots on that pillow-soft skin stretching, before her tongue darted out to catch the juice. His throat bobbed with a dry swallow. God, he was going to lose it.

“Mm,” she moaned, shaking her head. “This is wonderful, Joel. Thank you.” She held up a sudden finger as if lit up by an idea. “How about a blackforest cake?”

He winked. “Right on, darlin'.”

He reached for one, too, grinning, chewing in sync with her.

Then he caught the way she twirled the stem between her fingers, that amused little gleam returning in her eyes, and he knew exactly what she was about to do. Oh, come on. Right now?

Leela quickly popped the stem into her mouth, brows furrowed in concentration.

Joel smirked despite himself. Fine. They were doing this then.

He followed suit, slipping the stem between his lips, tongue working it in practised motions—an old skill, long-buried, but still easy enough to find. A long time ago, he’d done this a hundred times over, showing off for Sarah, besting Tommy every damn time.

Sure enough, when he held the knotted cherry stem between his teeth, he arched a brow, only slightly smug. “How ‘bout that?”

Leela let out a muffled laugh, sticking her tongue out to reveal hers. Looser, messier, but still knotted. “You’re way better.”

Joel huffed a small, satisfied sound, settling back against the couch. “Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Wait for it.”

She cocked her head, intrigued, and he felt it then—her undivided attention settling warm against him. That expectant little gleam in her eye.

Well, hell. No turning back now. He worked his tongue around the stem again, shifting it between his teeth, coaxing it into another trick—one a little tougher, one he hadn’t pulled off in years. One wrong move, and he'd choke.

It took longer, and she was watching him too damn close, like she was trying to map every movement, every small shift in his jaw.

Then, finally, when he held it back out—the knot was gone.

Leela gasped, surprised, hands flying to her mouth. “How?”

Joel smirked, slow and deep, feeling a ridiculous amount of satisfaction at her reaction. He tapped his fingers against his knee. “Sworn to secrecy.” Then, just because he could, he added, “It’s a Miller thing.”

She laughed, warm and unguarded, shaking her head. “So dumb.”

Joel chuckled along with her, feeling ten pounds lighter at that sweet sound.

Leela, still grinning, tossed another cherry into her mouth. And then another. And another. Until her cheeks puffed up like a damn chipmunk, lips barely able to contain the burst of juice dribbling at the corner of her mouth.

Joel snickered at her, shaking his head. “Jesus, girl,” he muttered, reaching out without thinking. His thumb swiped slowly and easily at the corner of her lip, gathering the stray stain. “Slow down. It’s all yours.”

And that should’ve been it. The moment she pushed him away. But.

Leela didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just watched him. Not startled, not uncomfortable, not embarrassed. Just… watching. Chewing. Observing. Curious.

Her lips, still slick with juice, parted the smallest bit, like she might say something, but she didn’t. And neither did he.

But instead of pulling back—God help him—his gaze flickered down, just for a second, tracking the spot where his thumb had been. And before he even fully processed what he was doing, he brought it to his mouth, pressing the tip between his lips, tasting the cherry juice there.

A big fucking mistake.

Because it wasn’t just the cherry. It was her. All Leela and sweetness. He'd imagined moments like this for hours on end in his lonesome.

It was the heat of her skin, the warmth lingering on his fingertip. A trace of something softer beneath the tartness of the fruit. Something that made his breath go tight in his chest.

Leela inhaled, shallow and quiet.

See, Joel should’ve drawn off her. Should’ve laughed it off or said something—anything—to keep this from tipping too far. He shouldn’t have let it get this far.

Because for a second, just a second, he allowed himself to imagine it—let himself fucking want it. Joel wasn’t a man who let himself have much. Wasn’t the kind who asked for more than what was given, especially when life loved to take so much away from him. Sarah, his softness, his humanity.

But this? This, he wanted. He wanted it so bad.

Not just in passing, not just in a way he could ignore, but in a way that curled deep in his gut, low and slow. In a way that had him tilting forward before he could stop himself, his breath hitching ever so slightly, just as any man would attempting to her, his hands grounding against his knee like that might steady him, like that might make this less surreal.

Because she was right there. Close enough that he could see the flicker of amber light in her eyes, the crease between her eyes, the way her breath had changed, softened, like she’d been expecting this.

Maybe she had. And maybe that should’ve been enough to make him stop. Because, Jesus Christ, what the hell was he doing? What was he hoping to accomplish? Kiss her? Laugh? Maybe for once not leave this home feeling like a drop-in?

Leela was younger, cleverer, and healing. She was light, and he was nothing but a warm, dark, empty void pressing down on her, on this moment, on the air between them, threatened to swallow any hope of life.

She wasn’t flinching. Wasn’t moving away. But God, she should’ve.

She should've punched him square in the jaw, woken him up from whatever dream he was walking. She should’ve recoiled at the smell of whiskey on his breath, should’ve been weirded out that he’d even dared to lean in, that some old, beat-up man thought he had any goddamn right to touch something as brilliant as her.

Because that’s all he was, wasn’t he? Worthless. Worn down. Hands stained in more blood than he cared to admit. A hardass heart that refused to stop beating.

And she? She wasn’t for him. She was for someone who could meet her in the daylight, who didn’t have to carry every sin, every regret, every ounce of grief in their bones. Someone who hadn’t done the things he’d done.

Yet, something pushed him on. Told him to take that chance.

His breath came rough, unsteady. The space between them felt impossibly small, thinning with every heartbeat, every second, every goddamn pull of the air between them—

Except—just then—

Leela’s shoulders dropped with a slow, measured breath, and instead of leaning in, closing the last bit of space, she leaned away.

Her voice was a sigh, not scolding, not sharp. Just beaten. “Joel.”

It settled somewhere in his ribs, dull and heavy. The truth of it. That this had been a mistake. That she was kind enough, maybe even foolish enough, to let him down gently.

He didn’t pull back fast—he had a little more dignity than that. But he did pull back, gritting his jaw, clearing his throat, nodding once like that had been nothing, like he hadn’t just let himself be stupid, let himself slip into the foolish idea that he could have this, even for a second.

Because he wasn’t that man. He never had been.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and brittle. Joel could hear the soft tick of the clock in the next room, and the low hum of the wind against the windowpane, Maya's soft, sleepy puffs from the playmat. He could hear his own breathing, slower now, measured, because he had to make it so.

Leela stared down at her lap, at the way her hands twisted against each other. Her shoulders had drawn in, tightening like she was trying to make herself smaller, and he hated that—hated that he’d put that look on her face, that he’d made her feel like this.

He tried to work his voice, to apologize, tell her that he'd leave and never look her way again. Nothing came out. Because, ultimately, in doing so, he knew he stood to lose Maya, too. And he just couldn't let that happen.

But, when she finally spoke, her voice wasn’t accusing. It wasn’t sharp or angry. It was just… hollow. Blank. Terrifying.

“I’m rotting inside, Joel.” Her fingers curled, nails pressing into her palm. “I can’t do anything to stop it.”

Joel frowned, something uneasy stirring in his chest. He waited, but she didn’t look at him. Just kept staring at her hands like they held something, some mark or stain, only she could see.

“It’s a good thing Maya needs you more. I'm glad she has you.” She let out a small, breathless laugh—except it wasn’t really a laugh at all. “She's better off with you than me. You're good for her.”

A fit of unexpected anger rose in him—not at her, never at her. He wanted to tell he she was wrong. That Maya was hers. That no matter what she thought, no matter how deep she believed the 'rot' had gone, she wasn’t something Maya needed to be protected from.

“Any longer, and I’ll sicken her with me. She’s so small and pure… the softest part of me. And I can’t bear to even touch her. To feed her. To just be with her. I'm so afraid...” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and then, quieter: “I think I might really kill her, Joel.”

Joel froze.

The words hit him like a stab to the abdomen, like a goddamn gunshot, something he wasn’t ready for but should’ve seen coming. He’d heard her say those words before, hadn’t he?

That night—Maya’s first bout of colic. He’d rushed up to her nursery, rubbing at her back, murmuring low nothings just to calm her down. The screaming had gone on for hours, splitting apart the thin walls, rattling through the house like something relentless and starving. When he'd hatefully asked her to pull herself together, blamed her for knowing nothing.

And Leela had been standing at the threshold, watching. Her hands limp at her sides. Hollowed out. She had whispered it then, too. I think I might kill her.

And back then, he had thought it was the average… exhaustion. Fear. That helpless kind of inadequacy that came with first-time mothers.

But that wasn’t it at all, was it?

No, this wasn’t about being unsure.

This was agony. That bitter edge, that raw, bleeding thing inside her. That feeling of being left to die in her own body. And she was still living in it, with that numbness within.

Joel swallowed hard, his pulse beating thick in his ears. “Leela,” he managed, rough and uneven. It was the first time he had ever said her name out loud, and it landed heavier than he knew how to carry.

She sniffled, fingers curling tighter into her palms.

“I disgust me,” she whispered. “I stain everything, I know this. I’d never forgive myself if I did it to you.”

He exhaled, slow and steady, because if he didn’t keep himself calm, if he didn’t keep himself grounded in this moment, he didn’t know what he’d do. What he’d say. He didn't trust his instincts anymore.

And Leela was still looking down, fingers twitching in her lap, like she could feel something crawling under her skin. If she dug her nails in deep enough, if she pressed hard enough, maybe she could carve out whatever filth she thought was still inside her.

Joel knew that feeling. The itch of it. The glare from his mind's eye.

He’d stood in front of a mirror after things he could never undo, scrubbing his hands raw, watching the way the clear blood seemed to seep deeper between his nailbed and fingertips, no matter how much water ran down the drain. But no, this wasn’t the same. Not even remotely.

Joel had earned his stains.

Leela had been made to bear hers.

The thought clawed at him, made his ribs feel too tight, his breath too shallow. Because she wasn’t talking in metaphors. Not really. Not the way he might have, not the way he sometimes felt it, an unbearable burden in his gut, an ache in his chest.

She was talking about it like it was real, like it was something rotting inside her body right now. Like it was fouling her up, stinking only to her.

Because it was. Because someone had done that to her.

He clenched his jaw, heat rising behind his ribs. He didn’t know how. Didn’t know when. Didn’t know the details, and Jesus, did he even want to? He'd lose his shit.

A part of him did. A part of him wanted to be the man he used to be, the man who wouldn’t ask questions, who would just take his rifle and hunt down whoever had put this look on her face, this disgust in her voice, this strife in her bones. If that was what she wanted...

He could still kill for her. He absolutely would, without hesitation. If she said it, he'd walk right out that door and make for the front gates. He could wipe those motherfuckers off the face of the earth, make them suffer, bleed, scream, and beg before he pulled the trigger. He'd done it before, to less violent people. Why not now? What were a few more bodies to him? Nothing but newer ghosts.

But really, what would that do for Leela? What would that change?

She had to wake up every morning in the body they left her with, haunted, festering. And worse—she had to live in the mind, unable to outrun the moments between the others, the life they had shattered.

She had to look at Maya every day and wonder if she was capable of being her mother. Wonder if she was capable of loving her, if she was capable of keeping her safe. How could she when couldn't even protect herself?

Joel wanted to tell her that she could. That she already did. But that wasn’t something his words would fix. Especially not his.

So he didn’t say it.

Didn’t say anything for a long time, just watched her, just took in the way her shoulders hunched, the way she trembled like the truth had broken something loose inside her, and now she couldn’t shove it back down.

His fingers twitched.

He wanted to touch her, wanted to ground her, but he knew better than to startle her. He was stupid, just not a fucking idiot. He knew the way the past could reach through time, could grab hold of you even when you were safe, even when you were far away from where it happened. And fuck, she was drowning in it, wasn’t she?

Drowning in memories she hadn’t spoken aloud.

He didn’t need to hear them to see them.

Because her eyes—those dark, gripping, hollowed-out eyes—were far away, looking at something else. Someone else.

A room. A face. Hands. A warning. A little help.

The moment he thought it, bile rose in his throat. He couldn’t know, not really. But he could imagine. And it made him fucking sick.

He knew, somehow, that she had spent months alone, trying to live past this, trying to bury it under silence, under time, under the thousand little ways she kept people at arm’s length.

Leela sniffled sharply, yanking herself back to the present, but she didn’t meet his gaze. Just wiped her nose with the back of her hand, her fingers curling inward again like she wanted to disappear into herself. Like she deserved to.

Joel wouldn’t let her.

Carefully—slowly—he reached forward, brushing the tips of his fingers against the back of her hand.

She flinched. A slight tremor. A barely-there shake in her breath. Fuck, it hurt him, too. That some part of her—some deep, instinctual part—still thought she had to brace herself for what might come next.

But she didn’t pull away.

He worked at her fingers, gentle, patient, until she let him unfold her hand from the tight, white-knuckled fist she had made. Her palm was damp, warm from being clenched for too long. There were crescent moon indents where her nails had pressed into her skin.

Without thinking, without hesitating, he laid his own hand over hers. Mangled beyond repair, scarred, spoiled, lost to time.

Leela finally looked up at him. Finally, he let him see her.

Her face was blotchy, her dark eyes rimmed red, lashes wet, and God, she had never looked more exhausted. More fragile. This girl, who could accomplish anything and everything, looked helpless.

And she didn’t believe him. Not a single thing he’d just said. Yeah, she was right not to.

Maybe he was stained. Maybe he was rotting, too. Maybe it was too late for him, too late for a man who had done what he’d done, lost what he’d lost, to be anything else.

But not for her. Never for her.

He brought her fingers to his lips, brushing them softly against her knuckles.

She made a noise—small, unsure and confused. But she didn’t pull away. God, she didn't pull away.

His grip tightened just slightly, cradling her hand in both of his now to brush another kiss, like it was a lifeline, like it was the only thing tethering him to this moment, to her. He let his forehead rest gently against hers, breathing slow, trying to keep himself from gripping too tight, from pulling too close.

"There's nothin’ left to stain or rot in me," he admitted. "Just a lot of space left for the two of you."

The words landed soft, like he hadn’t meant to say them aloud, like maybe he was trying to convince her that they were true.

And Joel—he knew what that felt like. To be left alone with it. To drown in it. To have no one there to pull you out of it. So he didn’t try to stop her. Didn’t try to fix what couldn’t be fixed. This time, he wasn't heading for the door.

All he did was stay.

Leela sucked in a breath, sharp and shallow, like she was trying to hold herself together, but Joel could already see it—she was already falling.

And he wasn’t about to let her hit the ground alone.

His fingers curled tighter around hers, his other hand coming up to the back of her head, his thumb brushing just barely along her hairline. He felt her shudder beneath his touch, felt the way her breath came uneven, quick and unsure.

Close enough that he could feel every tremor in her body, every sharp, shallow breath she took. But he didn’t shush her. Didn’t tell her to breathe. Didn’t whisper that it would be okay.

Because he wasn’t a goddamn liar.

And because this—this agony, this slow, rotting thing inside her—wasn’t something words could untangle. It wasn’t something she could be reassured out of, something she could be reasoned or comforted or willed away from.

It was in her bones. In her blood. It lived there, like a sickness that had no cure.

So what the hell could he say? What good would empty do?

All he had—all he could offer—was this. His hands around hers. His touch, light, present. The slow press of his forehead against hers, grounding, real, unmoving.

And he held her. Not tightly, not desperately—just enough.

Enough for her to know. Enough for her to feel, just for a second, what it was to be held and not taken.

To be seen and not used.

To be broken and not discarded.

Joel breathed out slowly, before pulling back just enough to see her. Leela didn’t move or speak, just watched him quietly. Hoping for something from him.

His palm lifted to touch her cheek. Not enough to startle, just enough to remind her he was still here. That he would be.

“Alright then, birthday girl,” he murmured. “I’ll put Maya to bed. See you in the morning.”

No reluctance. No more questions. No trying to make sense of whatever had just passed between them.

Because nothing had changed. And that was the point. Whatever had been said, whatever had happened—he wasn’t going anywhere.

Leela didn’t answer, but she didn’t need to. He caught the way her fingers curled into her palm gently like she was holding onto the warmth he’d left behind. There was a little curve that rested on the edge of her lips.

Joel didn’t look back as he left the room, didn’t linger in the doorway like he sometimes did. He just walked upstairs to Maya's quiet little corner of the world, enduring, sure, carrying her small weight against his chest.

Carefully, he lowered her into the crib, unfurling her fists from his collar. She stirred, a breathy sigh escaping her lips as she calmed into a deeper sleep.

Joel sighed, pressing his hands against the crib’s edge, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, staring down at her, at the impossible being that she was.

Warm, breathing, real. A perfect thing born from ruin.

Joel swallowed against the knot tightening in his throat. How the hell did something like her come from so much pain? From something that had swallowed her mother whole?

He didn’t know how it had happened. Didn’t know when he had stopped just watching from the outside and stepped into the mess of it. Didn’t know how someone like him—someone as stained, someone as wrecked—had ended up here, standing over something so goddamn perfect.

Nothing mattered because the truth was—he wouldn’t undo it. Wouldn’t take back a single second of this.

His breath ached with that same old, familiar twist as he reached down, brushing his fingers over Maya’s impossibly small hand.

She twitched, her lips parting slightly in sleep, and goddamn it—he felt it everywhere. Joel let a small grin pull at his lips as he curled his fingers around hers, feeling the faintest squeeze in return. Yeah, she was all his.

He sighed, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. Once. Then again. Then a third time, lingering, his lips brushing over her fine, downy hair, drinking in the warmth of her, the scent of her, the sheer, impossible realness of her.

No, nothing had changed.

But somehow, everything had.

X

{ taglist 🫶: @darknight3904 , @guiltyasdave , @letsgobarbs , @helskemes , @jodiswiftle , @tinawantstobeadoll , @bergamote-catsandbooks , @cheekychaos28 , @randofantfic , @justagalwhowrites , @emerald-evans , @amyispxnk , @corazondebeskar-reads , @wildemaven , @tuquoquebrute , @elli3williams , @bluemusickid , @bumblepony , @legoemma , @chantelle-mh , @heartlessvirgo , @possiblyafangirl , @pedropascalsbbg , @brklynln -> @kaseynsfws , @prose-before-hoes , @kateg88 , @laliceee , @escaping-reality8 , @mystickittytaco , @penvisions , @elliaze , @eviispunk , @lola-lola-lola , @peepawispunk , @sarahhxx03 , @julielightwood , @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi , @arten1234 , @jhiddles03 , @everinlove , @nobodycanknoww , @ashleyfilm , @rainbowcosmicchaos , @i-howl-like-a-wolf-at-the-moon , @orcasoul , @nunya7394 , @noisynightmarepoetry , @picketniffler , @ameagrice , @mojaveghst , @dinomecanico , @guelyury , @staytrueblue , @queenb-42069 , @suzysface , @btskzfav , @ali-in-w0nderland , @ashhlsstuff , @devotedlypaleluminary , @sagexsenorita , @serenadingtigers , @yourgirlcin , @henrywintersgun , @jadagirl15 , @misshoneypaper , @lunnaisjustvibing , @enchantingchildkitten , @senhoritamayblog , @isla-finke-blog , @millercontracting , @tinawantstobeadoll , @funerals-with-cake , @txlady37 , @inasunlitroom , @clya4 , @callmebyyournick-name , @axshadows , @littlemissoblivious } - thank you!! awwwww we're like a little family <3

[edenspoem]

butch!ellie.. i pray for times like this..

yes.. my idea for her (in that 1950s au i'm writing) is just her being THEE provider, but also being provided for the moment she gets home. thing is, it's in her nature to immediately slacken into her reclining chair and watch television during dinner, but if her wife so graciously persists her to join them at the table—she will. as any good, loving and abiding husband should! (she'd love getting called husband, idgaf) and—as her wife would have it, ellie gets dish-cleaning duties. after dinner, each time. even though it takes a couple playful reprimands to get her to do some chores, she genuinely loves to help out. she's just.. tired. all the time. omg and since she chooses outfits for reader (which, come rain or shine, comes out of her wallet), she gets outfits choosen for her. still big on plaid. unbuttoned shirts at home. win-win situation. same with lingerie. and she has her preferred styles (considering she, when she was younger, would rifle through those mag pages of pin-up girls with peeled eyes): no garters so she can paw at your bare thighs, something flowy and frilly because illusion and leavings things to the imagination is what gets her going. and she's texture-specific. will beg like a tipsy loser for you to wear one of her favorites. ugh i can't wait to write these hcs.

[kyri45]

HELLO I recently been reading your Shadowpeach bio parents au and I gotta say I love how you portrayed Mk’s inheritance and especially the 4 ears (socute!)

And wanted to make some fanart for ya (if that’s allowed sorry if it’s not.)

(I never drawn in the Lego art style or any character at all before so I’m sorry if it’s ugly)

YOUR ART IS GORGEOUS Hope you have a good day/night/evening💕💞

BABYYYY!!!

[bbadandboujee]

#BLONDED ASTRO OBSERVATIONS

so after a long day of drawing, it’s 2 a.m, i’m horny, why not do some astro observations idk?

this will mostly consist of synastry & solar return charts.

OBSERVATIONS:

VENUS IN THE FIRST HOUSE OVERLAY/VENUS CONJUNCT YOUR ASCENDANT SYNASTRY: ahh 🙂‍↕️, i have this with 2 of my side pieces!! chile best synastry overlay EVER. this can either go 2 ways, A. they really really find you attractive, they like your style, i find that they most likely like something about your beauty, for example the sign its in, let’s say cancer, cancer ascendants does enhance features like breasts, or big lips (from what i’ve noticed!) or even an hour glass shaped body (body TTT!!) either way, they’ll like that specific feature of you the most depending on what sign its in. B. ok so they MAY find you a bit different than how this placement usually works, they may think you present yourself in a way thats too over the top?? (girl idk men suck!) and i find this weird bc like, being yourself is all that matters so whats tea? anywho, regardless though, they’re gonna find you very intriguing and attractive, but on the flip side they might think that you’re like other people with this placement from what i’ve observed.

MARS CONJUNCT MERCURY SYNASTRY: yoo i barley see shit about this??? but girl the amount of times y’all will be sexting with this placement!! even on FaceTime it’ll be lots of flirting, i feel like the annoying part of this placement is talking over each other? i don’t find it annoying though trust i find it very stimulating..anywho, i feel like depending on which person is mars, the mars person will most DEF communicate with the mercury person first since mars does rule over action. so if you’ve met this person online or whatever mercury person, prepare for mars to slide in your dms idk.

VENUS IN 11H OVERLAY: omg so my venus is in his (i think side piece number 2?) 11h, and omg i did meet him online! definitely this is a friend crush overlay! also, friends to lovers vibes with this overlay too. i feel like its a lighthearted relationship and being friends honestly feels really genuine and sweet, i feel like with this overlay you don’t look at them with lust, you look at them a light hearted love (awe). if you definitely need a friend house person, you’ll have the bestest time getting to know the venus person fr, vise versa.

SOLAR RETURN ⬇️

this was in my drafts so i decided to bring it here chi!

MERCURY IN THE 7H: you will receive some kind of proposal, whether it’s business or relationship related. and if it is relationship related you will receive this from MULTIPLE people, if this is one of the years where you are in a relationship, expect to get proposed too. also a year where you can meet new connections online.

2ND HOUSE STELLIUM: i have this, this year, this just might be one of my best years istg? expect to make a lot of money ESPECIALLY if beneficial planets are involved. and not only that, your self worth will increase hell of a lot. also to see where your money comes from, check the ruler of the 2nd house.

A YEAR WHERE YOUR NATAL ASCENDANT IS THE SOLAR RETURN ASCENDANT: WHOEVER HAS THIS IS SO LUCKY!! this is one of your best years where you’re literally birthing a new project or starting something new, could also be a year where you’re put into the spotlight, achieving something, and fulfilling your natal promise!! definitely a good year for improvement, growth, and just like i said fulfillment.

MARS IN THE 6H: DEFINITELY a good year to get active, loose weight, or just become more healthier. a very busy year as well too. you could be surrounded by men more in your daily life/at work. definitely not a good year to start arguments with your coworkers or vise versa 😭 (edit: BUT IF THEY NEED THAT? GIRL GIVE THEM HELL IDK.)

SUN IN THE 5H: a very fun year!! omg every year i had this in i’d literally call it satire cus wtf was that?? lol, honestly a light hearted year where you’re having fun, not taking life to seriously, also a year where someone announces their pregnancy.

ALRIGHTY THATS IT! hope y’all enjoyed! 🙂‍↕️

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Besotted 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.

Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes

Note: It's hump day, my dudes.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You don’t see Bucky at all the next day. His motorcycle is gone when you leave for work and when you come back. You assume he has his own work to do, or some running around. He did just move in. You try not to take it personally but you are disappointed. 

This is a lot more fun than all those other times. You’re not as stressed, not as insecure. Maybe it’s because you’re not hoping for more. Because you took a page out of Angelique’s book and stopped caring. One way or another, you’re going to get rid of your v-card. It doesn’t have to be special, it just has to happen. 

On your day off, you decide to get rid of the prickly weeds around the front porch. It's the perfect opportunity for you to show off your shortest shorts and blast some tunes while you’re at it. You put on your rose gold headphone and the best of girly pop. 

You smell coffee but don’t see your neighbour. You don’t want to be too obvious. You get down on your knees and pull-on the dollar store gardening gloves. You’re not good at any of this but these damn plants keep scratching your ankles. 

Before long, your alternative motives drift away as you wrestle with roots. You yank free a particularly stubborn weed and send up a cloud of dandelion fluff. You sneeze into the back of the glove. A shadow passes over you and a gentle tap lands on your shoulder. 

You squeak and drop the leaves. You pull off your headphones and twist to look up at Bucky. Your shoulder tingles where he touched. It’s hard to think someone like him can be so soft. 

“I’m headed into town...” he crosses his arms, the cleft in his chin deepening as he mulls his words, “you said you wanted to test out the motorcycle...” 

“Oh really!” You exclaim as you look up at him. You focus on his face, even as you’re innately aware of how close your are to something else. “Oh, Bucky, that’s so awesome. I’ve been so excited for this.” You gather up the compost bag and he offers his hand. He hauls you up to your feet and reluctantly let go. “I’ve been so patient.” 

He hums, “you can’t wear those. You’ll get burned.” 

He looks down at your shorts. You giggle. You pull off your gloves and clutch them together. “I’ll get changed. I have the perfect pants!” 

He just nods. 

“I’ll wait,” he assures and points over his shoulder. 

You grin and spin to rush away, headphones bouncing around your neck. You dump the gloves and bag on the porch and clatter through the door. You stop to wipe the dirt off your knees and strip off your shorts before you get to the bedroom. 

You search out the fake leather leggings with all the fake zippers. The sun won’t be kind but you don’t mind. You slip into them and find a strappy red top with a bandana style cut at the hem. The bejeweled letters across the front read ‘sinful’. It’s cheesy but you love it. 

You find a pair of sunglasses with thick black cat eyes and trade your sandals for leather booties. You hook your purse across your body as you come out with a jangle of your keys. You zip those away with your phone as you come down the stair. 

Your chest jiggles with each step as your upper tummy peeks out beneath the fabric. Bucky looks over and arches a brow. You approach as he takes a helmet from the handlebar. 

“Found a spare,” he offers. 

You take it and thank him. His eyes skitter between you and the bike. You giggle and tap your heels in excitement. You're genuinely amped up for this. 

“It’s so cool!” You say, “oh, will you take a picture of me with the bike?” 

He squints and his cheek dimples. He shrugs, “sure.” 

“Amazing,” you unzip the small crossbody pouch, “here.” 

You unlock your phone, your background a picture of you, Angelique, and another friend, Tracy, your backscreen. You bring up the camera and hand it over. 

“Oh, can I get on or?” You face the motorcycle. 

“Sure, be careful.” 

You put the helmet on and let the straps hang loose. First you pose in front of it and cock your hip. He aims the lens, your flowery blue and purple case looks dainty in his large tattooed hands. Then you cautiously approach. He comes closer and puts his hand under your elbow to help you onto the backseat. You notice the backrest that wasn’t there before and the shining new chrome bolts that hold it on. 

You straddle it as he backs up. You stick your tongue out for another picture. Then you smile and give a peace sign. 

He lowers the phone and nears, offering it to you. You snag his forearm, “and a selfie? Together.” 

He twitches. “I don’t much like pictures.” 

“Just a memory. Promise, I won’t show anyone.” 

He growls and shows his palms, “what... what do you want me to do.” 

“Here, turn,” you direct him, “put your arm around me and get in frame.” 

You flip the camera and extend your arms. He moves stiffly and hovers his arm over your shoulders. He smells like oaky cologne. You smile as he growls at his own reflection in the phone. You lean into him and watch his features calm then snap the photo. 

“So cute,” you exclaim. “That’s my new wallpaper.” You tap on the three dots and quickly replace the pic of you and your girls, “see.” 

“Huh?” He stands straight. 

“Everyone’s going to think I’m so badass. I mean, I’m not, but they’ll think I am,” you chime. “Oh, uh,” the straps tickle your neck as you put your phone away, “Bucky, I’m so dumb. Can you help?” 

You pinch the straps and flick your lashes at him. He exhales again. You stare at the front of his plain black tee. It clings to his muscles and squeezes his thick biceps. He takes the straps and loops one through the metal ring. His fingertips brush your throat and chin. 

He slowly tugs it snug and his hands freeze. He stares at them and his gaze slowly crawls up to your lips. The air turns stolid around you. He winces and puts his hand on the helmet, wiggling it to test it. 

“Good to go,” he drags his hand off and turns his back to you.  

He grabs the other helmet and pulls it on over his hair. He slides on his sunglasses before he straddles the bike in front of you. He grips the handlebars and takes it off the stand, kicking it back as he easily supports the heavy beast of a bike. His strength is felt in the shifting axel. 

“Gotta hang on unless you want road burn,” he says over his shoulder. “Gonna be loud.” 

“I can handle it,” you assure him as you lean in and wrap your arms around his middle.  

You feel his stomach clench. He turns the key then brings his hand back to turn the throttle, making the bike roar. He walks it back and angles it down the street. He gets it rolling then puts his feet up, zipping off through a tunnel of wind. 

You let out a gleeful holler. The rush is unlike anything you felt. Your heart is pumping and your veins are on fire. You hug him tighter and laugh raucously. 

He stops at a sign and plants his boots, “you okay?” He calls over his shoulder. 

“I’m perfect. I’m-- I’m in heaven!” You answer and wiggle in the seat. 

He takes off again. You squeal and cling to him. You watch the smear of the buildings, trees, and pavement. You feel like you’re flying. Not to mention, you’re vibrating. You feel your leggings getting wet. This is more than fun, it’s fucking hot. 

At last, he stops and quiets the beast. You look around the plaza as he kicks down the stand. He waits and signals you off first with the tilt of his head. You get off and he follows. 

“Hope you don’t mind,” he says. “Boring stuff.” 

You look over at the organic shop sign. You laugh, “are you buying gluten free granola?” 

“Something like that,” he almost smiles. Almost. 

“Hang onto that,” he taps the helmet. 

You unloop the straps and hang it from your elbow, “yes--” you have to stop yourself from saying daddy. You’re not sure if it’s a joke or serious at this point. “Sir.” 

He eyes you then scoffs, “alright, then, doll, let’s go.” 

His cheek ticks and he looks away. He turns his back to you quickly and beckons you with his hands. You follow. 

“Doll,” you say. 

“Sorry--” he begins. 

“I like it. It’s cute! Like a Barbie, right?” 

He sniffs and opens the door of the shop, “sure, something like that.” 

Or a sex doll? You think to yourself. You nearly dance through the door. This is an amazing day. 

He enters behind you. You radiate to the rack of plant-based candies. They are all so colourful. He sidles along to the bin of trail mix. He takes a paper bag and dumps a scoop inside. 

“They have any with M&Ms?” You shuffle up next to him. He grunts. “Kidding.” 

“Good food,” he mutters. “Nice place.” 

“I’ve never been before,” you say. “You’re not vegan? That pie I made had real meat?” 

He snorts and shakes his head, “nah, just... try to appreciate the small things, these days.” 

“Right. Well, it’s a really cool place—oh, cookies!” 

You brush by him and snag up a box of the vanilla glazed shortbread. They look delicious. You turn to him and grin as you show him. 

“Small things, right?” You bounce back toward him. 

He stares at you a moment, “yeah.” He nods and folds over the top of the paper bag. “There’s... there’s a bar around the corner.” 

“Oh, a bar?” You chirp. “How about I buy you a round? For the ride?” 

“Mm, I was just gonna run over and deal with... talk to a friend.” He browses as he speaks. “Thought you could wait with the motorcycle.” 

“Oh,” you deflate, “whatever you like.” 

“Or... you can sit for a drink. Won’t be long,” he shrugs. 

“Bucky, I’m all yours. I’ll do whatever you want.” 

He coughs and grabs a loaf of ten grain. 

“One drink,” he grits out. 

👙

You buy your cookies and Bucky his small haul of groceries. He fits it all in his saddle bags as you watch. He comes around and points you around the other side of the plaza. He walks beside you. As you think about how you must look together, you get all fluttery. 

You’re tempted to grab his hand but you don’t want to spoil all your progress. After all, he invited you. And now he’s taking you for a drink. Sort of. 

He holds the door at the bar for you, greeting the bouncer with familiarity. You look around the dim space. It’s just after noon, there’s not too many people there. He points you to a table. 

“What do you drink?” He asks. 

“Do you think they have appletinis?” You ask. He blinks. You laugh at him. “Joking, I’ll have a light beer. Any brand.” 

“Right, doll, coming right up.” 

You sit and watch him go. He talks to the bar tender and points to the table. Then he walks up around the curve of the bar and into the backroom. You narrow your eyes curiously. Huh. 

The bartender pulls a tap and pours the pint. He brings it to you. “Miss.” He retreats as if he’s afraid of you. Before you can even thank him. 

You pull the tall glass close as condensation hazes along the outside. You taste the thin layer of foam. It’s a bit tangy. You peer around listlessly. This isn’t very exciting. 

This isn’t the typical sports bar. There's a pool table and a dartboard but no TVs for the games. There’s leather jackets and skull emblems and a few disarmed guns on wooden plaques. 

There’s a thunk from the back of the bar then the slam of a door. You peer over as Bucky emerges and stops at the bar. Without a word, the bartender pours him a dark glass of liquor. He grabs it and marches over to you. He sits and sighs. 

“Had to hit the restroom,” he says. 

“No worries,” you make yourself drink the beer. Wheaty. 

“You make up your mind?” He asks. 

“Hmm,” you wipe foam from your lip. 

“About the motorcycle. Still want one?” 

“I definitely want one!” You grin. He brushes his fingertips over his knuckles. They’re reddened. Is one of them split? Were they like that before? 

“It’s an investment. Those new ones are... well, if you’re looking for a vintage model, I know some people. I could do any bodywork you need,” he offers. 

“Really? Oh, Bucky, you’re so sweet!” You chime. 

His mouth slants, curving at one corner. He takes a swig of his drink. 

“Not really, doll,” he rests his chin in his hand. “But for you, I’ll try.” 

[v4mpire45]

The Things He Doesn't Know — K. Bakugo

This is part 8 of the series, so other parts will be on the m.list.

☞ Link: click here.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Jealous female reader

Synopsis: When you realize you're in love with your childhood best friend, but force you're feeling's down for the sake of your friendship.

Author's note: I'm so sorry this took so long to get out, I needed time to think about ideas. And I'm working on other works at the moment. This is also a bit short, but only because the next part will be juciy.

Things have been good, or as good as they can be.

You and Bakugo have kept your promise to each other. The two of you have been spending more time together, slipping back into the familiar rhythm of your friendship.

And honestly? It feels like you've gotten your best friend back.

You've missed this. A lot more than you'd like to admit.

Maybe it was stupid, holding onto something like this so tightly. But Bakugo had been there for you through everything. Before the war, before all the chaos. When you met, you butted heads just as much as you got along, but somehow, through all the fights and challenges, he became your person.

The one who understood you without needing to say much at all.

And after everything, after the war, after all the distance that formed between you, getting him back felt like getting a part of yourself back.

Not that you'd ever tell him that.

But there's a shift you can’t quite put into words. Maybe it’s just in your head, maybe it’s nothing at all, maybe it's been here all along and you’ve been ignoring it, but when you’re with him, there’s this... awareness.

This weight in your chest tightens when he’s close loosens when he laughs, and straight-up betrays you when he does something as simple as calling you by your first name.

But lately, Kimiko's been watching. Not just Bakugo, you. And you don’t like what’s behind those eyes.

Today, training drills had been assigned. Nothing new, just the usual combat sparring to sharpen reflexes and adapt to different fighting styles.

You were heading toward Mina, already expecting to pair up with her, when a familiar voice grunted behind you.

"You. Me. Partners."

You turned, blinking as Bakugo stood there, arms crossed, already walking off like your answer was obvious.

"Oh. Okay...!"  You tried to sound casual, but your voice had a little too much enthusiasm to pass as apathetic.

Before the war, you and Bakugo were almost always partners for these kinds of things. Sure, sometimes he’d go with Kirishima, and you’d switch it up with Mina or Jirou, but you were a duo.

Then the war happened.

And after that, Kimiko came along, sliding into the space beside him like it was hers to claim. You stopped partnering with Bakugo. Maybe you didn’t even realize how much you missed it until now.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Kimiko’s gaze, her expression unreadable. She had been heading toward Bakugo, too, but he hadn’t even looked her way. Instead, he had gone straight to you.

Not your fault. He made his choice.

Still, you felt her eyes on you like a weight.

The spar was intense.

Bakugo never held back. Not with you. Not with anyone. But today, it felt different. More focused. Like he was pushing you, not just physically, but daring you to keep up. And you did.

Sweat beaded on your forehead as you dodged another one of his attacks, skidding back just in time to avoid the explosive blast.

You shot forward, aiming a kick toward his side, but he blocked, catching your ankle with a firm grip before shoving you back.

"Too slow,"  he taunted, a smirk pulling at his lips.

"You’re just fast," you shot back, adjusting your stance.

"Damn right I am," he said, rolling his shoulders before lunging again.

The tension was there, thick, buzzing. Maybe it was just your own head making it worse, but every time he moved closer, every time his eyes locked onto yours with that sharp intensity, your breath caught for half a second too long.

And every time you caught a glimpse of Kimiko watching. You waved at her when Bakugo wasn’t looking. She only narrowed her eyes and turned back to her own partner.

The match ended when Bakugo finally got the upper hand, knocking you onto your back with a hard sweep of his leg. He loomed over you, hands on his hips, panting slightly.

"You finally tired yet, dumbass?" he muttered.

"Not even close," you lied through your teeth, even as you struggled to catch your breath.

His smirk widened, but he didn’t press it. Instead, he just held out a hand, which you grabbed without hesitation. His grip was firm, warm, steady.

And maybe you held on half a second longer than necessary.

After training, everyone had packed up, heading back to the locker rooms. You took your time, changing into your uniform, running a towel over your damp hair before slinging your bag over your shoulder. As you stepped out of the girls’ locker room, a voice called out behind you.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?"

You turned to see Kimiko, standing a few feet away, hands on her hips, her expression unreadable.

"Oh, um... sure?"

She smiled, but there was something off about it. Before you could react, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you aside, leading you into a quieter corner of the hallway.

Then, she let go. Crossed her arms. Tilted her head. And that fake little smile faded.

"So," she said, voice deceptively light. "What’s going on with you and Bakugo, hmm? Do you like him or something?"

Your throat went dry. "What? No, I—" You let out an awkward laugh. "That’s— what are you even talking about?"

Kimiko huffed, unimpressed. "Hmph. Yeah, sure."

For a second, she just stared at you, then sighed. "Y’know, I’ve been meaning to ask since that party. The one where you told me to ‘hop off Bakugo’s balls.’" She raised an eyebrow. "Kinda funny, isn’t it? Considering you’re the one acting all territorial now."

Your stomach dropped. "I—I didn’t mean—"

"Save it," she cut you off with a wave of her hand. "You already apologized once, remember? I don’t need you groveling again."

You hesitated. "Then why bring it up?"

Her expression shifted, something unreadable behind her eyes. She glanced away for a moment before exhaling sharply.

"Because," she said slowly, "I think you and I both know you’re full of shit."

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked off, leaving you standing there.

You didn't know what was worse, the fact that she called you out so easily.

Or the fact she might be right.

© 2025 v4mpire45 — All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

Tags: @tsukikoxo @pet1t3 @anon-mouse223 @nepenthes-things @hakkoyo @ita606 @raeroowrites @dreamybabbyy @ghostkat23 @channnee @sanriihoe @ch3rryjampi3 @eyesforbkg @charlotterosea13 @chuugarettes @mtsudaa @myblogsucks @emmaafinchh @adherethecomingofage @uhsakusa @shewki @galaneiaeris @surprisemodafakas @uhnanix @ilovemushroomss @bakunianadecorazon @bonbonbytes @snoozebunz @wowbon @holobean @littlestinkybastardman @closehereyes

[scarletwinterxx]

Every second from now I'm gonna love you completely - dad jaehyun scenario

helloooo ~ maybe i've been missing jaehyun a bit more these past few days so i wrote this. if you're new here or been here for a while🤣 my first ever series i wrote was a dad jaehyun au, it's like my first born. when i wrote that i was still trying to find my writing style, all i know was i wanted to write it. so excuse my mistakes there haha but in case you haven't read it or want to re-read it, click here !!

sooo yea, i have a few more stories lined up. thank you all sooooo much for the love🤍

For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025. Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pic not mine, credits to rightful owner)

It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon, and you’re sitting on the couch, flipping through a book, when Jaeyoon, your husband’s carbon copy, plops down beside you with a loud sigh.

You glance at him. “What’s up, baby?”

Jaeyoon props his chin on his hands. “Mom, can I ask you something?”

You smile knowingly. “You’re always asking me something, Jaeyoon.”

He grins, then immediately launches into his first question. “If a fish gets thirsty, does it drink water?”

You blink. “Uh… technically, yes. But freshwater fish absorb water through their skin, and saltwater fish drink water through their mouths.”

Jaeyoon’s eyes widen. “Woah. So fishes are just drinking and absorbing all the time?”

You chuckle. “Pretty much.”

He nods like he’s processing something groundbreaking. Then—“Okay, next question.”

You raise an eyebrow. “There’s more?”

“Do clouds get tired from floating all day?”

You stare at him for a second before bursting into laughter. “Jaeyoon, where do you come up with these?”

Jaeyoon shrugs, completely serious. “I just think about them.”

You shake your head, pulling him into your arms. Your once little newborn now here having the most random conversions with but you won’t have it any other way.

“You have the biggest brain.” you mumble against his hair

Jaeyoon grins, cuddling into your side. “And I have one more question.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Last one?”

“Last one,” he promises. Then, looking up at you with those big, curious eyes, he asks

“Why do you love me so much?”

Your heart melts on the spot. You hug him even tighter, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Because you’re you, Jaeyoon. You and your sister is my heart beating outside my chest, you’re the best parts of mom and dad”

Jaeyoon sighs happily, snuggling closer. “That’s a good answer, Mom”

You smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He yawns. “Okay, I’m done asking for now.”

You smirk, stroking his hair. “For now?”

But Jaeyoon doesn’t answer—he’s already drifting off, safe and warm in your arms. And you know that tomorrow, and every day after that, there will be a million more questions.

A few hours later, the sky is darker outside. Jaehyun is sitting in his home office, fingers gliding over his laptop keyboard as he reviews a contract. It’s the weekend but he’s trying to catch up on some work after taking a family vacation. The room is quiet except for the occasional clicking of his mouse—until the door swings open without a knock.

Jaeyoon, his youngest who is now 5, marches in “Appa, what are you doing?”

Jaehyun doesn’t even look up. “Working.”

The little man who looks just like him pads closer, tilting his head. “What kind of working?”

Jaehyun sighs, glancing at his mini me. It’s like whenever he looks at his son he sees himself, something you always say is unfair but still love completely

“CEO work.”

Jaeyoon gasps dramatically. “Woah. That sounds so important.”

“It is.” he chuckles at his son’s amusement at such a mundane adult thing. 

Instead of leaving, Jaeyoon clambers onto Jaehyun’s lap, making himself very comfortable. Jaehyun automatically moves his arm to keep the documents from getting messed up, but he doesn’t protest.

Jaeyoon peers at the screen. “What’s that?”

“A contract.”

“What’s a contract?”

“A business agreement.”

“What’s an agreement?”

Jaehyun sighs through a chuckle. “When two people decide on something together.”

Jaeyoon nods like that makes total sense. Then, after a beat he speaks again “Can I type?”

Jaehyun lifts an eyebrow. “Depends. Are you going to send my company into chaos?”

Jaeyoon beams. “Maybe!”

Jaehyun shakes his head but moves his laptop slightly so Jaeyoon can reach the keyboard. “Okay, go ahead.”

Jaeyoon excitedly taps a few random letters: hgfldj.

“Wow,” Jaehyun says, nodding seriously. “That’s some next-level business strategy.”

Jaeyoon grins. “I’m a CEO too now.”

“Yeah?” Jaehyun leans back. “What’s your company called?”

Jaeyoon thinks for a moment, then dramatically announces, “Jaeyoon’s Snack Empire!”

Jaehyun laughs. “Sounds like a profitable business.”

“Yep. We sell ice cream, barbecue and cookies.”

“Smart.” Jaehyun grins. “I’d invest.”

Jaeyoon gasps. “Really?”

“But I want 50% of the company.”

Jaeyoon narrows his eyes. “Appa, that’s too much!”

Jaehyun smirks “Negotiation. That’s part of being a CEO too.”

Jaeyoon groans dramatically, sliding off Jaehyun’s lap and climbing onto his desk instead. “This is so hard.”

Jaehyun just chuckles, adjusting his laptop. “Welcome to my world, buddy.”

Jaeyoon sighs but doesn’t leave, now playing with a paperweight on the desk. Jaehyun lets him, continuing to work as his little boy fidgets and chats about everything. And even though Jaehyun is busy, he doesn’t mind at all because no matter how important his work is—his little CEO-in-training will always be more important.

Chaeyoon bursts through the front door, kicking off her sneakers without much care. Her backpack slides off her shoulder as she yells, “Mom! You won’t believe what happened today!”

You glance up from the kitchen counter, where you’re slicing fruit for Jaeyoon’s afternoon snack. Your five-year-old son is sitting on a stool, swinging his legs while munching on a cookie.

“What happened, sweetheart?” you ask, wiping your hands on a towel.

Chaeyoon drops her backpack with a thud, walking over with wide eyes, as if she’s about to share the most shocking news of the year. “A boy—Mom, a boy—asked me to get ice cream with him after school.”

You blink, taking a second to process. “Oh?”

Jaeyoon gasps dramatically beside you. “Noona, are you getting married?!”

Chaeyoon groans. “Jaeyoon, no! It’s just ice cream!”

You bite back a smile, setting the knife down. “So, who is this boy?” you ask, keeping your tone light

Chaeyoon sighs, pushing her hair back. “His name is Minho. He’s in my class. We sit next to each other in science, and I guess we’re kinda friends?” She pauses, then adds, “But I didn’t say yes yet.”

“Why not?” you ask curiously.

She frowns. “I dunno. It felt... weird?”

Jaeyoon leans closer, eyes shining. “Did he say you’re pretty?”

Chaeyoon glares at him. “I’m not talking to you about this.”

You chuckle, running a hand through her hair despite her protests. “Well, I think it’s sweet that he asked. Do you want to go?”

She hesitates. “Maybe? But also... I don’t know what Dad would say.”

Ah. There it is.

Jaehyun, your loving but sometimes very overprotective husband, has always been a little sensitive when it comes to his little girl growing up.

And you can already imagine his reaction.

You smile, wiping your hands on a dish towel as you watch your daughter shift nervously. “Well,” you say casually, “if you want to go, then you can tell your dad. I’m sure he’ll say yes.”

Chaeyoon’s eyes widen in pure betrayal. “Mom!”

Jaeyoon giggles beside you. “Appa is gonna explode!”

You laugh, ruffling your son’s hair before turning back to Chaeyoon. “Sweetheart, your dad never says no to you. If you tell him, I bet he’ll—” you pause, thinking of Jaehyun’s usual soft spot for his kids, “—well, I’m pretty sure he’ll say yes.”

The truth is, even you aren’t entirely sure how Jaehyun will react to this one. He can’t say no when Chaeyoon asks for another bedtime story or when Jaeyoon wants to sleep in your bed after a nightmare. He folds instantly when they give him their puppy-dog eyes.

But this? His little girl being asked out for ice cream by a boy? This might be the one thing that actually shakes him.

Chaeyoon huffs, crossing her arms. “You just want to see what he says.”

You grin, leaning on the counter. “Maybe a little.”

Jaeyoon claps excitedly. “I wanna tell Appa! I wanna see his face!”

Chaeyoon groans, but she’s laughing, too. “I should just say no and avoid this whole thing.”

You tilt your head. “Is that what you want?”

She hesitates, then sighs. “No. I think I wanna go.”

“Then you should tell your dad,” you say simply, enjoying this way more than you should

Just as you say that, the front door opens, and Jaehyun walks in, loosening his tie with one hand. “I’m home,” he calls out, his voice warm but tired from the workday.

Jaeyoon immediately jumps down from his stool and runs to him. “Appa! Noona has big news!”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing as Chaeyoon groans again. “Jaeyoon!”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow, looking between the two of them before his eyes land on you. “Big news?” he repeats, stepping further inside.

You give Chaeyoon a small smile. “Go on, sweetheart. Tell him.”

And as she shifts nervously, you watch Jaehyun. He’s completely unaware that his world is about to be shaken.

Jaehyun’s brows furrow slightly as he looks at Chaeyoon. “What’s going on?”

Chaeyoon groans, shifting on her feet. “Ugh, this is so embarrassing…” She glances at you for help, but you simply smile and motion for her to go on.

Jaeyoon, impatient as ever, blurts out, “A boy asked Noona to eat ice cream with him!”

Silence.

Jaehyun blinks. Once. Twice.

Then, very slowly, he turns to Chaeyoon. “What?”

Chaeyoon groans again, covering her face. “Ugh, I knew this was going to be a thing.”

Jaehyun stays completely still, processing. You watch as his jaw tenses ever so slightly, and you swear you see his fingers twitch like he’s fighting the urge to tighten his tie again. You bite your lip, thoroughly enjoying this.

Jaehyun clears his throat. “So… a boy.”

Chaeyoon nods reluctantly.

Jaehyun continues, “And he asked you to get ice cream?”

Another slow nod. Jaehyun blinks again, still looking like his brain is buffering. Then, he shifts his gaze to you, as if asking for backup.

You shrug innocently. “I told her if she wants to go, she should ask you.”

His eyes narrow slightly. He knows exactly what you’re doing.

Jaeyoon tugs at Jaehyun’s sleeve. “Appa, are you okay? Your face looks weird.”

Jaehyun exhales slowly, rubbing a hand down his face. Then, after a long pause, he looks at Chaeyoon again. “Who is this boy?”

“Minho,” she mutters.

“Minho,” Jaehyun repeats, like he’s committing the name to memory for later investigation. “How old is he?”

“He’s in my class, Dad.”

Jaehyun nods, still processing. Then, in a very calm but very careful voice, he asks, “And why does he want to take you out for ice cream?”

Chaeyoon shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe because we’re friends? And he likes ice cream?”

Jaehyun exhales again, then finally looks at you. Help me, his eyes plead.

But you just smile sweetly. “So? Can she go?”

His lips part like he wants to say no. You know he wants to say no. But this is Chaeyoon, his baby girl. The same baby girl who used to sit on his lap and call him her prince. The same one who still kisses his cheek before bed. And as much as he wants to protest, Jaehyun has never been able to say no to her.

He sighs, finally dropping his shoulders. “Is he coming here?”

Chaeyoon shakes her head. “We were just gonna meet there after school.”

Jaehyun nods slowly. “Fine. But—” he raises a finger, his CEO voice slipping through, “—I want to meet him first.”

Chaeyoon groans but smiles. “I knew you were gonna say that.”

Jaeyoon pumps his fists. “Noona’s going on a date!”

“It’s not a date!”

Jaehyun mutters under his breath, “It better not be.”

And as you watch him struggle between being a protective dad and trying to respect Chaeyoon’s growing independence, you can’t help but laugh.

Jaehyun shoots you a look. “You set me up.”

You grin. “Maybe a little.”

Later that night, after the kids are asleep, you and Jaehyun finally crawl into bed. The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting warm shadows across the walls.

Jaehyun lets out a deep sigh as he sinks into the mattress, rubbing a hand down his face. “Today was… a lot.”

You chuckle, turning to your side to face him. “Oh, you mean finding out your baby girl is growing up and might actually hang out with a boy?”

Jaehyun groans dramatically, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

You laugh, scooting closer and resting your head against his shoulder. “You survived.”

“Barely,” he mutters.

You trail a finger along his arm, feeling the tension still lingering in his muscles. “You know, you are going to have to deal with this eventually. She’s not always going to be your little girl.”

Jaehyun removes his arm from his face, turning his head to look at you. “She’ll always be my little girl.”

You smile softly. “I know, but she’s also getting older. And you can’t scare away every boy who looks at her.”

He smirks. “Wanna bet?”

You laugh, swatting at his arm. “Jae”

He sighs again, rolling onto his side so he’s facing you. “I just… I know she’s smart, and I trust her. But the thought of some boy liking her—of her liking him back—it makes me insane.”

You gently brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “Because you don’t want to let her go.”

Jaehyun exhales, his eyes softening. “Yeah.”

You press a kiss to his forehead. “You don’t have to. She’ll always need you, just in different ways.”

He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “You always know what to say.”

You grin. “That’s why you married me.”

Jaehyun chuckles, his grip tightening slightly. “One day, some boy is going to look at Chaeyoon the way I look at you.”

Your heart warms at his words, but you also see the slight panic in his eyes. You press your palm against his cheek, making him meet your gaze. “And when that day comes, you’ll be okay. Because you’ve shown her what real love looks like.”

He stares at you for a moment before exhaling and burying his face in your neck. “You’re too good at this.”

You laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “I just know my husband.”

Jaehyun hums against your skin. “Remind me to keep Jaeyoon small forever. I can’t handle two of them growing up.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Good luck with that.”

He tightens his hold around you, as if holding onto this moment—onto you, onto the family you’ve built together. And even though you know he’ll always be a little overprotective, a little reluctant to let go, you also know that no matter what, Jaehyun will always, always be the best dad to your kids.

You’re still wrapped up in Jaehyun’s arms, the warmth of his body keeping you perfectly comfortable, when you suddenly feel something or someone climbing onto the bed.

A small hand pats your cheek. “Mom.”

You groan softly, burying your face into Jaehyun’s chest. “Mm… too early, baby.”

Jaeyoon isn’t deterred. He pats your cheek again, more insistent this time. “Mom. Appa.”

Jaehyun grumbles lowly, his grip on you tightening as he tries to stay asleep. “Five more minutes, buddy.”

Jaeyoon ignores him completely. “Noona is going on a date today.”

Both you and Jaehyun immediately open your eyes.

Jaehyun sits up so fast that Jaeyoon nearly topples over. “It’s not a date!” he says, voice still groggy but fully alert now.

Jaeyoon giggles, climbing onto his lap. “But Appa, they’re getting ice cream.”

Jaehyun exhales, running a hand down his face. “Why does this feel worse when you say it like that?”

You stifle a laugh, sitting up as well. “Sweetheart, did you come in here just to remind us?”

Jaeyoon nods enthusiastically. “Uh-huh. And also because I’m hungry.”

Jaehyun groans, flopping back onto the bed. “This family is going to be the death of me.”

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his cheek before turning to Jaeyoon. “Alright, let’s get you some breakfast.”

Jaeyoon claps happily and slides off the bed. But before he leaves, he turns to Jaehyun with a mischievous grin. “Appa, what if Noona kisses Minho?”

Jaehyun sits up again. “That’s not happening!”

Jaeyoon giggles and sprints out of the room before Jaehyun can say anything else.

You shake your head, laughing as you reach for Jaehyun’s hand. “You okay, babe?”

He groans, throwing himself back onto the pillows. “No. I need coffee. And maybe therapy.”

You chuckle, tugging him up. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get through today first.”

Jaehyun sighs dramatically, but when he looks at you, there’s warmth in his eyes. “Only because you’re here.”

You smile, squeezing his hand. “Always.”

Later after school, you’re in the living room with Jaeyoon who’s sprawled out on the floor, coloring in his favorite book. He hums a little tune as he draws, completely unbothered by the fact that his Noona isn’t home yet.

You, on the other hand, are very aware of the time. Not because you’re worried but because you know who will be. Right on cue, the front door opens. Jaehyun steps inside, immediately loosening his tie and checking his watch. Again.

You don’t even get the chance to greet him before he says, “What time did you say Chaeyoon was coming home?”

You smirk. “I didn’t say.”

Jaehyun lets out a long sigh, kicking off his shoes. “It’s already past five.”

Jaeyoon looks up from his coloring. “Appa, you checked your watch like a hundred times.”

Jaehyun ignores him, turning to you instead. “Have you heard from her?”

You shake your head, amused. “She texted when she left school. She’s probably still with Minho.”

Jaehyun visibly clenches his jaw. “Still?”

You chuckle, patting the couch beside you. “Babe, relax.”

Jaehyun does not relax. Instead, he pulls out his phone, scrolling as if that will somehow make Chaeyoon text faster. “I should’ve picked her up.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? And then what? Sat between them at the ice cream shop?”

Jaeyoon bursts into giggles. “Appa would’ve stared at Minho like this.” He scrunches up his face, narrowing his eyes into an intense glare.

You laugh. “That’s exactly how he’d look.”

Jaehyun groans, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t funny.”

You reach over, tugging him down to sit beside you. “It’s a little funny.”

Jaehyun grumbles but lets you pull him close. He leans back against the couch, checking his watch again.

“She’ll be home soon,” you assure him. “And when she gets here, you can interrogate her all you want.”

Jaeyoon gasps dramatically. “Appa’s gonna use his CEO voice!”

Jaehyun huffs. “I am not.”

Jaeyoon grins. “Are too.”

Jaehyun doesn’t argue because maybe he is. Just a little. Just as Jaehyun is admiring Jaeyoon’s latest masterpiece, a crayon drawing of your family with an extra large version of himself. There’s the sound of the front door unlocking.

Jaehyun immediately checks his watch again.

You smirk. “See? She’s home at a perfectly reasonable time.” Jaehyun doesn’t respond. Instead, he stands up, crosses his arms, and waits.

Chaeyoon steps inside, setting her backpack down before kicking off her shoes. “I’m home!” she calls out casually.

Jaeyoon runs up to her, arms flailing. “Noona! Did you have your date?”

Chaeyoon groans. “It wasn’t a date, Jaeyoon.”

Jaehyun clears his throat. Loudly. Chaeyoon turns her head and there’s her dad. Standing in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, looking exactly how she expected him to.

She sighs, dragging her feet toward the couch. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. “Get what over with?”

“The interrogation.” She plops onto the couch, throwing her arms over the backrest. “Go ahead, Appa. Ask your many questions.”

Jaehyun doesn’t waste a second. “How long have you known him?”

“Like a year, we’re classmates”

“Why haven’t I heard about him before?”

She sighs. “Because you’re like this.”

Jaehyun ignores that. “Does he have good grades?”

Chaeyoon blinks. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I need to know if he’s responsible.”

Chaeyoon groans. “Yes, Appa, he has good grades.”

Jaehyun narrows his eyes. “What did you talk about?”

“Ice cream. School. Normal stuff.”

“Did he—” Jaehyun’s expression turns even more serious. “—hold the door for you?”

Chaeyoon stares. “…Yes?”

Jaehyun exhales, nodding slowly. “Okay. That’s a start.”

You shake your head, fully entertained by this. Jaeyoon climbs onto the couch beside Chaeyoon. “Did you hold hands?”

Jaehyun immediately looks at her.

Chaeyoon gags. “EW. No.”

Jaehyun nods approvingly. “Good.”

Chaeyoon groans again. “Ugh, Appa, you’re so dramatic. It was just ice cream.”

Jaehyun eyes her for a moment before finally sighing, sitting down beside her. His posture softens a little. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

Chaeyoon leans against him with a small smile. “I know. And I promise, Minho is just a friend.”

Jaehyun lets out another deep breath, wrapping an arm around her. “Okay. But next time, I want to meet him.”

Chaeyoon pulls away, eyes wide. “Appa. No.”

Jaehyun shrugs. “I need to make sure he understands that you have a very intimidating father.”

Chaeyoon groans dramatically, flopping onto the couch. “You’re impossible.”

Jaeyoon grins, climbing onto Jaehyun’s lap. “Appa, when I get a girlfriend, you can meet her, okay?”

Jaehyun blinks. “What?”

You burst out laughing as Jaehyun looks like he’s about to have an entire crisis.

Chaeyoon smirks. “Yeah, Appa. You have two kids to worry about.”

Jaehyun groans, rubbing his temples. “I need another coffee.”

And as the kids giggle, and you lean into him with an affectionate smile, you realize you wouldn’t trade this chaotic, loving family for anything.

The call from Jaeyoon’s school comes in the middle of the afternoon. You answer, and the moment you hear the words "Jaeyoon had a little accident during an activity," your heart skips a beat. The teacher quickly reassures you that he’s okay ust a scraped knee and a little bump but you’re already grabbing your bag.

Jaehyun, who had just gotten home early from a meeting, notices the shift in your expression. “What’s wrong?”

You exhale. “Jaeyoon tripped at school. He’s hurt, but they said it’s not too bad.”

Jaehyun’s face hardens. “Let’s go.”

Within minutes, the two of you are in the car, driving to the school. Jaehyun grips the steering wheel tightly, jaw clenched. He doesn’t say much, but you can tell his mind is racing.

When you arrive at the nurse’s office, Jaeyoon is sitting on the little cot, his legs swinging as he stares down at his bandaged knee. His face is scrunched up in frustration. The moment he sees the both of you, his lips press together in a thin line, and he immediately sits up straighter.

“Hey, buddy,” Jaehyun says softly, crouching down to his level. “What happened?”

Jaeyoon crosses his arms. “I tripped during the race.” His voice is a little wobbly, but he clears his throat, blinking rapidly. “But I’m okay. I didn’t cry.”

You exchange a glance with Jaehyun before sitting beside Jaeyoon. “It’s okay if you want to, sweetheart.”

Jaeyoon shakes his head stubbornly. “Big boys don’t cry.”

Jaehyun sighs, reaching out to pull Jaeyoon into his arms. And the moment he does, Jaeyoon completely melts  He buries his face in Jaehyun’s chest, his small fingers gripping onto his father’s shirt. A choked little sob escapes him, and then, suddenly, he’s really crying.

Jaehyun just holds him tighter, one hand cradling the back of his head. “It’s okay, buddy. You can cry.”

Jaeyoon sniffles, his tiny shoulders trembling. “I tried so hard, Appa.”

“I know,” Jaehyun whispers, rubbing his back. “And you’re still the bravest boy I know.”

Jaeyoon clings to him, sobbing softly. Jaehyun doesn’t rush him, doesn’t tell him to stop he just lets him feel everything, lets him be small in this moment.

You stroke Jaeyoon’s hair gently. “You know… being strong doesn’t mean not crying. It means getting back up even when you’re hurt.”

Jaeyoon sniffles, pulling back slightly to look up at Jaehyun. “Really?”

Jaehyun nods, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. “Really. And you did get back up, didn’t you?”

Jaeyoon nods hesitantly. “Yeah…”

Jaehyun smiles, kissing the top of his head. “Then you’re the strongest boy I know.”

Jaeyoon lets out a little hiccup, then slowly finally smiles. “Okay.”

You and Jaehyun exchange a soft look, hearts swelling with love for your little boy.

And as Jaehyun lifts Jaeyoon into his arms, holding him close all the way to the car, you know no matter how big he gets, Jaeyoon will always have a place to feel safe.

The drive home is peaceful, the soft hum of the car engine filling the quiet night. Jaeyoon and Chaeyoon are completely knocked out in the backseat, their heads tilted at awkward angles, mouths slightly open.

Jaehyun glances at them through the rearview mirror and smirks. “Didn’t even last five minutes.”

You chuckle, watching Jaeyoon’s little chest rise and fall steadily. “I knew Jaeyoon would fall asleep fast, but Chaeyoon too? She must’ve been really full.”

Jaehyun shakes his head fondly. “She tried to act like she wasn’t, but I saw her struggling with that last piece of meat.”

You laugh softly, resting your head against the car window. The streetlights blur past, casting a warm glow over the quiet city. The moment feels so calm—just the two of you, with your babies fast asleep in the back.

Jaehyun exhales, one hand still on the wheel, the other casually resting on his lap. “Feels like just yesterday they were tiny.”

You smile, your heart swelling at the memories. “I know… Remember when Chaeyoon was born? We had no idea what we were doing.”

Jaehyun lets out a low chuckle. “You figured things out fast. I was freaking out every five seconds.”

“You were not.”

“I was.” He shakes his head, eyes still on the road. “I was scared to even hold her at first. She was so small.”

You glance back at your daughter, now twelve, long legs curled up on the seat. “She’s not so small anymore.”

Jaehyun sighs. “No, she’s not.”

There’s a beat of silence before he smiles softly. “Jaeyoon, though… That boy came into this world yelling.”

You laugh, covering your mouth to keep quiet. “Oh, God, he was so loud. The nurse literally said, ‘Wow, this one has a lot to say.’”

Jaehyun grins. “And she was right. He hasn’t stopped talking since.”

You sigh, glancing out the window. “Sometimes I wish we could go back. Just for a little while. Hold them when they were tiny again.”

Jaehyun reaches over, taking your hand in his and squeezing gently. “I know.” His voice is soft, full of understanding. “But we’re still here. Still watching them grow.”

You smile, lacing your fingers with his. “And freaking out over ice cream dates.”

Jaehyun groans, tilting his head back. “Don’t remind me.”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “You’ll survive, babe.”

He glances at you with a smirk. “Will I?”

You grin, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Of course.”

Jaehyun chuckles, eyes crinkling as he pulls into your driveway. “As long as I have you.”

And as you sit there, watching your babies sleep peacefully in the backseat, you realize—these moments, the quiet ones, the ordinary ones—are the ones that make life so beautiful.

[celestialgalaxyglow]

Batfam and Danny, Part 26

At Jason's office at his Gang's Headquarters.

Danny: Nice office.

Jason: Thank you. Now before my governors arrive remember, the Red Hood that they work with is not the Red Hood that works with the Bats. The Red Hood that works with the bats is a wannabe and only wears a simple domino mask, while I am the original Red Hood who wears a helmet that covers my whole head.

Danny (trying not to laugh): And the two Red Hoods have major beef with each other.

Jason (smiling): Yes it's a little dumb, but I can't go around as both a vigilante and a crime lord, I need to keep both of those identities separate.

Danny: But why the same name? You already have two entirely different suits for both Red Hood identities.

Jason: I thought it'd be funny.

Danny: I guess.

Jason: And you're not Phantom, you're my new righthand man, Phantasm, a extraterrestrial child who I adopted.

Danny: I am born of the stars themselves, I have not flesh but am made of stardust, look into my eyes for they hold the universe itself.

Jason (proud dad): Making your skin look like the night sky was a nice touch to hide your identity both as Danny and Phantom, but did you really have to make your face devoid of features except two green voids for eyes? It's a little creepy.

Danny smiled, revealing razor sharp teeth in front of a green void. Jason leaned back, a little scared of his son's flair for the dramatic.

Jason: Case and point... the suit is nice though, I like the sci-fi look.

Danny: Thanks dad.

There's a nock at the door.

Jason (sat up): You may enter.

The doors opened and four goons walked in.

The Goons (happy): Good morning boss!

The four goons walked towards Jason's desk and stood in front of it. Only then did they notice the strange alien child. They looked at Danny, then at Jason, then back at Danny, then finally back at Jason.

Jason: Good morning everyone, I would like you to meet my new righthand man, Phantasm, he is an alien child that I have adopted.

Goon #1: You're a dad?

Jason: Yes.

Goon #2: We have a nephew!

Goon #3: I'm an aunt!

Danny: What...?

Jason (embarrassed): We're all family here, if you wear my bandana you're my family, speaking of here you go.

Jason handed Danny a red bandana with the silhouette of Jason's hood embroidered in the middle with white silk.

Danny: It looks like you.

Jason: That's the idea, that way people know that if you mess with this person, you're messing with the Red Hood's family.

Danny (wrapping the bandana around his neck): It's cute.

Goon #4: It was your dad's idea.

Goon #3: We love it, we may be criminals, but we do crime with style.

Goon #2: By the way welcome to the family, little boss.

Goon #1: "Little boss," that's so cute, can we call you that?

Danny: Sure thing!

Jason (clearing his throat): As sweet as this is, we're here to talk about past month's reports. Sarah, do you mind stating us off?

Sarah "Goon #3": Sure thing boss, the Northern Sector has done well this past month, we were finally able to stop the drug ring that popped up there two months ago, we deposited the ringleaders at Commissioner Gordon's station.

Jason: Good, those bastards should have never showed up there in the first place, we're going to have more diligent in the future.

Sarah: My apologies, the north is my sector, I should have never let that happen.

Jason: It's alright Sarah, we all make mistakes, I wouldn't have made you one of my governors if I wasn't confident in your skills.

Sarah: Thank you.

Jason: Robert, what of the Eastern Sector?

Robert "Goon #1": All is well, the orphanage just opened its new wing, now we can accommodate another hundred kids. The new home ed. classrooms have also finished construction, but we're still looking for teachers properly qualified to teach.

Jason: Let's get working on that, those kids need to learn basic life skills, but remember to do thorough background checks, those kids have been through a lot, they don't need a maniac teaching them how to cook or how to use a circular saw.

Robert: You got it boss.

Jason: Amelia, what of the south?

Amelia "Goon #2": The Southern Sector is doing well, our food bank is still going strong thanks to Wayne Enterprises' weekly food donations. There is one thing however, this week the WE agent overseeing the delivery approached our head of operations for the food bank and said that Mr. Wayne would like to make a direct donation of 100 million dollars so we can expand our current location, as well as open a few more around the city. Elizabeth said she would have to talk to her superiors before accepting such a large monetary donation, the agent is expecting a response by the next delivery in five days.

Jason: How n̵͓̟̏͌i̴͎̎̔͜c̸͍̺͆̔è̷̢ of Mr. Wayne, I should pay him a visit to thank him in person. Amelia you can tell Elizabeth that she can accept Mr. Wayne's g̴̞̲̈́e̷̺͌n̶̞̝̉͒ḛ̷̹̍̀r̵̤͙̅o̶͎͆u̷͎̎s̴̪̒͌ donation. I'll also entrust you with setting up a committee to appropriate those funds, simply show me the names for approval.

Amelia: I'll start drawing up a list.

Jason: Henry, what of the west?

Henry "Goon #4": Uneventful, the arts academy is almost ready to open, the whole placed is furnished, we have staff lined up, final details should only take us a few more weeks, at most a month.

Danny: Arts Academy?

Henry: Hood's Academy for the Arts, a school to teach kids more artistic subjects, painting, pottery, acting, dancing, music, photography, cinematography, poetry, and the boss' favorite writing.

Jason: A well rounded education should allow kids to express their creativity, the Academy will hold classes during the weekends, as well as a summer semester for those who would be interested. We will be able to enroll as many as 5,000 students.

Henry: We made sure to hire a large staff, there will be plenty of teachers to ensure each classroom is a reasonable size, as well as many deans, councilors, library staff, and other members of administration, everything and anything that will make the students' time at the academy as easy and assessable as possible.

Jason: Thank you Henry.

Henry: Sure thing boss!

Jason (standing up): Well if that is all, then we're done here.

Sarah: Boss, wait!

Jason: Yes?

Sarah looked at Amelia.

Amelia: We're throwing a party, to celebrate all the progress we've made this month.

Robert: We know parties aren't your thing, but everyone would be happy to see you attend.

Henry: It'll make everyone's day.

Jason looked unsure about accepting the invitation, he looked over at Danny who was giving him a "please dad, let's go" face.

Jason (sighed): I suppose I can make an appearance.

Sarah, Robert, Amelia, and Henry: Yes!

Robert: You won't regret this boss!

Sarah: I'll run ahead and tell everyone!

Henry: Tonight it's going to be lit!

Amelia: We'll party till dawn!

Sarah, Robert, Amelia, and Henry ran ahead, Jason and Danny followed behind.

Jason: Kid, we will not be able to leave that party till well past dawn, my gang are party animals.

Danny: That's fine, besides you still need to introduce me to the gang at large.

Jason: I suppose that's true.

Danny: Come on dad, relax, you guys did a lot of good this month, you deserve to celebrate.

Jason: Ok, one night, but tomorrow it's back to work.

Danny: You got it!

(Master Post)

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

MR. CHU!

❤︎‬ sol wonders if you're interested in him after you ask about his piercings ❤︎‬ solivan brugmansia x gn reader ‪ ❤︎‬ wc: 2k ❤︎‬ content warning(s): yandere ❤︎‬ solivan brugmansia is from the kid at the back being developed by fantasia-kitt

Like everybody else in the school, you never used to pay much attention to the quiet kid in your art class. It really wasn’t until recently, when you had no choice but to shyly ask him if he’d like to be your partner for a class project, that you finally acknowledged Solivan Brugmansia’s existence. 

You don’t think too much of him. Even now, as he tries his best to pose for you as naturally as he can, your mind is preoccupied with the far-more colorful personalities at Olympeius University while you absentmindedly sketch the details of his face. You wonder what Crowe might be up to right now, or if Jess has made any progress with her ginormous crush on Brittney… 

Your eyes flicker up to where Sol is, and you try to pay close attention to the bottom half of his face. He’s a physically attractive young man, but aesthetics aside, you’re more worried about drawing Sol well so you can wring a good grade out of your insatiable art professor. You squint your eyes a bit, leering at Sol’s lips to try to make out all the details. It’s no biggie in your mind, since you need someone to model for you and you’re simply trying to make your drawing as accurate to life as possible, but Sol?

Sol thinks he’s going to asphyxiate from how fast and hard his heart is pounding.

He can’t believe his luck. It took him all the self control in his body not to start panicking and freaking out when you had approached him and asked him to be your partner, and now he got the honor of hogging all of your attention while you used him as a model. Would it be foolish of him to hope that you like what you see? He knows his fashion sense and style isn’t for everyone and tends to make him a target more than an object of admiration, but… you’re different. You’re understanding and compassionate, and maybe you’d find something worth loving in him.

“Hold still… I’m almost done here…,” you mutter, sticking your tongue out just a little bit as you scribble furiously onto your sketchpad. Sol’s heart skips a beat, and while he can feel a rush of dizziness immediately hit his brain at your cute tongue peeking out from between your lips, he doesn’t want to disappoint you ever. 

After a few determined strokes, you nod at him. For the first time since class started, Sol finally lets himself relax. His tense muscles groan as he finally allows himself to shift positions into a more comfortable seated position, and he looks expectantly at you as if he wants to see your creation. You’re like a mind reader, and without him having to say anything, you gingerly hand him your sketchbook. 

“I’m not an artist like you are, but… I tried my best,” you shyly admit. Sol’s breath hitches audibly when you scoot your seat a bit closer to him to explain to him your handiwork, but you don’t seem to notice. “I- uh- don’t know if I did your piercings justice since you have a lot, but I gave them a shot.”

You could have spat on the paper and handed it to him, and Sol would still treasure and revere it as if it were a masterpiece deserving to be displayed in the finest of art museums. Of course, he would never hand it over to anybody and keep it only for his personal viewing, but in his perspective, everything your hands could create was nothing if not holy. 

“It’s beautiful. You should give yourself more credit. You’re not a bad artist at all.” He thinks he’s going to pass out after class from just how happy he is. A shudder creeps down his spine as he relishes the thought of your eyes all over his face and body, him being the only thing to take up the forefront of your mind. What he wouldn’t give to know what you thought of him as you sketched his face. Just knowing that you cared enough about him to draw him makes him feel as if he’s on top of the world, and he can feel a warm flush overtake his pale cheeks. “Don’t worry too much about my piercings. I know metal can be hard to draw.”

“Yeah, but… I just feel a little bad. They look so cool on you.” You flash him an innocent smile, completely unaware of the mental anguish you’re putting the poor lovestruck boy through. “I’ll keep practicing! That way I’ll be able to draw you perfectly by the end of this project.”

His piercings? Cool? Sol’s heart genuinely can’t take this barrage. What is it about you that has him acting this way? What is it about you that makes him want to drag you away from everybody else and keep you all to himself, to worship and to love? The others around you don’t know how to fully appreciate your generosity and light, how you’re kind to everyone, even misfits like him. He’s the only one who knows how to properly care and cherish you, and he can’t let anybody else steal that role away from him. He’s spent so many sleepless nights chasing after your warmth, eating away bit by bit at the safety of the boundaries you���ve put up. 

Nothing can keep you safe from him. 

You don’t know anything about how he feels though. You’re pure and oblivious to his mental turmoil, completely unaware of the sheer effect you have on him. You keep looking at him as if he was nothing more than an eccentric classmate rather than someone you were fated to, just without your knowledge. You peer closely at his face, before lifting a delicate finger to point at his lips.

“Say Sol…,” you ask him, clearly absentmindedly based on how casual your tone is, “How do you kiss if you have lip piercings?”

…

…

…

Why did you have to ask him something like that?

Sol thinks his brain might have ceased functioning the moment you threw him that question. Nothing—absolutely nothing—has been able to reach him as he plays that memory over and over again in his head. Even the jeers of the school bullies or Hyugo’s incessant chatter couldn’t yank him out of his lovestruck reverie. Sol was on cloud nine, replaying the melodic cadence of your voice over and over and over again within his memories. He could never get sick of you or your many details. Every little bit of information he could glean from you was so precious that he could spend the rest of his life in sheer ecstasy at how perfect you were. 

Hyugo was used to it at this point and knew not to question it. But whenever Sol entered into these almost drunken stupors, it was hard for Hyugo to not worry about him a bit. Sol’s cheeks are dyed a ridiculous shade of bright red, and his hands tremble uncontrollably as he fidgets with his fingers. There’s a lopsided grin on his face, and if Hyugo really pays attention, he can make out a lovesick sigh escape the eccentric young man every now and then.

Sol just wishes he could actually peer into your mind and figure out what you thought of him! What made you ask him such a risque question? Were you interested in him? You had to be somewhat, if you initiated the partnership with him and even called his style cool… Nobody else talked about him that way. Nobody else, save for you, found him interesting. What if you had a crush on him too? Was that why you asked him about kissing? Was this your way of encouraging him to amp up his advances?

It meant that you had to be thinking about his lips. About kissing him specifically. Sol could feel his heart rate pick up dangerously again as he imagines your sweet face approaching his, closing the impossible distance between the two of you bit by bit. How many years, grueling moments, had he waited for this to take place? Maybe you’d be shy and only leave him with a quick peck to his mouth. Or maybe you’d be more gutsy and press your lips fully onto his, making out with him in a way that leaves both of you breathless and gasping for air. His heart squeezes almost painfully inside of his chest at the thought of you being so close, doing something so mundane yet so intimate, showing him a kind of romantic affection that nobody else could share with you…

He wants so badly to be the only one in your eyes. Each minute of class with you feels like torture. He wants nothing more than to close that gap. It doesn’t have to be anything big: placing his big hand on top of yours, poking your nose whenever you get distracted, all the small things that come so easily for normal couples. Kissing would just be the first step. What else could come after? There was a whole myriad of things he could dream of. He’d escort you dutifully to every single one of your classes so that everybody in this school would know that you were his. 

You’d spend more and more time together, and surely, one day you’d invite him over to your apartment that he’s secretly grown so familiar with… Just thinking about it makes his skin bristle with excitement. If everything went as planned, as easily as his daydreams made it look, then he could finally have you in the way that he wanted most.

You had to reciprocate somewhat. You just had to be interested in him as much as he was interested in you. That was what that quick question meant to him, your words construed and twisted beyond belief inside of his delusional thoughts. 

Hyugo puffs one of his cheeks out and peers at his daydreaming friend with a bit of concern. “Are you gonna eat your lunch, Sunny?”

Sol doesn’t respond at all. Hyugo sighs and shakes his head before tapping the side of Sol’s arm. 

“I asked you a question!” The shorter man points at the untouched food in Sol’s lap. Sol bristles to life, the hearts in his eyes melting away as they refocus and Hyugo enters his field of vision again. Hyugo points once again at the abandoned food and raises his eyebrows expectantly. 

Sol deadpans. If Hyugo’s presence wasn’t so convenient, he would have sent Hyugo flying to his death from the rooftop for interrupting his precious time with daydream-you. He lets Hyugo take the food before letting his mind wander again, wind blowing through his air as he wonders what you might be up to right now. Were you thinking of him too? Would you be thinking of him even when he’s not within your immediate vicinity.

He wants to see you so badly right now. He wishes he was in class again, for the first time in his life, so that he could have you right next to him and monopolize your time as he pleases. But Sol knows he has to be patient. One wrong step would have his great expectations come toppling down, and he would rather die than live in a world where he can’t have you anymore.

So he makes up his mind there and then. There was no room for hesitation. You had finally noticed him after all of his time lurking in the shadows, and these passive moments weren’t enough to satisate the brutal appetite you had awoken inside of him. He needs more. He needs more of your time. He needs more of your love. 

If you were so curious about him and his piercings, so curious about the way he kissed, then he’d make the answer as simple as it could get.

He’ll kiss you tomorrow and show you just how he does it.

x

[acynicalsweetheart]

HIII i love ur writing so much !!! if your requests are open (and if they arent, feel free to delete this ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა) may i request curly x fem reader who’s jimmy’s girlfriend, but like curly is head over heeellss for her?

if thats not your style, no worries! you can delete my request for any reason, but thank you so much if you write this!! >_< 😭💗

hai thanku very much anon ♡… sawry it took forever. this is awful omg i had no idea. what direction i wanted to take this in LOL. but here’s your head over HEELS sorry had to… anyway first non dead dove drabble yay

content warning: 18+, infidelity

“Curly, stooppp!” You draw between giggles, playfully slapping his awfully muscular yet plush arm. The kind of plush that makes you want to bite a chunk out of it. 

“What? I’m not doing anything.” Curly flashes you his blindingly white Hollywood smile, fingers tickling your side for the eleventh time in the past five minutes. 

Jimmy glares at Curly. Then at you. His gaze burns holes into your skull like it’s made of lasers. 

You blow a kiss to the scowling face across the couch. 

Frown deepening further than you’ve ever seen before, Jimmy pinches the bridge of his nose. “I need a drink.” 

“Okay, babe,” you speak to Jimmy’s back as he’s leaving the room, returning your attention to Curly to get your revenge by attacking his side for a change. 

His couch squeaks when he squirms away, chuckling and grabbing your wrists. Craning his neck, Curly chimes to the doorway. “Hey, get one for me too!” 

A groan can be heard all the way from the kitchen. 

“Oh,” Curly’s face brightens like he has a revelation, letting go of you to briefly search his pockets to pull out a small velvet box. It looks comically miniature in his hand when he holds it out. “I got this for you.”

“What’s that?” You ask confused and curious, ‘cause it very much looks like he might just propose to you. 

It opens sesame. 

“An anklet.” 

“Oh.” 

Well, thank God. Jimmy would’ve fucking shot Curly if it was a ring. 

“Here, let me…” Curly reaches for your feet, careful in the way he peels off your socks and it’s all oddly romantic. So romantic there’s a slight heartbeat beneath your panties. 

Jimmy would never do that for you and that’s why it’s so wrong. 

“There,” he closes the clasp after a good two minute fumble, adorning your ankle with gold that costs more than your boyfriend’s entire net worth. 

“Oh,” it’s so shiny you can’t help but to blink at it, “wow. You… could’ve just gotten me a bracelet or something, Curly, I mean—“

“I could’ve,” his gentle up-and-down caresses to your calves pause, quickly adding, “but who would’ve gotten you this?”

You both know the answer to that question. 

“It’s not that I—“ 

“Hey, next time, I’ll get you that bracelet.” He pulls out his phone, squinting at the screen as his fingers move. 

“It’s fine, Curly,” you tell him—not wanting to seem ungrateful, “this is more than enough.”

But he’s already typing in his credit card information on the Tiffany & Co website when you look over his shoulder. 

What are you supposed to do? Smack the phone out of his hold? It feels… nice to be appreciated. Jimmy’s never bought you anything—you’re the one buying shit for him. Including his black market drugs. 

“Jim’s not coming,” you note after a long moment of awkward silence, poking your head forward like he’s coming through the doorway any second. 

“I guess not.” Curly says, meeting your eye once you look back at him. 

Almost kind of scary, the tenderness in his gaze. Not like Jimmy’s wolfish one that says he wants to eat you alive. In the cannibal way. 

“You’re gorgeous.”

“Me?” You can’t help but to laugh out loud, it’s so sudden, and Jimmy’s your boyfriend and he doesn’t even think that. “No… no I—“

“You are!” Curly insists, making a motion with his hands towards you. “Doesn’t he tell you that? Doesn’t he…” he pauses again, voice lowering, “show you that?”

“Show me?” 

“Like this,” he leans in closer, like way in-your-personal-bubble type of closer, noses brushing against each other. Curly lifts your chin up like he’s about to do something forbidden. 

You were almost convinced it was a joke till he actually kissed you. 

“Oh!” Lightly pushing on his chest, you stare at him. “Curly, that’s… we can’t.” 

Fisting at Curly’s shirt to pull him closer, you kiss him back. Harder. 

“Stop it,” like you’re not the one sucking on his tongue, tracing the bulge in his pants with your toes. “He’ll kill us!” It’s a half-whisper, half-yell. 

“Nah, I know Jim.” Says Curly, who more than well knows that Jimmy would have both of your heads on each respective stick to then keep as decorations in his trailer, “trust me.”

“Well…” but Jimmy doesn’t seem to be coming back anytime soon—you know him well enough to assume that he’s most likely sulking by now. “Okay then.”

And so you let him lay you down on his couch the way Jimmy did your first time with him. Only Curly is a thousand times more gentle in comparison. You’re a bad person for thinking it, but you almost wish Curly was your first. 

You’re still desperately kissing when his hands trail up your thighs, creeping under the hem of your dress to pull down your panties. Curly gets them about halfway down when you hear the unthinkable and the unmistakable. 

The cock of a gun. 

Jimmy’s holding this pesky little revolver that he probably found in his mom’s bedside drawer—the same one she blew her brains out with—pointing it at Curly and you with an expression resembling a wild animal more than a human face. 

[dduane]

Hi Diane, I really want to sell my writing independently, rather than through Amazon, and you're one of the only writers I know who does. Do you have any advice for setting up something like ebooksdirect, or is that something that requires specialised knowledge and an existing readerbase to be feasible? (no worries if you can't get to this question, I know you get a lot)

Off hand I'd say that Ebooks Direct would not work at all if I didn't already have a readerbase* that knows what I do. So if you don't already have that, I'm not at all sure I can recommend this particular style of going indie (or hybrid-indie).

It's also a lot of work running your own online sales space. And in terms of server space, website management, and so forth, it runs into pretty serious money, over time. Which (from month to month, freelancing being what it is) you can't always be sure you'll have. Plus it takes up valuable time that you could also be using to write, and which you will always grudge having to spend. Around here that means "On average, an hour or two a day..." —and then to the people who say "That doesn't sound like much," one adds "... for fifteen years." ...Those hours pile up.

If you're just getting started, what I would strongly recommend is that you build your sales as best you can on one or more of the online platforms—obviously choosing the one(s) least objectionable to you—and at the same time work to build a mailing list to whom you can regularly market your work via newsletter. Much further down the line would be the time for you to think about a bookstore of your own... by which time (who knows?) the independent publishing field may have done what it loves to do, and changed shape once again into something none of us could have predicted. (Insert eyeroll here.)

In any case: good luck with your marketing... but much more importantly, with your writing! Because an online bookstore has to have something in it... and something that people like to read. Let creating that writing be by far your first and most important concern. :)

*I should really correct that to say "a number of readerbases", as due to the no-internet state of the world prevailing during my first couple decades' work, most of my readerships are very "siloed" and tend to know me for only one thing. The Star Trek readers tend not to know about the LGBTQ adult fantasy: the Young Wizards readers tend not to know about the very assorted MCU and DCU fiction, and so on, among all the possible permutations of I-never-knew-she-wrote-any-of-THAT!. It's almost as if nobody ever goes to one's website to find out whether their favorite [insert genre here] author does something else besides what one already knows them for.

Meanwhile, I'm just grateful for the many who remember my name, :)