#yeah this was way easier than picking OCs

[damneddamsy]

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

RECONSTRUCTION ALGORITHM—A process begins to build from the wreckage.

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

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[drysdalesworld]

loving this Eklund family series! Would love to hear about Oskar going to a game!

oskar, papa’s #1 fan!

series masterlist

pairing(s): mom!reader x son!oc x dad!william eklund

genre: fluff

warning(s): usual hockey stuff (fights, penalties, etc.). also, oskar is well spoken for a 3 ½ year old in this blurb, so let’s just ignore that & say he’s just advanced in his speech abilities

note(s): it’s like you’ve read my mind. i was planning on doing something like this & now, here it is! this is also a really long blurb. technically it can count as an imagine, but i didn’t want to transfer everything onto a google doc & then onto here to get a word count lol. ending’s a little shit, but hope you enjoy it!

The early morning skate had been a success for the Eklund boys.

William had managed to convince Ryan Warsofsky, his head coach, to allow Oskar to tag along for the teams morning skate.

The whole team had been excited to have the boy skated up on the ice. Albeit him being so young and tiny, he had pretty good balance on the ice, only falling or tripping over his feet a handful of times.

Macklin Celebrini and Will Smith had taken it upon themselves to entertain the young Eklund boy during practice. They played tag with him during water breaks, pretending to trip over their feet so the three-and-a-half year old could tag them. They passed pucks between his legs and practiced their stick handling skills, making the little boy giggle as he chased the rubber pucks. Macklin even held Oskar in his arms at one point, the child sideways as the teenager skated, the two making casual conversation.

Oskar had a blast to say the least.

When the two had arrived home an hour after you woke up, the child began talking about how much fun he had and how he couldn’t wait to do it again (mostly gushing about the two teenagers who played with him the entire practice). He promptly passed out on the couch after he ate his second breakfast of the day. William had joined his son not too long afterwards, both Eklund boys asleep on opposite ends of the furniture.

William had quietly left the house after he woke from his nap a couple of hours before he needed to be at the rink again. He placed a gentle kiss on the crown of Oskar’s head before softly kissing your lips, a silent goodbye to the both of you so as to not wake up the sleeping boy.

Getting Oskar ready wasn’t as much as a hassle as it usually is. He didn’t fuss or pout as you got him dressed and ready, proudly wearing his custom jersey.

“Ready to see Papa play?” You asked, holding his much smaller hand in yours as you both walked into the bustling arena, Felicia Wennberg trailing behind the two of you with her own children.

“Yeah!” Oskar exclaimed, excitement clear and buzzing.

He always loves seeing his Dad play and make plays out on the ice. He thought it was enchanting to watch him play. Oskar always complimented how he liked the way his Father skated out on the ice, as if he was floating. Everything about his Father, even his job, seemed surreal and amazing. He truly looked up to him in more ways than one.

“You think he’ll score tonight?” You questioned, picking him up to make it easier to maneuver your way to your designated seats.

“Of course! Papa’s a good scorer, Mama,” Oskar replied, head on your shoulder as he watched other fans of the Sharks and Bruins alike walk around. “Or he’ll get a pass”.

Oskar’s hockey terminology isn’t up to par with William or yours, so you know that he’s referring to an assist when he mumbles pass.

The two of you, including Felicia and her two kids, finally made it to your saved and designated seats by the other wives and girlfriends. It wasn’t too close to the glass but not far off where William wouldn’t be able to spot you both from the ice.

“Hope the boys break the Bruins win streak,” Felicia hopefully muttered to you once you all sat down, the two of you shoulder to shoulder while Oskar sat on the left of you and her children sat on the right of her.

You nodded in agreement. “I hope so too. It’d be good to get another win on the board”.

Conversation between the two of you flowed easily, both of your children also following into chatting as all five of you wait for warmups to start.

Warmups were Oskars favorite part of hockey games. He liked seeing all the things each individual player did before a game, especially whatever routine his Father decided to do that night.

“Mama?” Oskar asked, standing up in his seat as he leaned over to get your attention. “Can we go down to see Papa?”

“Of course! We always do, Ossie bear” you replied, swooping him in your arms as you kissed his pink cheeks.

By the time the five of you made it down to the glass, players had begun to skate out, flying by fans banging on the barrier separating them from the players.

Oskar had immediately began to bang on the glass with his palms, yelling for his Father, trying to catch his attention.

Macklin Celebrini had been the one to beeline towards the Eklund boy. A big smile spread on the tees lips, waving to Oskar as he held a puck in his hands, tossing it up over the glass for Oskar to catch.

“Hey, buddy!” Macklin exclaimed, tapping the glass with his gloved finger.

Oskar shrieked in excitement, holding the puck close to his chest as he slapped the glass. “Mack! Mack!”

Spotting his teammate animatedly talking to his son and wife, William grinned and made his way to the center player.

William gently collided with Macklin, wrapping his arms around the front of the teen, the both of them bouncing off the glass and spinning slightly.

“Papa!” Oskar shouted, hand slapping on the glass even harder. “Look! I got a puck!”

The young blond boy held up the puck that Mack tossed the child, grin so wide all of his teeth showed.

William smiled back at his son, rustling Macklin’s hair before the teen skated off to continue his warmup routine.

“I see that, bud! That was nice of him,” he commented, tapping the glass like the teen before him did.

His eyes darted up to you, the familiar look of adoration painted on his face as he watched you interact with Felicia and your son. William loved seeing the two of you at his games. It’s essentially what he lived for—seeing the two most important people in his life support him through every game and milestone in his career.

“Want to stay for media tonight, bud?” William asked, tossing pucks to fans near the two of you. “We can get gräddglass (ice cream) afterwards.”

At the mention of ice cream, Oskar nodded in agreement and you shot your husband a look, telling him that no matter the result of tonight’s game, he was in charge of taking care of Oskar during his sugar rush.

William only smiled, pressing some of his gloved fingers to his lips and putting them on the glass, his usual tell of ‘I love you’ before skating off. You and your son copied his action, eyes following as he ran off to join the others in their warmups.

“Hi, I’m so sorry” a voice piqued, catching your attention as you turned towards the direction of where the voice came from. “But would it be possible for me to get a picture with you? You’re just—You’re the coolest WAG ever!”

You chuckled a little, nodding as you adjusted Oskar in your arms.

The girl smiles widely and takes out her phone, leaning in a little and snapping the picture, all three of you smiling.

———

It had been a stressful first period.

The Sharks were shooting every chance they got, but none of them were successful. The game was tied at 0-0 for both teams going into the first intermission.

But within minutes of the second period, William had received a pass from Macklin, rushing down the ice as no one one the other team had been on defense. A Bruins player tried to block William’s shot, but his, and the goalies, efforts were in vain as the puck made contact with the net, the loud buzzer sound erupted throughout the arena.

Oskar jumped up from his seat, screaming at the top of his lungs.

“Oh my God!” Felicia screamed, jumping up and down along with her children. “He scored!”

You had been standing up the second William’s stick touched the puck this period. You cheered alongside your son and close friend, embracing your son as you lightly shook him in your hold.

“Papa scored! Papa scored!” Oskar cheered, toothy smile on his face as he pumped his hands in the air in excitement.

As chaos and cheers erupted from the stands and ice, William took a moment from his celebration and pointed at the two of you, his gloved fingers touching his lips beforehand. He smiled widely up at you and Oskar, smoothly gliding across the ice on his way back to the bench.

You returned the favor and smiled back just as big, your son still cheering in your arms.

It was moments like this that made it all the more worth it to support your husband in his dreams. You knew every goal was dedicated not just to you and Oskar, but everyone else who supported him in his endeavors.

“Looks like Ossie’s staying for media tonight,” Felicia muttered to you, smiles still decorating your faces.

You laughed at her comment, nodding to it as Oskar continued to celebrate his Fathers first goal of the night.

“There was no shot he wasn’t going to do it. He’s going to steal all the spotlight from William,” you added, your son now perched in his seat, adamantly watching the game on the ice.

It was moments like these that you thanked whatever higher power that you had the life you had. You were forever grateful that you landed in William’s life and that he made it all worthwhile.

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | JJK ch 3

“For good service, and cute waitresses”

pairing: premilitary!jk x secret fuckbuddy! oc

contents: mild language, no smut (yet), fluff, humour, celeb au, very mild angst, slowburn </3

wc: 6k

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: if anyone wants to join pls comment!!

a/n: this fic is going so much better than id thought it would! i love it and cant wait to progress. Nari’s might also come across as mean, but know its in a best friend way and she truly does love oc. ENJOY MY LOVES <3 p.s, all interactions are much appreciated, pls dont be afraid to let me know what you think:)

masterlist | < previous | next >

You find yourself back at Nari’s apartment. These days, it’s the only place you feel like going to. Your own place feeling like a lost cause- clothes piling up, draped over your desk chair you could’ve sworn you cleaned up last week, dishes in the sink that you could’ve sworn you’d washed yesterday. Work has been exhausting, and when you’re not caught up in the bustle of the diner, you’re busy running errands and keeping up with side hobbies, using them as an excuse to avoid everything else.

At least at Nari’s, things feel a little less overwhelming, and it’s easier to forget everything else.

And Nari doesn’t mind, she’d never mind.

She’s in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a glass of wine, her free hand lazily scrolling through her phone. Her TV hums in the background, playing some trashy reality show neither of you are actually watching. You’re curled up on the couch, knees pulled to your chest, fingers absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on the throw pillow in your lap.

You’ve been quiet for way too long, and though you are a quiet person by nature. It’s never been truly quiet with you around Nari.

And Nari notices. Of course she does.

It’s not past a second before she side eyes you over her glass, pausing mid scroll. “Alright” She says, pushing off the counter. “What’s going on with you?”

You blink up at her. “Huh?”

“You look like you just got caught committing a crime,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Spit it out.”

You shake your head quickly. “It’s nothing.”

Nari stares at you for a second longer, then sighs, putting her phone down on the counter. She’s walking over, the heels of her socks dragging slightly against the floor, and plops down next to you, pressing her shoulder against yours.

You hesitate, fingers tightening around the pillow. The words are there, right at the tip of your tongue, but saying them out loud makes it feel too real.

Nari doesn’t give you the chance to stall any longer. She sets her phone down and walks over, plopping down on the couch next to you. “You’ve been sitting there looking like you’re about to have a breakdown for the past twenty minutes,” she says. “Either you tell me what’s going on, or I start guessing, and you know I have no filter.”

You exhale sharply. “It’s not that serious.”

Nari just stares. “Yeah, okay. So why do you look like you’re about to throw up?”

You press your lips together, debating whether you should even bring it up. It’s stupid. It really is. But the anxiety has been eating away at you since he did it, and if anyone’s going to tell you if you’re being ridiculous, it’s Nari.

You reach into the pocket of your hoodie and pull out a small, crumpled piece of paper. For a second, you just hold it between your fingers, staring at it like it as if that would make it disappear. Then, finally, you place it on the coffee table between you and Nari.

She frowns. “What’s that?”

You swallow. “Jungkook left me his number.”

There’s a beat of silence. Nari blinks. Then she blinks again, leaning forward to get a better look at the paper, like she needs to confirm that you’re not messing with her.

“Wait—Jungkook?”

You nod, heart hammering against your ribs.

“As in the Jungkook?” You nod again, looking at her as if to say: yeah Nari, who else?

Nari lets out a sharp breath, eyes darting between you and the paper. “And you’re telling me this now?” She takes the paper from your hand “Saturday?! Seriously? It’s been 2 days and you’re only telling me now?” She whines, smacking your arm lightly.

You shrug, biting your lip, not trusting yourself to say anything.

Nari stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. “And what exactly is the problem here? Did you text him? Has he shown up to the diner again?”

You bite your lip. “What if it’s a joke?”

Her expression drops into something unimpressed. “What?”

“What if I actually message him, and he laughs in my face? What if this is just some silly game?” You cross your arms, shifting uncomfortably. “Imagine I actually text him, and it turns out he just left it to mess with me.”

Nari looks at you like you just suggested jumping into oncoming traffic for fun. “Are you stupid?”

You blink. “Yes! What- No. Ugh! I dont know?”

“Why the hell would he give you a fake number? Celebrities don’t just do that.” She picks up the paper, waving it in your face. “And Jungkook? He doesn’t seem like the type to waste his time playing games.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” she cuts you off. “I saw the way he was looking at you. That man is not out here giving his number to random women for fun.” She shakes her head. “And even if it was a joke—which it isn’t—you’d at least know. Right now, you’re just sitting here torturing yourself over something you haven’t even done yet.”

You press your lips together, stomach flipping. “I don’t know, Nari.”

“I do know.” She leans back against the couch, arms crossed. “And at the very least, now you can get a heads-up before he randomly shows up again and you dont have to shit your pants every time he does.”

You let out a laugh, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Yeah, but you saw what happened last time…”

Nari rolls her eyes. “Listen I get that- Crazy fans and shit? Not it, but you could be missing out on something big here.” She shrugs, taking a slow sip of her wine, like this isn’t making your entire brain short-circuit. “Worst case scenario? He doesn’t respond. Best case scenario? Well.” She smirks. “I don’t think I need to spell it out for you.”

You stare at the number again, nerves buzzing under your skin.

Fuck it.

Your fingers twitch as you pick up your phone, opening your messages. You hesitate, heart in your throat.

The phone sits between you and Nari on the couch, untouched. You haven’t stopped staring at it since she made you unlock it, since she made you pull up Jungkook’s number and prove to her that it’s really there. His name isn’t saved, obviously—you’re not that delusional—but it’s there. Sitting at the top of your recents, right where you left it.

And you hate that it’s there.

Nari sighs. “Alright, I literally can’t take another second of this. Either you text him, or I’m throwing your phone out the fucking window.”

Your body jerks up immediately. “I can’t text him.”

She looks at you like you’ve personally offended her. “Yes, you can.”

“No, I actually can’t.” You grab a pillow and shove your face into it. “You do it.”

A scoff. “What? No.”

“Nari, please.” Your voice is muffled, desperate. “I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.”

“You literally will,” she deadpans. “Probably within the next hour.”

“I’m serious.” You peek at her from over the pillow. “Please, just send the first message.”

“You’re being ridiculous. He wouldn’t have given you his number if he didn’t want you to use it.”

“Or maybe he gave it to me as a joke.”

She groans, standing up and dragging a hand down her face. “Oh my fucking God. What is wrong with you?”

“If I message him, and he laughs at me, I’m never leaving this apartment again.”

She rolls her eyes, dropping back onto the couch beside you. “Yeah, because Jungkook has nothing better to do than sit around and make fun of random girls.”

“Exactly.”

Nari grabs your arm, shaking you. “You’re so stupid.”

You let out a strangled sound as she shakes harder, knocking you against the couch cushions. “Nari, stop—”

“No, because you’re actually so stupid. I saw the way he was looking at you.”

You groan extra loud.

Nari shoves you again, this time hard enough that you almost fall sideways. “You are so dramatic.”

“Okay, then you message him,” you whine, turning back to her with wide, pleading eyes. “Please. Just send one text, and then I’ll take over.”

She groans, leaning her head back against the couch. “Fine. But I’m not doing ‘Hi, this is YN.’ That’s lame.”

You nod immediately. “Yeah, no, that’s boring.”

She thinks for a second, then smirks. “What if we go with, ‘Hey, soldier, miss me?’”

You push her. “Stop.”

Nari just laughs. “Or, ooh!—‘I heard boys like you love discipline, so I waited a respectable amount of time before texting. 😉’”

“Im deleting his number.”

“You love me.”

“I don’t.”

She hums, tapping your phone screen. “Okay, what about this: ‘I promise I’m not a stalker, but I did just spend the past two days debating if this was actually your number.’”

You hesitate. “…Okay- Yeah, that’s actually kinda good.”

“Duh.” She types it out and, before you can stop her, presses send.

Your stomach drops. “Nari, what the fuck.”

She throws the phone onto your lap with a smug grin. “Too late.”

You gape at the screen, heart pounding as the message sits there. And keeps sitting there.

Jungkook doesn’t reply immediately.

Which—of course he doesn’t. He’s busy. He’s literally Jungkook. He’s probably off training or singing or whatever idols do in their free time.

Still.

You groan, throwing your head back. “This was a mistake.”

Beside you, Nari pats your head like a disapproving mother. “No, I made a mistake. I should’ve sent, ‘Hey, kookie~, miss me?’”

You nudge her away. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You kind of do. But now, you’re stuck waiting for a reply.

And it’s already driving you insane.

—

Hours pass.

You and Nari don’t do much of anything—just exist in the same space, like always. The TV plays some random drama you’ve both seen a hundred times before, voices droning on in the background while you scroll through your phone and Nari flips through a magazine she doesn’t actually care about. The comfort of it is familiar, easy. This is why you come here. Why her apartment is the only place you really want to be these days.

But none of it stops your eyes from flicking back to your phone every two minutes.

Still nothing.

Nari notices. Of course, she does.

“Y/n.” She doesn’t even look up from her magazine. “Get it the fuck together.”

You huff. “I am together.”

“No, you’re not.” She turns a page, unimpressed. “You look like you’re waiting for an organ transplant.”

You make a face, shifting to sit on your hands so you physically can’t reach for your phone again. “I just—I don’t get why he hasn’t replied yet.”

“Because he’s Jungkook?” Nari deadpans. “You know, worldwide superstar, busy man, famous guy? Maybe, just maybe, he has other shit to do?”

You grumble, kicking at her leg. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?”

You hesitate, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “What if he’s ignoring me?”

Nari groans. “Oh my God. I literally cannot do this with you right now.” She tosses the magazine onto the coffee table and sits up, jabbing a finger at you. “This is what we’re not gonna do, okay? We’re not gonna sit here and spiral. We’re not gonna create insane scenarios in our head. And we’re definitely not gonna act like Jungkook is some high school jock plotting to humiliate you in front of the whole cafeteria.”

You glare at her. “That was a very specific example.”

She shrugs. “I read a lot of Wattpad in my youth.”

“As you should.”

“Anyway.” She leans back, stretching her arms over her head. “Since you clearly can’t function like a normal person right now, I’m declaring a ban on all Jungkook-related thoughts for the next few hours.”

“You can’t ban thoughts.”

“I can in this household.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t argue. Mostly because she’s right—this whole thing is driving you insane, and if you don’t stop obsessing over it, you’re going to lose your mind before Jungkook even gets a chance to reply.

So, you let it go. Or at least, you try to.

The night continues as it always does. You and Nari switch to watching trashy reality TV, taking turns talking shit about people you don’t know. You fight over the last slice of pizza, which Nari wins, but only because she threatens to lock you out of the apartment. You don’t think she’d actually do it, but you’re not willing to take the risk.

Time slips by unnoticed, and before you know it, the sky outside the window has darkened completely.

“You sleeping over?” Nari asks, stretching her legs across the couch.

You blink at her like she’s just asked something stupid. “Of course, I am. What do you think?”

She smirks. “Good. I was gonna make you stay even if you said no.”

You laugh, throwing a pillow at her. She dodges easily, flipping you off in the process.

And then—your phone buzzes.

Your whole body goes still.

Nari notices immediately, eyes snapping to your phone, and then to you.

“Oh my god,” she says slowly. “Tell me that’s who I think it is.”

You don’t answer. Just stare at the screen like it might disappear if you blink.

Another buzz.

Nari lunges forward, but you snatch the phone before she can grab it. Your hands are shaking.

She bounces impatiently beside you. “Well? Open it!”

Swallowing thickly, you finally unlock the screen.

[ iMessage:]

Unknown Number: Took you long enough.

Unknown Number: Was starting to think you weren’t interested.

You just stare. Your stomach does a weird little flip, your heart picking up speed.

Nari, practically vibrating beside you, grabs your arm. “WHAT DOES IT SAY!?”

You lift your head slowly, meeting her gaze with wide, horrified eyes.

“He’s flirting with me-“

Nari screams.

And just like that, everything is chaos again.

Your brain short-circuits.

Your hands tighten around your phone, fingers pressing into the edges like you’re afraid it might jump out of your grasp. Your breathing is uneven, and you’re pretty sure your heart is going to give out right here, on Nari’s couch, before you even get the chance to respond.

Nari grabs your wrist, shaking you violently. “WHAT THE FUCK?! REPLY.”

“I CAN’T.” You clutch the phone to your chest like it’s some kind of secret government file, eyes blown wide in panic. “OH MY GOD, WHAT DO I EVEN SAY?”

Nari looks at you like you’ve just spoken in an ancient language. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, WHAT DO YOU SAY? YOU SAY SOMETHING BACK. LITERALLY ANYTHING.”

“No, no, no, I—” You shake your head frantically, scrambling up onto your knees as if somehow getting higher up will help you think better. “If I reply too fast, it’s gonna look desperate.”

Nari throws her hands up. “Desperate for what? A conversation? Bitch, this is not high school! We are adults. We do not play fucking mind games over text like we’re waiting for our crush to message us back like we’re 15!”

You press your palms over your face, groaning into them. “Oh my God, what if this is a joke? What if he’s messing with me? What if—”

“WHAT IF HE’S NOT?” Nari yells, shoving at your shoulder. “What if he actually fucking likes you, you absolute dumbass?”

You glare at her, shoving her back. “DON’T CALL ME A DUMBASS, I’M HAVING A CRISIS.”

“IT’S A STUPID CRISIS.”

The two of you wrestle on the couch for a second, limbs flying, before she overpowers you and shoves you back into the cushions. You huff, staring up at the ceiling, trying to steady your heartbeat.

A few deep breaths. Then another. Okay. You’re fine. You’re cool.

You roll your head to the side, looking at Nari. “What do I say?”

She stares at you, completely done. “You say, ‘Hey, this is me responding to your text message.’”

You groan, throwing an arm over your face. “Be serious.”

“I am being serious.” She snatches your phone right out of your grip, dodging your grabby hands as she holds it above her head. “Look. You’re overthinking. You don’t have to send an essay, just flirt back.”

You peek at her through your arm. “How?”

“Oh my God.” She sighs dramatically, shifting so she’s sitting on her knees beside you. “Okay, let’s workshop this. He said, ‘Took you long enough. Was starting to think you weren’t interested.’” She pauses. “Ooh, that’s kinda sexy.”

“SHUT UP.”

“I’m just saying.”

You groan again, kicking your legs in frustration. “I hate this. Why am I like this? I should just block him.”

Nari slaps your thigh so hard you yelp.

“YOU WILL DO NO SUCH THING.”

You whimper. “Fine. Just—help me.”

She grins, shuffling closer. “Okay. So, we’re going for playful, yeah? Something that keeps the same energy.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Like, oh? You were waiting for me? That’s kinda cute.”

Your entire body recoils. “EW, no, that sounds so corny.”

She cackles. “Okay, okay. What about, ‘Oh, were you hoping I’d text first? That’s adorable.’”

You blink. “Ugh why are you so good at this?”

“I know.” She flips her hair dramatically. “I am the queen of texting.”

You shake your head, snatching your phone back. “Fine. I’ll say something like that.”

“Good.” She pats your knee. “Now send it.”

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard. Your pulse pounds in your ears. You type the message. Delete it. Type it again. Delete it again. At this point, you’re just spamming letters on your keyboard.

“Nari,” you whisper.

She groans. “What now?”

“…Can you send it for me?”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

You flinch at the volume of her voice. “But—”

“No buts.” She glares at you, unimpressed. “Send it. Now.”

You hesitate for one more agonizing second. And then, taking a deep breath, you hit send.

You both freeze, staring at the screen like it might explode.

The message sits there. Marked as delivered. Silent.

You toss your phone across the couch and bury your face in a pillow.

Nari gasps. “Bitch, what are you doing?”

“I CAN’T LOOK.”

“Oh my God.” She lunges for the phone. “What if he replies? What if he—”

Buzz.

Your whole body seizes up.

Nari screams.

You scream.

Neither of you move.

Buzz.

Another message.

You shoot up so fast your vision goes blurry, scrambling for your phone. Nari practically jumps onto your back, gripping your shoulders as she shrieks into your ear.

You unlock the screen, heart pounding, pulse hammering against your ribs. And then—

[ iMessage:]

Unknown number: Adorable? That’s a new one. You trying to flirt with me?

Your soul leaves your body.

Nari shrieks. “OH MY FUCKING GOD.”

You smack her. She smacks you back. You both devolve into incoherent screaming, kicking your legs and shaking each other like wild animals.

And somewhere in the chaos, it finally sinks in.

Jungkook is flirting back.

This is real.

What the fuck do you do now?

You’re still gripping your phone like it’s a lifeline, staring at Jungkook’s message like the words might rearrange themselves into something less terrifying.

Your brain is malfunctioning. Your hands are clammy. Your heart rate is somewhere near cardiac arrest levels.

“Nari,” you whisper, voice shaky. “What do I say?”

Nari, who has just spent the last five minutes screaming and shaking you like a maraca, suddenly changes tactics. She plops back against the couch, crossing her arms. “Nothing.”

You blink. “What?”

“Nothing,” she repeats, grabbing the remote and flipping through Netflix. “Let him wait.”

Your whole body jolts. “WAIT?”

“Yes.” She leans back smugly. “We’re watching a show. You’ll text him in the morning.”

You gape at her, horrified. “No. No, no, no, please—”

“Yes.”

“Nari, please!” You grab her arm, shaking her dramatically. “I will literally die. My soul will leave my body.”

“Okay, good,” she says, deadpan. “Then I’ll text Jungkook myself and tell him his little admirer died of thirst.”

You let out a strangled noise, throwing yourself back against the couch. “I hate you.”

“You love me.” She pats your knee like you’re a distressed child. “And you asked for my advice, so now you’re gonna take it. No texting until morning. Let him wonder.”

You stare at her, betrayed. “This is evil.”

She shrugs, putting on some random drama. “Welcome to the game, bitch.”

You sulk for a few more minutes, checking your phone every five seconds like a lovesick fool before Nari finally yanks it out of your hands and tosses it across the room.

“BED,” she orders, standing up. “Now.”

You groan but eventually drag yourself to your feet, trudging to her bedroom like a prisoner on death row. When you finally get under the covers, you let out a heavy sigh.

“This is torture.”

Nari snickers, turning off the light. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

You highly doubt that.

—

The next morning, you wake up feeling… slightly less insane. Only slightly.

Nari is still dead to the world when you roll out of bed, stretching with a groan. You grab your phone off the nightstand and check your notifications.

No new messages from Jungkook.

You stare at the screen for a moment, heart sinking slightly. Not that you expected him to double-text you or anything, but still.

Shaking off the disappointment, you tiptoe out of Nari’s apartment and head home. It’s a busy day—you’ve got errands to run, places to be, things to do. You get caught up in it all for a while, hopping from one task to the next.

And then—

Buzz.

[ iMessage ]

Unknown number: So, am I getting a response, or did you decide flirting with me was a one-time thing?

[yurikosinterlude]

'Beautiful Stranger'

{ guitarist oc x singer!male/gn reader }

{ summary: while picking out vinyl records during one of your monthly trips to your local record store, a strange interaction causes you to leave with more than just records~ }

{ cw: none }

{ tag(s): fluff, strangers to lovers }

{ 🌿: stands for y/n}

{🎸: guitarist oc

{ wc: 700 }

{ a/n: hey everyone! i'm writing this drabble so that you guys can get like a sneak peek/preview of how I write and stuff before i release my actual first fic/story! hope you guys enjoy! }

..............................................................................................................................

Midterms week absolutely crushed you. The weeks prior were almost equally as terrible. You had been so focused on studying and passing each exam that you hadn't found time for the fun little activities that kept you sane.

One of these little activities was buying and collecting vinyl records. It was a monthly tradition to stop by the town's quaint record store a couple blocks away from your studio apartment to browse through all of the records, new and old. Occasionally, you'd even buy a few if they caught your eye.

Luckily for your wallet, though, something else caught your eye on that dewy afternoon...a boy.

He wore an open brown, long-sleeved flannel over a fitted white tank top and some baggy jeans. His outfit wasn't what caught your attention though. What made you drop everything you were doing was the fact that he was the most beautiful boy you'd ever seen. And the sun, that stupid afternoon sun was hitting his perfect face in a way that made it almost glow.

'I need to stop staring.' you thought to yourself, but it took everything in you to actually avert your gaze from the beautiful man only a couple steps away from you and continue with what you originally came to do. Stupidly, you attempt to steal another peak at this beautiful stranger, only to quickly look back away as his glistening eyes meet yours.

Your heart began to beat slightly faster and you felt your face and ears heating up as you walked around the store to try to play it off. Finally, you stop in front of a collection of unfamiliar records and rummage for a bit until your face lights up.

🌿:"Carl! I didn't know you guys had Lisa Ono here!"

You shouted to your childhood best friend Carl Sanchez, while admiring the almost untouched state of the record. Carl's parents owned the record store, which is why you made such routine visits.

"We didn't until recently. My aunt donated a bunch of records! There are lots more if you keep looking." And you did just that. You rummaged some more through the new pile of records and put the Lisa Ono record in your tote bag to make it easier to search when you hear an unfamiliar voice behind you.

🎸:"You're a fan of Lisa Ono?"

You turn around to identify to speaker and answer their question, but- it's him! It's that boy whose sun-kissed face kept you distracted earlier!

You begin to fiddle with your fingers as you give an awkward response,

🌿:"I- uh- yeah- yes, I love her- and her music.."

You take the record back out of your tote and stare at it for a while before finally speaking.

🌿:"This one is my favorite of hers actually. My mom used to play it while cleaning."

Your lips curl into a slight smile as you remember.

🎸:"I play her a ton on my guitar actually, her songs are probably my favorite to play if I'm being honest."

The boy said, his slightly raspy voice sending butterflies flitting around in your stomach.

🌿:"You play guitar?"

🎸:"Yeah, I've played since I was in middle school. I love it."

'Could he be any more perfect?' you think to yourself.

🎸:"What about you?"

🌿:"H-huh?"

🎸:"Do you play any instruments?"

🌿:"I-"

🎸:"Wait-Lemme guess.."

He says slightly squinting and looking you up and down. (Which only worsens your flustered state).

🌿:"..."

🎸:"Flute. Final answer."

🌿:"I sing actually.."

you say letting out a small giggle, finally meeting his gaze.

🎸:"That was my second guess."

He grins revealing two perfectly dimples on either side of his face.

🎸:"Hey, we should totally get together someday and do a duet or something, assuming you're a good singer..."

You chuckle,

🌿:"Also assuming you don't suck at guitar."

🎸:"Fine then, you're on. See you soon- Hey I actually never got your name..?"

The boy says, as he tilts his head slightly and observes your face.

🌿:"🌿."

🎸:"Cool. See you around 🌿."

And just like that, your beautiful stranger was gone. You watched as he walked out of the little store and let out a disappointed sigh as you realize you didn't ask for his name. So a beautiful stranger he will remain.

.

.

.

yurikosinterlude ©️ 2024 ❁ pls don't plagiarize, copy, repost, or translate my works at all ❁ (or atleast without creds :3)

[flipppyflopp]

“No sleeping in, not even on my birthday. There’s too much to get done to waste the day in bed.” 🎉✨

Happy birthday to my twst oc, Arlen Nox! I decided to do my spin on the new birthday card theme for Arlen even though they haven’t released a Diasomnia character yet, so Arlen might not match Silver and the others when they come out. Trey and Floyd were big inspirations for Arlen’s card from his to his pajamas. Specifically for his pajamas I wanted to incorporate Kingdom Hearts elements since Arlen’s main inspiration is Riku, so I tied in some dream eater references.

If you swipe you can see how Arlen spent part of his birthday as well as what presents he received from his friends. Below you can read Arlen’s birthday vignette written in a similar style to the new birthday vignettes, which guest stars the character voted as Arlen’s duo partner on Instagram…Silver! I hope you all enjoy and if you have any questions about Arlen, feel free to leave them in my inbox! ✨

.✨✨✨.

Arlen: Alright, I should be able to take these back to my room before track practice.

Arlen: Wait a second…who’s that lying on the ground up ahead? Are they hurt?

Arlen: Oh, it’s just Silver. I don’t have time to waste…but I hate to leave him in case he’s in a hurry to get somewhere too.

Arlen: Silver? Wake up, Silver. Now’s not the time to be napping. Silver! SILVER!

Silver: Huh? What? Oh, Arlen, it’s you.

Arlen: Yeah, sorry about yelling in your ear. You were sleeping pretty soundly.

Silver: Sorry for the trouble I caused. I appreciate you taking the time to wake me up.

Arlen: It’s fine. I was just on my way back from the post office and saw you laying there on the side of the path.

Silver: Post office? Not many students go there with all the technology available today.

Arlen: Unfortunately, I’m not the best with technology, so I go there quite frequently. Today, I was picking up a card my stepparents sent me.

Silver: A card? Were they congratulating you about your performance in the recent track meet?

Arlen: No, they sent me a birthday card.

Silver: Birthday? I’m terribly sorry if I missed it. Happy-

Arlen: Slow down, Silver, my birthday’s not until tomorrow.

Silver: Really? I apologize for getting ahead of myself.

Arlen: Quit apologizing, birthdays aren’t a big deal anyways. Just another day of the year.

Silver: Oh? Are you not a fan of big celebrations on your birthday?

Arlen: Not really? I don’t know, I just don’t understand the need to get so worked up about them. All you’re doing is getting older, what’s there to really celebrate?

Silver: Hmm. I suppose people just like to celebrate that you lived another year, uplifting your growth and the memories you made in that short span of time.

Arlen: Sounds about right, I guess. The best part’s getting to eat cake.

Silver: Really? I thought you weren’t a fan of sweets?

Arlen: Just ice cream, it’s way too sugary for my tastes. I enjoy cakes and pies just fine.

Silver: That explains Malleus’s initial reaction to you…

Arlen: Huh?

Silver: It’s nothing, just…hold on a moment, I just got a text from Sebek.

Silver: Oh no, I was asleep longer than I thought. I must be getting to the Equestrian Club. Farewell, Arlen!

Arlen: Bye, Silver.

Arlen: Guess I’d better hurry on myself. Chatting with Silver’s nice, but I can’t be late to practice or else I’ll have to run extra laps.

.✨✨✨.

Arlen: There’s nothing like a hot shower after practice.

Arlen: Speaking of practice, I need to write down my new personal best. Can’t believe I managed to shave off four seconds today. Maybe it’s some early birthday luck.

Arlen: The next track meet isn’t for another month, so I’ve got plenty of time to cut down more time off my personal best. I wish I could shave off some more time from our relay record, it could definitely use some improvement.

Arlen: Competing individually comes easier to me than competing as a group. When it’s just me, I only have to worry about myself. When I’m competing with others, I not only worry about myself, but I have to worry about the other guys as well. It’s a lot of trusting one another, which doesn’t come easily…especially in a school like Night Raven College.

Arlen: Luckily, Jack and Deuce handle their share of the relay just fine. Although, I wonder if by becoming closer it would shave off time for our relay….hmmm. Maybe I’ll treat them to dinner tomorrow after practice, they’d enjoy that.

*Bzzt*

Arlen: My phone? Who could that be? Oh, Soren wants to FaceTime. Sure for just a couple minutes.

Soren: ARLEN! What took you so long? It took you like three rings instead of two! What-

Arlen: Slow down, Soren. I just got back from showering after practice. I’m a bit sore today.

Soren: Oh, I see! Must be trying to beat my time from the track meet last week.

Arlen: Yeah right, you’re the one trying to catch up to me. Speaking of which, you’re going to have to work harder, I just shaved off four more seconds.

Soren: WAIT WHAT?! YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME! Kai won’t believe me when I tell him tomorrow.

Arlen: I could always send you a picture of my time as proof.

Soren: Ha ha, very funny. Laugh it up while you can, you’ll be eating my dust soon enough.

Arlen: As if.

Soren: Oh let me tell you what happened in class today! So I was sitting with Neige…

*Time Passes*

Soren: I couldn’t believe it when Chenya came out of alchemy lab with bright green hands.

Arlen: Well that’s what you get when you mix aloe and pixie dust.

*Knock*

Lilia: Arlen, it’s past lights out. Off to bed with you.

Arlen: My bad!

Arlen: Sorry, Soren, we’ll have to talk later.

Soren: That’s fine. But before you go, I’ve got one last thing to say to you.

Arlen: What?

Soren: Happy birthday, Arlen!

*Click*

Arlen: Huh? Is it really-

Arlen: We talked for that long!? So that’s why he kept flying through topics, just to get to midnight.

Arlen: Wait…

Arlen: Why was Lilia doing lights out checks so late!? What was he doing?!

Arlen: No use wasting time thinking about that. I’ve got to get to bed so I can get up early.

.✨✨✨.

Arlen: Time to start the day. It’s nice waking up early because the dorm bathroom is completely empty. Most people don’t get up at the crack of dawn like I do. Sometimes I run into Sebek or Malleus, which is quite the jump scare as Idia would say.

Arlen: Alright, quick shower then it’s time to head out.

Arlen: I don’t spend too much time on my appearance. Just combing my hair, brushing my teeth, the usual. No point spending extra time when it’ll just get messy from the wind later.

Arlen: Some guys go all out with makeup and hair products, but that’s just not my thing. Just some lotion will do just fine. Dry skin gets on my last nerve.

Arlen: Alright, next on my morning routine. Time to go get the feed from my room. I like being outside early, it’s a good way to clear my head. I feed the animals around the dorm while I’m at, might as well since I’m already out.

Arlen: I can see the birds waiting up in the rafters of the courtyard. They always wait up there, never getting close till I put the feed out…I hope they’ll grow to like me some day. Animals just don’t seem to like me, I get it though.

Arlen: Hmm?

Arlen: A little sparrow is hopping right in front of me? Want something to eat little guy?

Arlen: Huh? Another bird’s come down? A rabbit too? I haven’t even put down any food yet!?

???: Getting along with the animals, Arlen?

Arlen: Silver! That explains why the animals got closer than normal.

Silver: I’m sure they’re just finally coming around to you.

Arlen: As if.

Silver: You just gotta have more confidence in yourself. The animals can tell you’re nervous. Here.

Arlen: Huh? What are you doing with that bird? Silver, wait-

Silver: Just put your hand out like so and the bird will have a nice place to sit. Perfect.

Arlen: Silver, take it back before I hurt-

Silver: You’re fine, just breathe. See? It’s okay.

Arlen: …

Silver: Arlen? I’m sorry if I rushed you into-

Arlen: So what are you doing up so early? Doesn’t a sleepyhead like you snooze through the morning.

Silver: Usually, yes, but I had something important this morning.

Arlen: Really?

Silver: Arlen, happy birthday.

Arlen: Huh? Ha…ha ha ha!

Silver: What’s so funny?

Arlen: Something important? It’s just my birthday. You said that like it was the secret to saving the world from darkness or something.

Silver: It’s important to me. I wanted you to know your birthday mattered to me, so much so I wanted to be the first to say it.

Arlen: Really? That’s…really kind of you. Thank you, Silver.

Silver: You’re welcome, Arlen. I hope you don’t think that’s all I prepared, I also made some coffee cake in the kitchen for breakfast.

Arlen: Pulling out all the stops aren’t you.

Silver: Of course for a friend like you.

[bunni-v1]

Hi!!! just wanted to let you know that i absolutely adore all of your headcanons, and that you’re SUCH an amazing writer! I can tell that you put a lot of care into characterization and how a character would react in certain scenarios, and you do such a good job with it all it’s crazy!!!! Like no joke you’re one of the very few writers on here that i’ve genuinely thought wow WOWWW THEY JUST GET ITTTTT

i’d love to hear more about your oc (s) if you’re ok with sharing!! i’m always reluctant to write or share any oc related stuff tbh thus it’s so amazing whenever someone i admire shares their oc content :)

OK ONE MORE THING YOUR CRK HCS ARE SOOO AMAZING WAHHHH this game is filled with food related things but i have been starved of content so the headcanons are to me like drinking fresh spring water after being lost in a desert for days 😭😭

Well, thank you I'm very flattered! I won't say the same lines again, but I really do appreciate the kind words from everyone. They make my day seeing them in my askbox and make difficult things feel much easier you know? It seems like the cookie run fandom is particularly dry writing wise, so I'm glad I can offer y'all something to drink for now.

Since you asked, I'll elaborate a little more on Mimi, specifically her relationship with the Beasts (pre and post corruption lol)

Pre-Corruption

Her relationship with Shadow Milk Cookie is the most important one here. While she is technically considered beneath him, he treats her as if she were his equal. With the amount of time she spends beside him, it's really no wonder how they fell in love with one another. (Yeah, I know, shut up lemme be a loser). Her sweet and innocent outlook on life helps him relax from work, and his more logical grounded way of thinking helps her to keep herself grounded in reality. They complete one another, and despite Strawberry Shortcake being magicless, he treats her as if she is the god of the two of them. Watching his descent into deceit was the hardest on her, reasonably so. While he was never outwardly unkind to her, she saw the way he changed into a cookie she didn't recognize, right up until he sent her away to try and spare her of that pain.

Eternal Sugar Cookie is her best friend within the Heroes. Their sweet and friendly personalities mix well, and they're always giggling about something when they're together. The two of them spend her time in Eternal Sugar's domain going about, picking flowers, dancing around, spending time with the citizens, and much more. Eternal Sugar Cookie was the main reason Shmilk and Shortcake got together, subtly nudging both of them in the right direction until finally they confessed. She's Strawberry's biggest cheerleader, pushing her to have fun and do what she likes, rather than aimlessly listening to what the Heroes say. Strawberry Shortcake was not around to see Eternal Sugar's fall, but when the news reached her in the spire she was inconsolable for weeks.

Strawberry Shortcake Cookie seemingly does not fit in within Mystic Flower Cookies' borders, but she is welcomed with open arms regardless. Mystic Flower and her subjects quietly welcome the burst of life that Strawberry Shortcake brings to the normally calm and quiet environment. While they aren't as close as the previous two, they still care for each other quite a bit. Mystic Flower always offers Shortcake a place to rest and recuperate when she is feeling overwhelmed by her duties. They spend most of their time together meditating or silently enjoying tea and sweet treats. Mystic Flower's fall was the least traumatic for Shortcake, being more subtle and not changing her behavior toward Shortcake as much as the others. She did offer to return her to the flower but allowed her to be free when she expressed her discontent at the idea.

Shortcake and Burning Spice Cookies relationship is that akin to siblings. They tend to bicker and argue about meaningless things, but they don't dislike the other, they just show affection differently. It was Burning Spice who taught her how to defend herself from those who might mean her harm, it was he who insisted she stand up for herself when others pushed her too far, and it was he who ensured her peace of mind personally when she came to visit. (He also swore up and down that Shmilk would have hell to pay if he ever hurt her.) Furthermore, she is a beloved figure by his subjects, worshipped alongside him due to his soft spot for the sweet cookie. She was there when the clutches of Destruction overwhelmed him, he nearly crumbled her, only sparing her because of his former attachment to her.

She and Silent Salt Cookie never quite clicked the way the others did with her. She was too opposite of them, so light and bright where they were dark and stoic. They were a seasoned warrior, and she was a happy-go-lucky girl. Still, they respected each other enough. She kept them comforted through night terrors, and they ensured she stayed happy and safe within their borders. A symbiotic relationship formed between them, a silent understanding they mutually came to. They did not let her see them falling, sending her away and refusing her entry. When she heard of the news of them falling, she found herself grateful for their care of her yet again. She regretted not getting closer to them, but she figured they liked the relationship as it was, or else they would've done more.

Post Corruption

Shadow Milk Cookie kept a close eye on his most beloved little dolly. When she went to the witches he nearly lost himself to rage and fear, only placated by the knowledge that she too was searching for answers. She was searching for him, just like he asked, so how could he be angry with her? No, he was pleased with her and how sweet she was, and he was proud when she found her own footing. Seeing her grieve was hard on his heart, unable to reach out and wipe those tears away. Oh, and when he finally can free himself, finally sees her again it's like heaven on earthbread.

Mimi finds herself taken aback by his new appearance and demeanor. He's so... lighthearted. Nothing he does is serious, but his devotion to her has remained the same since the fall. She can't help the ache of longing for him, all these years she had spent waiting for him. To see him and hold him and love him again... but was he the same cookie anymore? Could she learn to love him as he is, even with the atrocities he's caused? He was determined to make her, at the least. While she can't bring herself to condone what he's done, she does fall for him again. His charm wins her over in the end, but even still she misses who he used to be. It's a point of contention between them, Shadow Milk feels she doesn't appreciate who he is, and she just wants to reminisce on the past.

Eternal Sugar only wishes she could see her sweet little Strawberry the way Shadow Milk could. She can hear her sobs when she visits the tree, but she can't see her. She can't comfort her cute little friend like she wants to. It tears her apart, she vows that the second she can, she'll cradle her in her arms and take a nice long nap. Just the two of them! They make up for lost time, and she'll even forgive her for leaving her all alone all those years ago! A new life together, even if she has to fight with Shadow Milk for her attention sometimes.

The sugary sweetness of Eternal Sugar is almost too much for Mimi to handle. It's not as though she's entirely different, but she's more obsessive and seems to see Mimi as a possession. She does her best to avoid her former best friend because of this, not comfortable with the possessiveness she displays. Not to mention Shadow Milk doesn't seem to like leaving them alone for long. Still, she is happy to have her friend back and will humor her occasionally, so long as she knows she can easily get away from the newly obsessive cookie.

Mystic Flower, in her own way, worries about Strawberries' newfound obsession with finding herself, as Shadow Milk puts it. She is a good cookie, fine as she is, searching for answers constantly is useless. If she feels she needs to be remade, Mystic Flower would be happy to return her to the flower until she feels satisfied with her own constitution. Still, she cannot stop her friend, and so she quietly waits and listens to what Shadow Milk says about her. When she gets out, she allows 'Mimi' to seek her out, and welcomes her with open arms. They return to a mostly normal schedule, though Mystic Flower seems to look down on her quite a bit for her morals and beliefs, she cannot do anything to her unless she wants to start issues within the beasts.

While Mimi appreciates Mystic Flower's return to the norm, it's hard to ignore the tension. She is aware that the beasts find her little journey of self-actualization to be silly at best and stupid at worst, no one makes it more apparent than Mystic Flower. She constantly brings up her own beliefs around Mimi, as if to convince her to change her mind. She does not, and as such they remain stagnant in any development.

Burning Spice got quite an earful about his near destruction of her from the other beasts. Still, he finds her to be boring. Her weeping is boring, her journey is boring, and her new life is boring. There's nothing about her that he finds interesting, and as such he doesn't seek her out. When she does come to him, he finds himself pleasantly surprised at her newfound spunk and wit. While she doesn't fight him physically, she pokes at him like she used to. Jabs and jokes at his expense make him surprisingly happy, and he nearly recalls why he liked her so much in the first place.

Meanwhile, Mimi is terrified of him still. The trauma from his attack the day he fell stuck with her, but she refuses to be swayed by her fear. While they do not get along as well as they did, she still cares for him. She tries her best to be lighthearted and playful, to keep herself in high spirits, and it seems to work in keeping him pleased with her. She can only hope that one day they may return to their old friendship.

Finally, Silent Salt Cookie does not want to find interest in Strawberry Shortcake anymore. They do not listen to any stories Shadow Milk has to tell, and they do their best to remain uninformed of her wellbeing. It's not as though they suddenly no longer care, it's that they still have the tendency to protect her. Keeping her away from their thoughts is the best way to keep her protected. They only wish that the others would realize the same, but alas they cannot stop their more invested friends from worrying over her.

Again Mimi has to seek them out, and while they are not welcoming, they don't push her away either. They allow her to do as she pleases and ensure her safety while they're around. She does not insist that they reconnect with her, merely visiting them to see that they are well. It's likely the most normal interaction she has with any of the bests, with little to no change to how things used to be. If she feels overwhelmed by anyone, Silent Salt is who she seeks. Not because they will comfort her, but because they will let her be.

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 6

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 3517

Warnings: Angst, some Fluff, Confrontation, Dean being a sweetheart.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 6

You moved slowly as you unpacked the things Dean had packed and brought down there. He’d remembered so much more than your mind had even considered, like toiletries. It felt odd, being in this underground home built to not only hide you but keep you safe and taken care of.

The hours passed slowly for you. Dean had left you there around one-thirty. When your stomach began grumbling for nourishment around five, you dragged your feet as you explored the kitchen. It had a lot of non-perishables, like powdered milk, canned meat, vegetables, and fruits. There were potato flakes, too, along with a slew of other boxed items you didn’t feel like looking through.

Cereal it is.

This house was eerily quiet compared to the one above ground, and your mind took mental notes of it as you ate. You couldn’t hear any car or animal. Not even a cricket. Refrigerators typically have a hum, but this particular one didn’t, making the kitchen a vacuum of sound. Each bite of cereal you took seemed to echo in the silence, amplifying your solitude. I need some sound, any sound.

You ate quickly, the silence becoming unbearable. You needed some sort of noise to silence the silence that seemed to be getting too much on you. After you grabbed your phone charger from the bag in your room, you plugged it in, turned on your playlist, and sighed in relief when the first notes of Back in Black began playing, filling the void with a familiar comfort. The music, familiar and comforting, was a lifeline in the sea of silence, easing your unease and loneliness.

It would still be a bit before Dean was due back, so you headed to the room with the computers, wanting to see if anyone had been there while you had been gone earlier. Plus, it’d give you something to do. Earlier in the day, you’d put both keys on a necklace chain and wore it under your shirt; plus, it made it easier not to lose them.

Settling into the chair in front of the monitors, you clicked around on different things, finally finding the saved recordings. You found it interesting how the live feed was up on the other three monitors while you fiddled around on the fourth, looking through the saved files.

Luckily, there was nothing there that you had to worry about. It was either you or an animal of some kind outside that had tripped the motion sensor to record its movement. That was when you came across the one where Dean had spent the night, and furrowed your brow, confused as you watched him in the recording.

Your classic rock playlist continued to play in the background as you watched him. He stayed on the couch for a while, laying there, but in a way so he could easily look toward the top of the stairs. An hour or so later, he got up and paced a little before heading up the stairs. Different cameras picked him up, so you played the recordings with his movements. He stood in your doorway, which you left open.

The camera that was in your room picked up the front of him. He brought his right hand up to the front of his left shoulder, rubbing it slightly. You weren’t entirely sure why he would do that, unless perhaps he was sore from work, even though it had been an easy day.

You could see that he was mouthing words, but the camera didn’t pick up sound, sadly. He crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder on the doorframe, just watching you, for at least an hour. Dean never went into your room, though. He walked through the house, checking the doors and windows, then stood in your doorway again.

Why would he do that? Does he know something else that I don’t? Maybe he was just worried about me.

When you realized, through the recordings, that he had only gotten four hours of sleep that night, you were determined to make sure he got decent sleep tonight. Then you sighed, as he hadn’t said he’d stay with you. 

If he does stay, he can have the bed. I’ll take the couch.

Glancing down at your phone, you sighed again, knowing he wouldn’t be back for at least another half hour. One recording did catch your eye, though. It was one while Dean was sleeping, and it had several linked recordings from other cameras.

At first, you didn’t see anything as to why the camera would activate, even after you replayed it half a dozen times. On that next play-through, though, you felt sick as the chill of goosebumps ran down your body out of fear.

There was a silhouette of a man outside the window of the living room where Dean was sleeping. You watched all the connected videos, and they had caught not only the man’s appearance, but also the vehicle he had driven there in, with the license plate number.

You were going to take down the information and give it to Jodi, but you had no way of getting it to her without using your phone or leaving the safety of this home-like bunker. Just as you leaned back in the seat, several of the outside cameras got a red line around them, signifying motion. It was a car you didn’t recognize, but Dean got out of the passenger seat, with a bag in his hand. You got closer to the screen, squinting a little, noticing it looked like an overnight bag. You smiled, relieved you wouldn’t be alone, but also that it was Dean who had showed up and not some stranger.

The car that had dropped him off drove away shortly after, which relieved you. You watched him move through the house, locking doors behind him. When he reached the secret door, he looked over his shoulder, then did the secret knock he’d come up with earlier. You excitedly ran to the main door, popped it open, and then ran up the stairs, opening that door as well, still smiling.

“You made it,” you began, but he put his finger to his lips, meaning for you to keep quiet, so you nodded and went back down the stairs. Dean followed you after he closed the door. 

Is he worried someone is listening? Did someone follow him? Did he see something while he was outside that the cameras didn’t? Did someone tell him something?

You had so many questions but were keeping quiet until the two of you were inside the bunker. Once he tossed his bag on the floor near the couch, you practically tackled him in a hug.

“It’s so quiet here,” you told him, doing your best not to cry, again.

Deam was surprised, but he smiled softly and wrapped his arms around you, “Hope it’s okay if I spend the night. Might not be so quiet then.”

You pulled back and looked up at him curiously, with your arms still around the back of his neck, even if you did have to stand on your tiptoes to do so. “You’d really stay down here with me in the silent underground solitude?” you asked, puzzled.

The laughter that erupted from deep in his chest made you have to let go and take a step back. You weren’t entirely sure why he had found your question so amusing, but hearing him laugh like that made you smile.

It took Dean a few moments to catch his breath, which almost made you start laughing, “Sweetheart, you’ve got your own secret hideout. Why wouldn’t I want to hang out here with you? It’s like having your very own personal Bat-Cave, like Batman.”

At least now you understood why he had found your statement so funny. And the more you thought about what he said, you laughed hard at it. “Thanks. I really needed that,” you finally told him, now smiling and far more relaxed than you had been all day.

“Now, did you eat?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, around five. Oh, and tonight, you’re sleeping on the bed. I saw you stayed up last night and watched over me. There’s no need to do that down here. So, I’m going to make sure you’re comfortable and actually sleep tonight,” you told him, crossing your arms.

He tried not to laugh, and it came out as a quiet chuckle, “Sweetheart, you sleep in your bed. I’ll take the couch. No need to go to any extremes.”

You rolled your eyes, “Only if you answer a couple questions,” you told him, raising an eyebrow.

“What questions?” he asked, looking mildly curious but also almost worried.

“Why did you rub your shoulder last night? We had an easy day at the garage,” you asked cautiously. You knew there was a possibility that whatever it was could be personal.

He sighed before he sat down on the couch. Well, more like plopped down, so you sat on the far side, near the arm. “It’s my soulmate’s name. That’s all,” he answered quietly without looking at you.

Now you felt really bad. You knew that was a touchy subject for him. Much like you, but in almost opposite ways. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was that personal. You can have the couch,” you replied quietly.

“It’s just a sore subject, for both of us,” he replied, motioning to the two of you. “If you want to talk about it, we can, but that means we both share stuff. Keep it fair. If you don’t want to, we can talk about other stuff.”

That was when you remembered the man from the night before, on the recording, “Maybe another time. There’s something I need to show you,” you told him, somewhat worried at how he’d react.

Dean followed you into the room, puzzled but silent. He watched the recordings from behind you, but you would glance up from time to time. You could tell that he was very clearly upset and angry. It was worse than when he was around Cole earlier. Dean’s jaw was clenched, his arms crossed over his chest, and he looked beyond pissed. You were sure you saw fire behind those emerald green eyes of his as he glared at the monitor.

“Azazel,” he said in a low, almost inaudible growl.

You turned back to the monitor, remembering the name from your parents' letters. Now, you had a face you could put to a name. 

That night, Dean pulled out two phones and explained they were burner phones so you could still communicate with the outside world. He also handed you a piece of paper with several people’s numbers. You recognized all the names but not the numbers. So, he explained that everyone had burner phones now so that you could talk to them, as could Dean.

You wanted to ask him how he knew to do something like this, but at the same time, you weren’t sure you really wanted the answer. You just nodded in understanding while he explained it. Then he helped you get a pillow and blanket for him to use on the couch for the night. 

Once that was set up, he slipped off his shoes near the door, then sat down on the side of the couch where his pillow was. You chose to sit on the coffee table again, not wanting to invade what was now his bed. 

The awkward silence hung between the two of you, but Dean looked more confused than awkward. You just weren’t sure what to say or ask. Sure, you had plenty of questions, but you already felt bad that he got dragged into this huge mess surrounding you and your past. “What’s wrong?” Dean finally asked with a sigh, noticing how you wouldn’t look at him.

“A lot,” you mumbled, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. “I feel bad. You got dragged into my mess.”

Dean sighed again, then held his arms open, “Come here.”

You looked up at him, slightly puzzled, but he motioned with his fingers for you to go to him. Biting your lip nervously, you finally, but reluctantly, got up and moved over to the couch next to him. Dean pulled you against him, gently holding you close.

“You didn’t drag me into this, Sweetheart. There’s still a lot you don’t know and right now really isn’t the time to go into all those details. I can tell you’re overwhelmed. What can I do to help you relax?” his words were soft, and you found yourself calming the more he spoke.

“I’m just scared, and this place was so quiet when you were gone, and so… lonely…” you admitted quickly.

He took a shaky breath, “Hopefully, it won’t be lonely while I’m here. Still didn’t answer my question, though,” he chuckled at the end, a bit playfully.

For a bit, you thought about his question and couldn’t help the light blush that crept into your cheeks, “This is helping,” you mumbled shyly.

With where your head was on his chest, as well as your hand, you felt his heart rate increase a little and found it odd. You again reminded yourself that he had a soulmate, and it was nothing more than him, perhaps being nervous about your reply. So, you mumbled an apology.

“I wish you’d stop apologizing already. If it bothered me, I’d tell you. I like spending time with you, and no one should have to go through something like this alone,” he told you, and you pouted.

You opened your mouth, about to apologize again, then closed it. His wish had effectively stopped you from being able to respond at the moment as your brain attempted to think of what else to say. You began absentmindedly playing with a tiny crease in his shirt and didn’t notice how his breathing got a little heavier as you continued to contemplate a response.

“So, um, you want me to just let you get some sleep then?” you finally asked, not sure of another topic to broach at the moment.

“Or, we could have a drink, and you can relax so you can sleep,” he suggested a little playfully.

Leave it to your best friend to think of you like he always seemed to do since the two of you had gotten to know each other. There were days, like today, that it felt like so much longer than roughly two months. Then there was how you felt around him, especially within just the last day. He gave a sense of safety and comfort you had only ever gotten from the adults in your life, up until him.

“I guess so,” you mumbled, lost in your thoughts again, trying not to let your mind drift past him only being your best friend.

“You’re so stubborn,” he chuckled in amusement before shifting, causing you to move so he could get up.

You glared playfully at him as he went to the kitchen and pulled two beers out of the fridge. He popped the tops, smirking in that playful way as he made his way back to the couch. You shifted a little, making room again so he could return to his seat.

“Thanks,” you told him, taking the beer he handed you before sitting down again. “I’m not always stubborn.”

Dean chuckled, seeing the way your lips frowned into a pout, “You know, you’re adorable when you pout like that.” He shifted a bit so that he was turned more to face you, his arm over the back of the couch with his leg bent at his knee on the cushion. So, you did the same but kept your hands in your lap, one of them holding your beer.

“I know it’s a touchy subject, but… When you do find your soulmate, I don’t mind telling her what an amazing guy you are. And… I’ll understand that we won’t spend as much time together,” you told him with a soft smile. The strange part was that you almost felt a sense of heartbreak after those words left your lips, but you hid it well.

The smirk he had turned into a soft smile, “Only as long as I get to do the same for you.”

“Fair,” you replied, managing to give him at least a small smile. “How long are you staying for?”

“Uh, yeah, about that,” Dean began, then trailed off, looking away from you, debating how to answer you. “Someone followed me, at least to your driveway, but they drove past. I uh, we’re sort of stuck down here, together.” He finished, sounding nervous and apprehensive again.

At first, you weren’t entirely sure how to feel about that. It would, of course, be nice not to be alone, but you had figured Dean would have the freedom to come and go as he wanted. You wanted to apologize but remembered he wanted you to stop doing that, so you didn’t.  You knew there was plenty of food, even if most of it was things you weren’t used to eating. At least neither of you would go hungry.

You stared off toward the floor as you sipped your beer, thinking about the predicament that both of you were in. Books and lots of movies, even if they were on VHS, could occupy at least some of the time there. Showering would be simple enough; you figured the two of you would just take turns. What about maybe needing alone time? Does Dean need someplace more private than the living room? He already said that the bedroom was mine and he wasn’t going to sleep there and have me on the couch. Maybe we could hang sheets so he had a more secluded spot. We could even rearrange if he wanted to.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you about being down here with you,” he said, pulling you from your thoughts.

That was when you realized you hadn’t even commented on what he’d said. “No, no, no. It’s nothing like that. I was lost in my thoughts,” you quickly replied apologetically, meeting his gaze.

Why does he have to look at me like that? Almost like… No, he has a soulmate. He’s not thinking about me. He’s thinking about her. Now stop it, brain.

“Care to share, Sweetheart?” he asked with that smirk of his that always made you smile.

“Just, stuff, that’s all,” you replied, a little shyly, looking away from him. “I’ve never lived with anyone before, not like this anyway.”

Somehow, you managed to explain to him the things you’d been thinking about but focused more on making a more private space for him in the living room. He at least seemed to like the idea or perhaps it was appreciation that you thought of him like that. You weren’t quite sure.

“We can do that tomorrow if you’d like,” he suggested when you finally stopped babbling about the thoughts that had been in your head. At least he didn’t seem upset with you, which was a relief. “Why don’t you go get some sleep, though? It’s late.”

“Only if you promise that you’ll sleep and not stay up all night watching over me,” you replied, crossing your arms and attempting to look serious.

That, of course, only made him chuckle, “You’re adorable when you act like that. I promise I’ll get some sleep, just not gonna promise on how much.”

You playfully smacked his shoulder before cleaning up the two empty beer bottles. For a moment, you stood in the kitchen near the trash, not wanting to feel what you were feeling. Quickly brushing it aside, you went back out, standing near the hallway.

“Then, I’ll see you in the morning,” you told him, giving him a half smile.

“Night, Sweetheart,” he replied, and you turned from him to your room.

He has a soulmate, you repeated in your mind as you got ready for bed, then slipped under the covers. You didn’t want to feel anything more than friendship toward him, but it was getting difficult. The chain with the keys was still around your neck, but you had left the door open in your closet to the security room. It was for Dean, in case he had wanted to go in there. You thought perhaps it might help him relax, knowing he could watch what was going on outside the bunker, or Batcave, as he had called it.

Your thoughts were still on him as you felt yourself drifting off to sleep. The way you felt in his arms and how easy it was to talk to him. The idea of living with him made you happier than you wanted to admit, to anyone, but more to yourself. 

The last thought on your mind before sleep overtook you was you and Dean, lying in your bed, and he was holding you close. A happy smile even crossed your lips lazily just as the blackness took you for the night.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 7

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If I missed tagging, please let me know. I had a lot of requests for tags for this one. If you'd like to be tagged, drop me a comment.

[toughguymatt]

Night Drive

Part 3/3

Pairing: AU!Nick x Male OC (Adrian Rivers) Summary: Curiosity getting the better of him, Nick takes up an offer to go on a late night drive. Warnings/Content: Language. Oral sex. Third Person POV. Posted in three parts, so it's an easier read. Smut is in the final this part. A/N: When we say AU, we mean it. Nick bartends, is into cars, and knows how to drive? Crazy. Buckle up, get strapped in. Also, the FC for Adrian is Vinnie Hacker, but feel free to picture whoever you like.

Part One / Part Two

"Just... Yeah. Right up there." Gravel crunched beneath the tires as the car jostled to a stop. The overlook was one of Adrian's favorite spots. But it had been a while since he'd hidden away to watch the sunset, to imagine the lives of the blurry tiny specks in the distance, to tempt his toes at the edge. 

The stars were brighter than Nick could see from the car, and it was a rarity to be able to just park somewhere without worrying about getting the car back in time. Movement from beside him caught his attention, and immediately Nick’s eyes fixated on Adrian. 

Adrian interlocked his fingers and stretched them above his head with a moan, a sliver of skin peeking beneath the hem of his shirt. "So, Nick, have you been up here before?"

Nick swore he could see Adrian’s damn Adam’s apple move under the hum of his moan, but he didn’t have time to speculate long due to the way his shirt rid up like a fucking wet dream. He was… unfairly attractive. “Not up here, I don’t think.” He spoke as his eyes flickered back to the side of Adrian’s face, stomach fluttering now that Nick didn’t have the distraction of keeping them alive. “The view is pretty good, though.”

Adrian's gaze drifted from Nick's obscured blue eyes to his lips then back up again. "Yeah." he agreed. "It is." Nervousness stirred in Adrian's abdomen. He was completely okay with sitting and talking, but the urge to touch Nick was becoming a problem. Adrian blamed his kinesthetic leanings and the fact that he'd never seen a more kissable mouth in his entire life. Adrian wet his lips, leaned over the armrest, and reached forward to softly brush Nick's hair from his eyes. "Can you even see it?"

Nick’s heart picked up in pace and a blush bloomed over his cheeks. “If you thought I couldn’t see, it was pretty fucking risky to let me drive you over here.” Anxiousness pooled in his stomach despite the way his head tipped just slightly toward Adrian’s hand. 

"Taking risks is part of the reward." Adrian’s fingers dug into Nick's shirt, curling the texture against his fingertips. "You got into a car with me in the first place. I think you knew what you were getting into." Adrian yanked at the fabric, pulling Nick into a kiss.

Whatever Nick was about to say died on his lips the moment Adrian's were pressing against them.

Adrian bit at Nick's bottom lip, gently sliding it from his teeth, before soothing it over with another kiss. "This console between us is about to piss me off." Adrian kissed Nick's jaw, beneath his chin, and against the pulse point of his neck. A quiet moan caught in Nick’s throat as it tilted back just enough for the press of Adrian’s lips. He smiled against Nick's warm skin. "We might have to do something about that.”

The vibration of Adrian’s words against his neck left Nick breathless. He lifted a hand to tangle in Adrian's hair. "Yeah..." Nick managed to say. "It was your dumbass idea to go on a drive. In a car," he exhaled, breathily, as a shiver rolled over his skin. He needed more. 

Nick crashed their lips together, lips dragging down to Adrian’s jaw; mouthing his words against it: "You can push your seat back."

Adrian half-chuckled, half-moaned. "You can," he put his hand on Nick's chest," push yours." He shoved Nick back into the driver's seat before adjusting Nick's chair for him in a quick motion. "See?" Adrian gave Nick another kiss and drifted his hand to the waistband of Nick's pants. "Much better."

Nick’s stomach jumped in excitement as Adrian’s fingers bumped against his stomach. A sigh etched into his words. "Yeah, for you." His tongue brushed over his bottom lip in frustration. "Can barely fucking reach you now."

"You don't need to reach me," Adrian murmured against Nick's mouth as he unbuttoned Nick's pants.

“I want to.” Nick was embarrassed that he was already hard, face tinged with red, as a gasp of a moan vibrated against Adrian's lips. The zipper teeth of Nick’s jeans scratched at Adrian's knuckles as he palmed over Nick's underwear. Nick’s hand automatically rose to grasp at Adrian’s wrist loosely, self consciousness creeping back in at the worst moment. 

"If you need me to stop," Adrian spoke quietly as he continued to touch, "just tell me."

Nick slowly let go of Adrian’s wrist as his other palm slid down Adrian's torso, finding the hem of his shirt so that the pads of his fingers grazed the skin underneath. “Don’t stop,” he whispered. 

Adrian kept their mouths busy with feverish kisses as he thumbed over the head of Nick's cock. He enjoyed the weight of it in his hand, but he was growing impatient to feel it on his tongue. Nick, meanwhile, forgot how to breathe, eyes fluttering closed. "Fuck." Nick’s teeth lightly dug into Adrian's bottom lip, chasing his kiss.

Adrian leaned back with reddened lips, needing to see exactly what he was working with. He hooked his fingers against Nick's waistband, Nick’s cock straining deliciously against the fabric. Adrian’s mouth was watering. "Move your hips."

Nick exhaled sharply as he complied, albeit a second delayed, hips finally rolling up at his gentle command.

"Not so bossy now, huh?"

"Shutthefuck up.” 

Adrian kept eye contact as he spit into his palm. “Make me.” His own erection was pressed against the center console as he gripped Nick’s cock with slender, tattooed fingers. He kept his motions firm but gentle, enjoying the sounds vibrating into their kisses, as slickness built up beneath his hand. Adrian sighed against Nick’s mouth after a final, hungry kiss. “Need to taste all of you,” Adrian mumbled. He edged downward, keeping his hand pumping at the base. 

Nick wet his lips and slid his palm along Adrian’s back. Nick was so hard in Adrian’s hand that he could barely think. 

Adrian softly licked at the head of Nick’s cock, before taking it completely into his mouth with a moan. Adrian looked how honey tasted, and somehow, his tongue felt just as smooth. The first lick to Nick’s cock had him fighting to keep his hips still as he sighed heavily into the air. The sight of Adrian’s tongue brushing over his heated skin would definitely not be forgotten anytime soon. 

“Fuck, Adrian,” Nick whispered, momentarily throwing his left arm over his eyes. If he watched the way his lips moved over him too intently, this wouldn’t last long. Eventually, his arm slipped away, falling against the side of the car as his other hand sunk deep into Adrian’s hair. Nick moaned again, gaze half-lidded and face permanently stained pink as his knuckles tightened in the strands, tugging as he struggled to keep his breathing even.

Adrian groaned around Nick’s cock, keeping his pace as his jaw ached. The pain was worth the weight of warm skin on his tongue, but it wasn’t enough. Adrian lifted up to catch his breath. “Nick,” he spoke hoarsely. “Harder. Pull my hair harder.”

Nick's pupils were blown, his cock twitching at the low scratch of Adrian’s voice. It echoed in his ears, rolling over him in waves. "Jesus. Okay," Both hands buried themselves into Adrian’s hair, fingernails scratching along his scalp. He pulled at the amber strands roughly as his hips shifted under him. 

Adrian near-whimpered at the simultaneous pull of his hair and Nick’s desperate intake of breath, but instead he focused on his up-and-down motion. 

"You're gonna make..." A sharp breath punctuated Nick’s words, tone tapering off into a borderline whine until he cut himself off, tightening his grip even further. This time the tug was a warning. "Gonna come."

Adrian’s eyes welled with tears as Nick hit the back of his throat with spilled warmth. He raised gently, mouth closed, and moved to the passenger side door. He opened it just enough to spit onto the pavement. He exhaled as the door shut, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You good?” Adrian leaned back over to give Nick a chaste kiss. “You better be,” he whispered near his mouth with a smile.

"After that? Damn. Give a guy a second," Nick whispered back, lips curling to return his smile, but instead he closed their distance again. His nose bumped against Adrian’s before brushing their lips together briefly as he took a moment to calm down. His palm drifted down Adrian’s arm as he shivered, blue eyes still darkened as he tried not to melt back into his seat. 

Nick wasn’t sure how much time passed before he was finally able to move; tucking himself back into his boxers and zipping up his pants. The flush that remained covering his skin was now in part to embarrassment. He just let himself be… dick out in a stranger's car. Yet Nick still took a moment to drift his eyes over Adrian in appreciation. He let out a soft exhale as he wet his lips. Adrian’s features were somehow soft and defined at the same time, creating a near otherworldliness about him. Nick tried not to feel a spark of smug satisfaction at the way Adrian’s hair was even further mussed; unruly curls framing his head like a goddamn halo. "You good?"

“Absolutely.” Adrian grinned. He could still taste Nick in his mouth. “I’d consider this a very successful first date.” He fluttered his eyes with a shimmy of his shoulders. “Wouldn’t you? But, no, seriously. I’d really like to take you out. Properly.” 

A smile tugged at Nick’s lips, baring teeth, as a short laugh followed at the dorky gesture. Nick was met with both the strangest and strongest urge to kiss him again for it. He didn’t, instead lifting his hand to brush hair away from Adrian’s forehead.

“Maybe after I get back,” Adrian leaned his head back on the seat, gazing lovingly at Nick, “we can figure something out?”

“Yeah.” Nick wasn’t even sure what a proper date even meant. Yet for some unfathomable reason, he almost found himself wanting to agree nonetheless. He dropped his arm between them, resting back on the console. “I’ll think about it.” Nick wet his lips and leaned his head back a bit, hair falling back against his forehead. “So am I driving myself home, or do you want to be the one to do that?”

"I'll drive you back." Adrian gave Nick a final peck on the lips before exiting out of the passenger's side.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Adrian,” Nick whispered as the slick of Adrian’s tongue brushed against his own. “We’ve gotta… stop…” His eyes were glossy under the faint light of the streetlamp just outside the window. Nick kissed him again deeply, swallowing the moans that came from the other. Nick shuddered. “Okay… okay…” he panted. He slackened his grip on Adrian’s shirt and pressed his palms flat against Adrian’s shoulders, pushing him back. If they didn’t stop now, Nick was at serious risk of kissing him for another half hour. Or having a repeat of earlier.

“Okay,” Adrian agreed, nodding. “Stopping now.” His hand caught the back of Nick’s head, and he tugged him back for another kiss that left both of them dizzy. 

“Not fair.” Nick uttered against his lips; the slow brush of Adrian’s over his own could be addicting if he wasn’t careful. The last time Nick was head over heels for someone, it didn’t end well. His hands were shaky as he cupped Adrian’s face between them, thumbs grazing over his cheekbones. Nick gave him a pointed look before he quickly darted in to press a final kiss to the side of his mouth. “That’s all you get,” he murmured, a slight grin pulling at his lips as he finally worked up the strength to leave his ass alone and settle back into the passenger's seat.

“Am I going to see you again?”

Nick dragged a hand through his messy hair and straightened his work uniform. His previously crisp button down shirt was wrinkled all to hell. “Maybe.” His hand grasped for the handle of the door, pushing it open. 

He heard the roll down of Adrian’s window before he even reached it. He ducked his head down to say goodbye, but he didn’t have a chance to get the words out as he felt Adrian’s hand wrap around his forearm, tugging him gently downward.

A gasp caught in Nick’s throat, but his head automatically dipped down. His eyes darted to Adrian’s lips, like he hadn’t just spent the better part of the night finding out exactly what they felt like. A half-groan half-laugh escaped him as he pressed their lips together through the open window. When they broke apart, they were both smiling.

“Get out of here,” Nick whispered raspily. “You’ve got a plane to catch.” Nick reached through the window, brushing back Adrian’s hair away from his eyes, before giving it an impromptu ruffle. “Good luck on your thing,” he murmured before stepping away from him, finally turning on his heel to head back to his apartment. He could feel Adrian’s eyes on him until he was out of sight. 

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Nick was as quiet as Nick could possibly be as he entered the silent apartment. He barely got through the door before he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. 

Adrian: miss me yet?

His stomach filled with fucking butterflies at the sight of his name and the grin that spread across Nick’s face made his cheeks hurt. Thank God his brothers were asleep right now. He’d never hear the end of it.

Nick just stared at the phone for a moment, back pressing against the closed front door. He was still grinning to himself as he tapped out a reply.

Nick: you wish. Nick: goodnight Adrian.

[idaisyy]

Tag , you’re in - a cmpunk x oc enimies to lovers

Chapter 32-

When they woke up for once there wasn't distance... but also it's not like they were all " I love you, I love you more" , they just simply started to get ready for the airport , a couple do jokes here , some harmless jabs there , it was nice , easy going and flowing

Both were trying not to overthink it , but they couldn't help enjoy this peace from each other and imagine how this would feel all the time

Daisy however was losing all that easy going peaceful energy the closer their rental car got to the airport

You see , even though Daisy had flown at least 40 times in her life , it never got any easier

They pit in her stomach, the tightness of her throat , the shaking of her hands , it happened every time

You would think someone who has to travel from city to city for a living would be okay with flying , but they had been driving from city to city for so long that she hadn't need to fly , but WWE had decided to book a couple Europe  shows and they unfortunately haven't finished building that bridge across the ocean, so flying it was

Daisy was trying to keep her self under control, punk was calm , so calm in fact she tried to use that to help

"If punk is calm , i should be , clearly everything is fine , I should be fine , I'm fine , yeah I'm fine" Daisy repeated in her head over and over like a mantra

As they made their way through the airport, Punk couldn't help but notice that Daisy was acting weird. She kept fidgeting, shifting from foot to foot, and gripping the strap of her bag so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. Normally, she was confident, sharp-tongued, always ready with a comeback. But right now, she looked... anxious.

He didn't say anything at first, assuming she was just in a bad mood or tired from their last match. But then, as they boarded the plane and found their seats, she hesitated before sitting down, her fingers clutching the armrest like it was her lifeline.

Punk sat next to her, stuffing his bag under the seat, but Daisy barely moved. Instead, she exhaled sharply and closed her eyes for a second like she was bracing herself.

"What's with you?" he finally asked, giving her a side glance.

"Nothing," she said quickly, too quickly.

He frowned. "Bullshit. You're acting weird."

Daisy shook her head, forcing a laugh. "I'm fine, Punk."

But as soon as the plane started taxiing down the runway, she grabbed onto his arm. Hard.

Punk stiffened, looking down at her hand gripping him like her life depended on it. "Uh, Daisy?"

She didn't respond, her eyes glued to the seat in front of her, her nails digging into his skin.

"Daisy," he repeated, his patience starting to wear thin. "What the hell?"

She finally turned to him, her face slightly pale. "I hate flying," she admitted in a quiet, embarrassed voice. "I—I get really scared, okay?"

Punk blinked. "You?" He scoffed. "You're scared of flying?"

Daisy shot him a glare, even as she held onto him like he was her last hope. "Yes, asshole, and you're not helping."

Punk was about to say something sarcastic, but then the plane started picking up speed for takeoff, and Daisy squeezed his arm even tighter, her breathing going shallow.

"Okay, ow," Punk muttered, but when he glanced at her face, the usual fire in her eyes was gone, replaced with genuine fear.

He sighed, rolling his eyes, but instead of pushing her away, he adjusted his arm so she could hold onto him more comfortably.

"Just... relax," he grumbled, trying to ignore how close she was. "The odds of something happening are, like, one in a million."

"That doesn't help," she hissed.

Punk sighed again, muttering something under his breath before hesitantly resting his free hand over hers. Daisy didn't react at first, but when she realized what he was doing, her grip loosened just slightly.

"You good?" he asked after a few seconds, his voice softer than before.

Daisy swallowed, nodding, but she didn't let go. "...Thanks."

Punk just grunted in response, shifting in his seat, trying to ignore how warm her hand felt in his. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't cut off my circulation, alright?"

Daisy managed a small smile, still clutching onto him as the plane lifted into the sky.

Anytime there was any turbulence, any sharp movement Daisy grabbed his arm tighter, so tight at one point punk audibly grunted at how hard she was grabbing him

"What was that" Daisy would asked panicked

"Its turbulence Daisy , like there is on every plane" punk responded trying to not show his frustration at her constant questioning and forceful grab because he could clearly tell that she needed him in this moment

Daisy began to calm down and eventually actually fell asleep , head leaned on top of punk's shoulder, and punk wasn't even mad , because she wasn't trying to rip his arm off and she wasn't questioning every movement of the plane , and the other part of him was happy she felt safe enough to fall asleep , his ego did boost a bit from that but he would never say that

"Hello would you two like peanuts or cr-"

"Shhhhh- don't you see she's asleep" punk interrupted the flight attendant , albeit a bit rudely , but he was worried about Daisy

He told himself it's just because he didn't feel like dealing with her anxiety ridden antics for the rest of the flight

But deep down he knew he felt a bit over protective of her , and he wouldn't dare let that flight attendant ruin her well deserved peaceful sleep.

AFTER THE FLIGHT ... AT THE ARENA

As soon as Punk walked into the men's locker room, he could already feel eyes on him. He didn't think much of it at first—he was used to people watching him, whispering. But then, as he started unwrapping his wrist tape, one of the guys leaned in with a smirk.

"So, you and Daisy, huh?"

Punk froze for half a second before scoffing. "What?"

Another wrestler chuckled, crossing his arms. "Come on, man. You two have been looking real cozy lately. Always together, always sneaking off. Hell, she was practically clinging to you at the airport."

Punk rolled his eyes, his walls shooting up immediately. "Yeah, well, she's scared of flying," he muttered, focusing on peeling off the rest of his tape.

"Right, right," one of them drawled, unconvinced. "But seriously, are you two a thing?"

Punk's jaw tightened. He hated this. Hated being put on the spot, hated feeling like they were trying to get inside his head. He could feel something in his chest tighten, something uncomfortable, something vulnerable.

And the only way he knew how to deal with that was to shut it down.

"No," he snapped, voice sharp. "We're not together."

The room went quiet for a beat before someone else snickered.

"Oh, so she's fair game then?"

Punk's head snapped up so fast it was a miracle he didn't give himself whiplash. "What?"

"I mean, if you're not hitting that, maybe I could take a shot," one of them joked. "She's hot as hell. Bet she's a freak in bed too—"

Before he could finish that sentence, Punk was in his face.

"You wanna say that again?" Punk's voice was low, dangerous, his entire body tense with barely restrained anger.

The guy held his hands up, trying to act like it was no big deal, but Punk could see the shift in his expression—the realization that he had seriously fucked up.

"Whoa, chill, man, it was just a joke—"

"That's funny," Punk cut him off, voice ice cold. "Because I didn't fucking laugh."

The entire locker room was silent now, everyone watching as Punk stood there, fists clenched at his sides, his eyes practically burning into the guy.

"Let me make something real fucking clear," Punk continued, voice steady but filled with barely contained rage. "You don't talk about her like that. Ever. Not to me, not to anyone."

The guy nodded quickly, realizing he wasn't going to win this one. "Got it, man. My bad."

Punk stayed there for a second longer, just to make sure the message really sank in, before finally stepping back. He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face, trying to shake off the burning anger still running through him.

And that's when it hit him.

He was being overprotective. He did care.

More than he wanted to admit.

Punk was still running hot from his confrontation in the locker room as he made his way down the hall, looking for Daisy. His fists were still clenched, his heartbeat still a little too fast, but he needed to see her—now.

That's when he heard her voice.

He slowed his steps, peering around the corner, only to see Daisy talking with another female wrestler. At first, he was just going to walk up, but then he caught the tail end of the other woman's sentence.

"...so, are you and Punk a couple?"

Punk's breath hitched.

Daisy hesitated for a second before replying, "No... why?"

The girl grinned. "Oh, because he's so fine. I was thinking about hopping on that."

Punk's eye twitched.

But what made his chest tighten even more was Daisy's reaction. He could see the way her whole body tensed, the way she stiffened, barely masking her emotions.

She forced a laugh, but her voice was tight when she said, "Yeah, well... he's not interested in anybody. Trust me."

The girl just shrugged, completely unbothered. "Maybe he's just not interested in you, but I'm sure he'd be interested in me."

Punk expected Daisy to brush it off. Maybe roll her eyes. Maybe even walk away.

What he didn't expect was for her to cross her arms, tilt her head, and—with a sickly sweet smile—say:

"That's crazy, because he seemed to want me really bad last night when he was cumming inside of me."

Punk nearly choked on his own breath.

The other woman's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

Daisy just shrugged. "You heard me."

Punk had never been more torn in his life. On one hand, hearing Daisy say that—so confidently, so possessively—did things to him. But on the other hand... oh, she was gonna regret that one.

And he had to let her know it.

Stepping out from around the corner, he finally made his presence known.

Both women turned to look at him, Daisy's face going completely red the second she realized he had heard everything.

Punk raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smirk. "Really, Daisy?"

Daisy's eyes went wide. "Oh, fuck me."

The other woman smirked, crossing her arms. "Ha! I knew you were lying."

Daisy clenched her jaw, suddenly feeling stupid for even saying anything. What did she expect? Punk had never claimed her. He had never wanted labels. She had done this to herself.

The woman turned toward Punk with a flirty grin, stepping closer and reaching for his arm. "Come on, let's get out of here. No need to waste your time."

Daisy felt her stomach twist. She had seen this play out a hundred times. She already knew the ending. Punk wasn't a boyfriend—he didn't do feelings. He was a free agent, and there was nothing stopping him from leaving with her.

Not wanting to stick around and watch it happen, Daisy turned and started to walk away, her chest tightening with every step.

But then—

The woman let out a confused noise as Punk suddenly pulled his arm from her grasp. "What the hell?" she muttered, looking at him in disbelief.

Daisy froze mid-step.

Punk exhaled sharply, then shot the woman an irritated look. "Yeah, that's not happening."

The woman blinked. "Wait—what?"

Punk's lips pressed into a thin line. "I said no."

Daisy's heart skipped.

The woman scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Wow. So she wasn't lying."

Punk crossed his arms. "Guess not."

Daisy turned around slowly, eyes locking with Punk's. He was already looking at her, his expression unreadable. But the fact that he hadn't left—the fact that he had chosen her, without hesitation—made something warm bloom in her chest.

For the first time, maybe ever, Daisy wasn't sure who was more shocked—her, or the woman standing next to Punk.

Punk hadn't even fully shut the car door before Daisy started rambling.

"I'm so sorry—please don't be mad at me," she blurted out, her voice rushed and frantic. "I know I was wrong. I shouldn't have said that. I just got so mad, and I know I shouldn't be mad because we're not even together, and it's not my business who you—"

"Daisy."

"—but she was saying all that stuff, and I just—I don't know, I snapped. I wasn't thinking, and I know I probably embarrassed you and—"

"Daisy." He almost yells , well it sounded extra loud in the small confined space of the compact rental car they were in

She shut up immediately, eyes wide as she looked at him.

Punk exhaled, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. His jaw was clenched, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he didn't say anything—just sat there, breathing through his nose.

Daisy swallowed. "Are you mad?" she asked softly.

Punk let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "I don't even know."

Daisy bit her lip, guilt settling deep in her chest. "I didn't mean to say it. I swear, it just slipped."

He turned to look at her then, his eyes sharp. "But you meant it."

Daisy opened her mouth, but no words came out. She didn't know how to answer that, because, yeah—she had meant it. She had meant all of it.

Punk sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Look, I don't give a shit about what you said. What pisses me off is you acting like I'd be mad at you."

Daisy blinked. "What?"

He gave her a pointed look. "You really think I'm mad because you told her the truth?"

"I mean... yeah?"

Punk huffed. "Daisy. If I was pissed, it wouldn't be at you. It'd be at her for running her mouth like I'm some fucking prize to be won." He shook his head. "And you thinking I'd rather go with her than deal with you? That's what pisses me off."

Daisy shrank back slightly. "I just—I don't know. I thought you'd pick her."

"Why the fuck would I do that?"

"Because you can!" she shot back. "You don't have to be tied to me, Punk. You've made that perfectly clear."

Punk stared at her, jaw tightening. "And yet, here I am."

Daisy sucked in a breath. They stared at each other, the tension thick between them.

Finally, Punk exhaled sharply and looked away, turning the keys in the ignition. "Let's just go."

Daisy hesitated. "...Are we okay?"

Daisy didn't even know what she meant by "we" , they established they weren't in a relationship nor were both of them ready for one

Punk didn't answer right away. Then, in a quiet voice, he muttered, "We will be."

And for some reason, that made Daisy's chest ache even more.

[shes4twnksinatrnchct]

Hell of a Show

Jake Kiszka x fem oc

Fifteen years after resigning from Greta Van Fleet, for reasons undisclosed to the public, Coley Payne is asked by her former band members to tell her side of the story.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, explicit language, angst, fluff, first love, drug and alcohol abuse, mental health struggles, character death, familial grief, reference to sexual situations, *explicit sexual situations (smut warnings will be mentioned pertaining to each chapter it occurs in).

Please keep in mind this is a work of fiction and enjoy!

***LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED***

Prologue

2039

His shaky fingers curl around the key in the ignition, freeing it and shutting the car off as the sun glares down on him through the windshield. 

The blonde brick of the quaint house fills him with an anxious dread because of who resides within its walls—and perhaps it wouldn’t be weighing so heavy on his heart if the last time he saw her hadn’t ended the way it did. 

The blacked-out shades of his sunglasses pair perfectly with his blank expression, a heavy breath leaving him as he gets out and shuts the door. 

A familiar brunette is walking back to the front porch from the mailbox, already thumbing through a stack of envelopes and picking one out. 

“She’s not gonna read it.” Collins informs her aunt’s ex-boyfriend, handing the unread letter to him. 

Glancing down at it, he sees it’s from Sam. 

Their last ditch effort to coax Coley back into the limelight has been on the cusp of communicating via carrier pigeon being that she threatened to start blocking phone numbers if anyone else mentioned a word to her about it. 

Josh, Sam, and Danny have all extended invitations and Olive Branches—though the latter has been unnecessary because her leaving wasn’t messy or disrespectful. 

Contrary to popular belief amongst fans, there was no big catastrophe that got Coley kicked out. 

In fact, it would have been easier on Jake if there had been. 

And, now, his only saving grace for showing up unannounced at her house is that he’s the only one who hasn’t tried to contact her. 

“Is she home?” He asks the young woman, Collins stepping onto the front porch. 

“She is.” She flatly tells him. 

“Can you let her know I’m here?”

Collins turns to look at him, briefly. 

The last time Coley and Jake spoke in person was the weekend of Elton John’s 90th birthday celebration she and Collins attended—along with the guys. 

That was two years ago, and though Collins never knew the details of their reunion, she could put two and two together when her aunt  stormed into their hotel room the next morning in nothing but the shirt Jake had worn the night before, ferociously packed her things, and told her niece,“We’re leaving. Now.”

“I don’t know. Are you gonna piss her off again?” Collins quips, furrowing her brows. 

Though she’s only about twenty years older than she was back then, she’s still that smart-mouthed kid that would kick him out of his own bed in the middle of the night to curl up next to her aunt—her and her younger brother, both. 

“That’s the only reason I’ve been placed on this Earth.” He tells her somewhat impatiently. 

She rolls her eyes and steps inside the house, calling out, “Aunt Coley!”

“Yeah?!” He hears her say back.

A box fan is the only sound in the house aside from the low speaking of the TV from the living room while the heat from summer infiltrates the home in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. 

She sweeps her dirty blonde hair off of her neck, pulling it into a clip while following the sound of her niece’s voice and breezing by the narrow table in the hallway that’s stacked with recent months-worth of letters she’s been ignoring from former close friends—along with the phone calls and texts she’d magically forget to return. 

“There’s a man here to see you.” Collins informs her with a lack of enthusiasm. 

“HVAC?” Coley inquires with relief, having been battling the fight of no air conditioning for days, now. 

He feels as if he’s going to faint the closer her steps grow to the front door, his breath growing all the more complicated to keep steady as her voice permeates through the house. 

“Unless your ex-boyfriend started a new career—no.” She replies. 

A smile takes his features hostage at the sound of Coley’s laugh, a sound he’s missed more than he’d been able to put into words for the last fifteen years—instead scrambling to hear it in the joy of other women and hoping that it’d make him as happy, to no avail. 

Coley laughs because she assumes Collins is just bullshitting her, and the stir in Jake’s gut worsens when she abruptly stops upon realize it’s not a joke. 

“What?” 

“He’s outside. He told me to tell you he’s here.” The younger woman shrugs, watching her aunt’s face display a multitude of emotions—settling on one of ornery frustration. 

The door swings open, only leaving a screen door between the two of them. 

Blue eyes go wide, the wind being beat out of her the moment she sees him. 

Immediately, she’s snapping around to make sure Collins hasn’t followed her to be nosy. 

Before Jake can properly explain the reason for his visit, her nostrils are flaring, and she’s hissing out a sharp, “Seriously? They sent you?” while she opens the door and steps onto the porch with her arms crossed.

Irritation leaks from her pores as she stares up at Jake and waits for him to say anything back. 

He’s too focused on the fact that she seemingly appears to look even better than she did the last time they saw one another, aging like fine wine. 

The explanation he planned to present has evaporated from his mind, and the longer he looks at her, the more dumb he feels himself become. 

“Hi,” Is all he can muster, just like the last time he’d been face to face with her despite the fact it was the first time in thirteen years they’d crossed paths. 

Only the lack of conversation last time was easier to blame on the amount of people present, that is until they both got a couple drinks in themselves and slipped from the crowd. 

Now, it’s only the two of them, bright eyed and sober, and Jake can’t manage more than one syllable. 

Coley’s just as disoriented, only she’s better at hiding it, disguising it in anger when she asks, “What the hell are you doing here?”

It’s now that Jake has to regain his balls and composure, clearing his throat. 

“I was in town and thought I’d swing by.” He rubs his nose, not even trying to hide his nervousness with being confronted by her so directly.

“You were in town?” She inquires, raising her brows.

The tone of her voice and bitchy expression on her face melts him out of his passive shyness, his eyes narrowing at her. 

“Yeah.” Jake states, leaving no room for doubt, but Coley finds one reason not to buy his bullshit…

“You were casually in town four hours away from your home?” She flatly asks, next. 

“You’re not gonna invite me inside?” He avoids her question blatantly, a smirk coming to his lips that further stokes at her vexed demeanor. 

“I don’t let strangers in my house.” She’s quick to rebuttal. “Especially when they’re here to harass me on their brother’s behalf because he can’t accept a simple, ‘no’.” 

“You were expecting Josh to accept, ‘no’?” Jake scoffs, a dark brow darting upward over his sunglasses. 

“Being that we’re all at the grown age of forty-three? Yeah, Jake. I did expect him to.” 

Ignoring her strike, he states, “You look good,” while shamelessly eyeing her. “Are you getting shorter?”

“You look tired.” Coley fires back. “You should probably lay off the booze. And the pot. And the road.” 

Her last line has a bite to it that he can admit is somewhat warranted with their past. 

“That was my plan until I had to come down here and make sure you were alive.” Scoffing it out, he glances around the yard—never having seen her house for himself. 

Coley watches him do so, using his distracted disposition to take a moment to appreciate his own good looks. 

He’s still keeping his hair long, and his facial hair thicker, and his skin is still disgustingly wrinkle-free despite the sun he’s soaked in through the years. 

“Well, I’m alive.” She says, her tone rushing him to finish up and leave, but he continues taking his time. “And well.” 

He’s looking down at her again with the last addition to her reassurance. 

“Are you?” 

“Yes.” Coley nods. 

“Hmm.” 

“‘Hmm’? Why are you ‘hmm’ing? What’s there to ‘hmm’?” She demands, next, her eyes narrowing at him as the words topple out of her and her head shakes. 

“I mean, adamantly avoiding your friends is not the actions of someone who’s well.” 

“I’m not avoiding anybody. I’m just avoiding whatever it is Josh and Constance are working on.” Coley informs him, her mouth spitting out the name of their former manager while simultaneously handling his brother’s with care. 

“It’s not just Josh and Connie. All of us are involved—” He informs her, throwing his hand out to gently grasp her arm when she lets out a sarcastic laugh and turns to go back inside as he adds, “—And we don’t feel comfortable speaking for you.” It’s finished out genuinely, Coley glaring at the black screens over his eyes, fighting to see the brown of his irises through them while he forces himself to drop her arm. 

“Then don’t. It’s not anybody’s business what happened. That’s why I’ve gone out of my way not to talk about it publicly.” She reminds him. 

Without explicitly mentioning their last conversation, she once again takes a dig at him. 

It’s the source of such hostility, between years wasted on him and tears cried over him. 

But he can easily blame her for the same sins that she blames him for—which all boil down to simply wanting different things. 

He clenches his jaw briefly as he swallows his pride and starts, “Coley, I was an ass the last time we spoke—” He stops when she pulls his sunglasses from his eyes to make him look her in the eyes upon the realization he’s about to apologize, and he watches as she tosses the shades to the chair sitting close to the door, biting his tongue when she crosses her arms again and peers up at him. “—I can admit that, and I can say, ‘I’m sorry,’ but you’re not completely blameless in all of this either.” 

“And this is why I’m not speaking about this shit.” She argues. “Because you still have it in your head that me leaving the band for  my family was some unforgivable trespass.”

“You leaving the band wasn’t something that needed forgiveness—but it wasn’t just the band you left, was it?” He asks calmly, knowing that he has her pinned, and has always had her pinned with the question that she still refuses to acknowledge fifteen years later. 

“Get back in your car, drive off to Nashville, or whatever interstate you won’t stay off of, and leave me alone.” She says, turning again to open the door but he kicks his boot out to shut it once more. 

“Coley.” He mumbles and she shakes her head and won’t look at him, teary eyes keeping on the door inches from her face. “Look, nobody  sent me here, okay? I just…” He trails off as he tries to put into words what he’s trying to say. “…Kayce called me after Connie reached out to him trying to get in contact with you about it and I got worried.” 

Of course her oldest nephew had turned to Jake after Coley explicitly stated she didn’t want to talk about it. 

Kayce and his little brother Rhett had spent more time trying to convince their aunt to participate in whatever documentary Josh had been cooking up about the band ever since the singer had mentioned it two years prior. 

“He thinks it’s important that you talk about it, because the more you don’t, the more people take it as an opportunity to believe whatever made-up bullshit they’ve created to explain it for themselves. And I agree with him completely. We all do. What’s out there is so far from the truth, and it's not fair to you.”

She doesn’t reply immediately, knowing the point he's making is a good one, having her own various frustrations with the lies being spun around her departure from the group.

They'd all been reading lies for years surrounding why she left the band: imaginary tales of her drug addiction issues, how difficult she had been to work with, and her lack of talent which resulted in dead weight the three instrumentalists had to carry--all of which were completely alleged, only being speculated by people who either had nothing better to do, or begrudged individuals who Coley perhaps wasn't the nicest to for good reason.

She had always kept her mouth shut and just let everyone talk, requesting that her niece and nephews, family, friends, and former bandmates do the same...

And here's her opportunity to speak up for herself, in her own words, with the support and backing of her former bandmates--making her words, their words.

Jake isn't going to grovel with her, not having the energy to at the moment, and relents.

Removing his foot from the door to free her, he steps to grab his sunglasses so he can leave. 

Coley turns to face him while he walks away, and as he's stepping down the stairs of her front porch, he comes to a halt when she finally asks, “How long is all of this going to take?”

1 YEAR LATER

In 2012, rock band Greta Van Fleet was born from the outskirts of Frankenmuth, Michigan.

The original line-would exchange and expand to consist of founder Jacob Kiszka (Lead Guitarist), his brothers: Samuel Kiszka (Bassist), and Joshua Kiszka (Lead Vocalist), as well as Daniel Wagner (Drum Kit), and Coley “C.J.” Payne (Rhythm Guitarist, Backing Vocalist).

In 2024, the established group of five would shift, as Payne would announce her departure from the band.

Neither Greta Van Fleet, nor C.J. Payne made a comment on the matter, initially.

The silence was only broken when C.J. gave her only on-record citing of her split the year to follow.

When asked why she took her final bow with the band, Payne stated: “Our differences were more irreconcilable than artistic.”

Fifteen years later, Greta Van Fleet is disclosing for the first time publicly why her run with them came to an end…

Six scenes are laid out separately, taking place in six separate locations–one at a lakehouse in Michigan, two occurring in Tennessee—East Nashville, and Pigeon Forge—the fourth is a house in California, the fifth an office in Detroit, and, finally, a golf resort in Florida…

CONSTANCE LOBATTI (former manager): I worked closely with the band as they toured from 2017 to 2024. They were great fun to work with and had a very chaotic way about them, but they also tried to be respectful of management so they were easy to get along with. Well…the boys were pretty easy to get along with.

JOSH KISZKA (Vocals, Greta Van Fleet): Where’s my fucking camera? Oh, oh, yes I see now. I need to take these glasses off, anyway—I don’t want to come across too prestigious…is someone bringing me a beverage?

SAMUEL KISZKA (Bass, Greta Van Fleet): …So…we can say anything about each other, and nobody’s gonna sue for defamation? Can we confirm that?

DANIEL WAGNER (Drums, Greta Van Fleet): None of this screams “PR nightmare” at all.

JAKE KISZKA (Lead Guitar, Greta Van Fleet): This is kind of a loaded conversation to be having at 6:12 in the evening, isn’t it?

COLEY PAYNE (Rhythm Guitar, Greta Van Fleet): Whose idea was this, again?

[abbythewritor]

"Janitor" Fnaf Security Breach x Fem reader. *2*

Description: What happens when Y/n L/n lands a cleaning Job at the mega pizza plex? How will she handle all the Animatronics falling for her?

Warnings: Slight drama, blood, and jealousy, but other than that, none.

Rated: PG-13.

Other things:

-Bonnie and Foxie aren't dismantled, thanks to Gregory.

-Cassie and Gregory are in High School, working as security guards to keep Freddy and everyone else safe.

-I added a new Daycare attendant named Jester, who will be introduced later, and of course, the attendees got new Upgrades, thanks to Gregory.

-The OCs I will be using aren't mind, and the User names will be linked at the end of the chapter; the credits go to them :)

-Finally, no adult content will be included in this story.

Enjoy the second chapter :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Wow! Good Job, newbie, we cleaned up in under 2 hours!" Dj's room was finally thoroughly cleaned, and thanks to you, your bright Idea of using some sort of Shop-vac to pick up toys, candy, and other stuff left by kids made this whole Job thing a little easier.

Cyrus, who had just finished putting the vac away, stood by as you sat on the floor, sipping a freshly opened juice box. Looking at his fazz watch, the time read 1:15pm, and a satisfied smile formed his lips. "If we keep this up, we can reach the daycare area by 5. You get the gist of things quickly, Newbie; I knew you'd get the hang of it. Plus, I think you went to the top of Mr. Dj's new friend's list." Chuckling, you sipped more of your juice. "I'm not his friend, Cryus; I just complimented his sunglasses." Cryus sat next to you, slightly nudging your shoulder. "Yeah, and everything else. I knew you didn't say anything, but I can easily see a person's body language when they're geeking out. So you're a robot fan, huh?" Your eyes rolled. "Glamrocks, actually." His eyes widened. "No way, really? Wow, is that why you took the job? Wait... you're not planning on anything weird with Freddy and the others, are you-OUCH!! Hey!! Hey!" He laughed when you hit his shoulder.

"Take your mind out of the gutter; I got this job for the money. Besides, I may be a geek, but at least I'm not like one of those Crazed fans who always kiss their posters." Cyrus nodded. "True, we had a fair of those people come here, not to Freddy, but foxy, surprisingly. Poor guy, we had to close his meet and greet early one day because an older woman came to him with his shirt off." "PFFFT" Apple juice came out of your nose as you and he began to die with laughter. Not believing him, you turned to him with surprise once you stopped coughing. "Really? You're shitting me." His head shook. "Nope, not kidding; I got the whole thing on tape if you want to see it later?" Sighing, your head shook.

"Can this place even surprise me more? First, the pizza here is actually good, Second, I meet a Gianormous spider, who's not a human-eating creature, and finally, I get told a story where Foxy almost got molested." Chuckling, Cyrus put his arms behind his back. "You'd be surprised at what happens at the daycare; Poor Sun has to deal more with the kid's actions than Jester and Moon." Your head tilted.

"Jester and Moon?"

"Oh, they are the attendants with Sun, but their moment to shine is when Nap-Time happens. Jester was meant for both morning and Day, but he takes Tag too seriously." Smirking, you leaned onto your right elbow, now fully onto the floor. "Sounds like me; I hate kids." "Same...but someone has to take care of them while the Parents are gone, the same as we have to take care of this place..." Standing up, he stretched.

"Alright, if we head to the Glamrocks dressings rooms now, we'll still be able to make it while they are still performing, which makes perfect timing for us to clean. Now, being the Geek that you are...I doubt they would be out now, but don't worry, I will give you plenty of chances to see them when that time comes." Nodding, you adjusted your hat. "No problem, not in a rush when it comes to that anyway; I know how busy they all can be. Especially Freddy." Cyrus smiled at you. "Glad you understand, Newbie; now come on. DJ! WE OUTA HERE!!"

"Right on! Thank you, Cyrus and little lady! Don't be a stranger, ok?"

Chuckling, your co-worker held a thumbs up towards the tunnel. "Will do! Say Hi to Mini Dj for us!! Come on, Y/n, let's head to the VIP area." Nodding, you followed behind as he began to walk, grabbing the mop bucket as the both of you headed that way.

In all reality, Mr. Dj's room was pretty neat, even though it was large and a lot to clean; you had fun getting to know the spider, the area, and Cyrus a little more.

This job won't be so bad if the other animatronics are excellent as Dj.

Just as long as you keep your head up and do not embarrass yourself in front of the Glammrocks, you should be fine...

Right?

..........

...........

...........

"Cyrus! What are you doing here?!" With a lot of walking, you both made it to the VIP area.

It was huge, right next to the entrances, as many different colored rooms were aligned inside a vast wall, each color representing a different Glamrock and their personalities.

Besides the rooms, you were taking in the mall itself, as the true size of it through your eyes was amazing. Multiple floors, stores, and people surrounded the structure, as familiar music from the Glamrocks played throughout the area.

Many children, adults, and teens walked passed the screen in many different directions, the camera focusing on you as you tried your best not to bump into any people, the mop bucket still being pulled by your grasp.

Not being bothered by Cyrus, he was heading over to a familiar yet older boy, who was shocked to see your Co-worker at this moment. "Gregory! My man!" Giving each other a hug, Gregory fisted his shoulder. "Look at you, man; Summer treated you well." Cyrus was shocked by his comment. "Look at me?! Look at you! You are all grown up! Just yesterday, you and Freddy were being chased by killer Vanny and the others! Just think of how it would go down now!." The boy chuckled while scratching his neck. "It was 8 years ago, Cyrus; Vanny's gone now, unable to hurt anyone again." "Thanks to you! Man, you Kicked that bunny's but! From the beginning, you knew she was involved with the Animatronics going a wall; now, none of them are shut down because of you. Look! You're even freddies personal security guard! How's that going?" Gregory slumped. "It's tiring; Freddy takes every chance of the day to see every. Single. Child. It's annoying enough that I must deal with the crying Kid's parents above it all. They say some...vulgar things..." Cyrus chuckled while his hands went to his hips. "That's Freddy for yah, and yes, sure, the parents suck, but hey, on the bright side, you get to spend more time with him, right?" Gregory shrugged. " I guess your right? But since he's always busy, I tend to hang out with Cassie more than anything. But enough about me, what about you? How's life going for you, and who is that? Is she your girlfriend?" He looked to you, who was being an airhead and was too busy looking around more, stars filling your eyes. Cringing at the sight of you, Cyrus turned to Gregory. "One, I still live with my mom; two, that is Y/n, the newbie; and three, no, she is not my girlfriend." "Huh." Gregory crossed his arms. "That's the Newbie? She doesn't look shy and timid to me-" "Yeah, Dean said that to Dj too...but she's a total geek; you should have seen her when I beat her at a race, anyway, are the gang still performing?" Gregory nodded. "The Guys are; Foxie and Chica don't perform until later tonight; they're practicing for their Duo downstairs. Do you guys need to clean their rooms right now?" Cyrus nodded. "Might as well, since we are on time; we just want to get it cleaned before they get done so fan girl over here....doesn't get too overwhelmed." They both looked to you, who was standing there like an idiot, who played with the ends of her hair and fiddled with your Tee-shirt. Gregory laughed at his statement, his hand lifting his hat up slightly. "I get that; I know Bonnie and Freddie can get a little touchy around new people, so I'll try to keep them distracted until you are done." Cryus patted his back. "Thanks, Gregory, always the hero; hey, Newbie!" Getting your attention, you looked at him as he motioned to you with his thumb. "Let's get started; follow me!" Nodding your head, you grabbed the mope bucket to follow him, walking past Gregory as he told you the plan, both of you heading to Freddie's room first.

Gregory, who just shook his head, sighed as familiar sounds of doors rang through his ears. Turning, he saw Freddy and Familiar animatronics coming toward him, which made him smile.

"Freddy!" He yelled, catching the attention of the bear, who was talking to Bonnie on his right side. "Gregory!" He replied, tail wagging as the boy ran up to him, latching himself onto the robot. "Look at Ya, boy, all dressed up and everything," Foxy spoke, referring to his uniform as the boy adjusted his hat. "Yeah, I never expected this outfit to be this fancy; it feels kinda weird." Monty glared at him. "You're making it feel weird, kid; it looks good on ya." Bonnie nodded. "I agree; besides, it's better than wearing those clothes daily, right?" Gregory huffed, his arms crossing. "At least those close were comfy." Freddy chuckled while putting a hand on his back. "Well, I'm proud of you, superstar; it's a rare opportunity for a high schooler to get this job; you should feel honored." The boy crossed his arms. "I'll feel honored when the stupid parents stop bullying me. Everyone besides him and Monty laughed, Freddy looking at him again. "Greggory, if I can ask, is there a way can we go to our rooms yet to recharge? There is a malfunction I need to check; my left eye seems to be a bit more blurry than usual." "I wish you guys could, but Cyrus has a Newbie with him; they're cleaning your rooms as they speak." Bonnie's eyes widened. "Theirs a new Janitor? Why isn't Dean here then?" Gregory shrugged. "Dunno, but Cyrus doesn't want to overwhelm her, so it's best if you guys do something else for now." Freddy nodded with a smile. "No problem, superstar, we'll think of something." Foxy did a stretch. "Yar...might as well be heading to my ship; I don't want Roxy putting her dirty paws on me, gold..." Bonnie's eyes rolled. "I told you, foxy, it's not roxy who steals it; kids sometimes swallow those things, you know?"

"Doesn't matter; my gold matters too much; I need to protect it." Watching Foxie walk away, trying his best to avoid crowds and kids, Bonnie just sighed. "Him and his Gold, I'm off to go play bowling. El-chip has bets of years of free tacos if I can get a perfect strike score; wanna join, Monty-Monty?" The gator just huffed, a pissed-off look hinting on his face as Freddy and the bunny grew concerned. He walked away from the group, probably heading to Gator Golf, as the three watched, unable to do anything else about it. Gregory sighed, looking at Freddy. "Did his guitar break again?" Freddy nodded sadly. "The instrument is not what it used to be, he got it before Vanny corrupted him and the others, and it was the only thing that could keep him calm. But now, it keeps breaking during performances, which concerns people and his fans." Gregory's brows furrowed. "Can't he just get it fixed?" Bonnie shook his head. "No, he doesn't trust anyone with it, especially when Cyrus switched to Daycare; he is the only one who can fix his guitar." "Then why not ask Cyrus to fix it himself? It's not like he'd turn Monty down, right?" Freddy sighed. "It's not that simple for Monty; he cares about Cyrus a lot, but since Cyrus switched to daycare, it made him angry enough to be a threat. When Vanny corrupted everyone, he went straight to Cyrus, doing something horrible that none of us can forget. " "Wow...and he doesn't want to hurt him again...I understand...Vanny caused him that fear, and to get rid of it must be hard." Bonnie nodded. "Yes, But I'm afraid for him..." Gregory tilted his head. "Why is that Bonnie?" sighing more, Bonnie looked to Monty, who seemed to be kneeling down to a Toddler, who touched the Gator's snout with pure love and fondness. Even the gator didn't show his genuine emotions; he tried to put on his best face for the toddler, not letting his Guitar or the past get to him. "Each day, that fear grows more and more, kids are getting ignored, he lashes out if nothing going right, and heck, even Roxy can't put him back in line. If something doesn't happen to help the poor guy."

"He'll just end up getting worse, day by day."

......................................................................................

"And finally, we are done!!!" It took a while, but the rooms of the glam rocks were finally cleaned.

Cyrus was impressed as you cleaned Montie's room by yourself, picking up every destroyed object, dirt, and even leftover presents from fans on the floor or the walls.

You ensured not to touch the robot's personal stuff, as everything in the room was essential and organized. This wasn't even a part of your payroll, but doing the extra stuff made at least your OCD ten times better.

Shocked as hell, his mouth was open wide as you stood up, whipping the sweat from your forehead. "It took a lot of elbow grease, but I think I managed to get it mostly cleaned-" "MOSTLY CLEANED?!" You squealed a bit as Cyrus's hands went everywhere. "THE WHOLE ROOM IS SPOTLESS!!!" You chuckled. "Yeah, guess I got carried away; I hope that isn't a problem, Cyrus." "Are you kidding?" You looked up at him smiling. "That isn't a problem, Y/n; it's a great skill to have, I wish I was like that when I was little, but of course, I had to be a pain in the ass." "Well, I am not like that; I get terrible OCD when things are misplaced, so cleaning Monty's room was basically therapy for me." You replied, feeling a hard slap coming from him onto your back. "I'm glad, newbie!" He chirped, throwing a towel over his left shoulder. "Monty can get pretty angry sometimes, even after the whole hacking incident; things have changed, and doing this for him makes the Gater a little bit happier each day." He then sighed.

"Though, that's all we could do; he didn't used to be like this." Your brows furrowed."What do you mean?" Cyrus was silent for a while before looking to the ground. "Before I transferred to Daycare, I was a mechanic for the Glamrocks." Your eyes widened. "Really? That's cool!" He chuckled. "Yeah, it was cool, alright, being able to hang out with the most excellent Robots in history, Freddy, Bonnie, Foxy, Chica, Roxy, Monty. Honestly, out of all six of them, I seemed more attached to Monty than everything; we were best friends. Whenever he malfunctioned, he came to me with the saddest eyes, or when Roxy or even Foxy said something wrong, we would always talk about the situation and work the stuff out."

He paused before pouting, trying his best not to cry just a little. "I fixed his damn guitar before every. Single. Show. His temper tantrum was the death of me of my time there, but somehow I always managed to fix it and make the gator happy. I miss that feeling....but when the glitches happened, and Freddy and the gang started to act weirder than usual, the company switched me over to daycare, which hadn't been touched by the virus at the time." Your eyebrows furrowed, and one of your hands was on his back as he struggled to get the following words out, his eyes looking at the guitar Monty o-so cares about. "He hated me leaving, and trust me, I didn't want to transfer either, but it was for my and other people's safety as well; Monty was like a brother to me. Sometimes when I try to talk to him now, I get an angry huff, and he walks away. It hurts, yes, but it's not his fault...I should have stayed when I should..." His hands ran through his hair, and shaky breaths and sad motions came from him, which made your heart instantly break. You don't know why he's telling you this when you only met him today, but hearing the story of his and Monty's bond is hard to ignore.

"Cryus...I-I don't know what to say..." He chuckled sadly, looking at you. "You don't have to say anything, Newbie....what's in the past is done, and now what I can try to do to lift his spirits is clean, clean, and clean....thank you for your help, Y/n, but, I think we should cut training today short." Your eyes widened with surprise. "A-Are you sure? We still have a lot to do-" Cyrus smirked. "Go home; night shift people will take care of the Daycare area tonight, just as long as you're ready to clean again tomorrow, alright?" Watching him get up, you were confused at first but understood since the Situation and tension were high right now; no, you nodded in agreement. "Alright, but at least let me finish up here; there are just some holes I need to patch up." He snorted at your stubbornness. "You don't quit, do you?" Shrugging, you smirked. "What can I say? You hired a germaphobe." Shaking his head with a smile, he rummaged through his pockets before throwing you something. "Alright, here." Catching it, you looked to see it was a pair of keys. "Monty's room will need to be locked when you are done; he rarely goes in here, so you don't have to worry about him coming in anytime soon." You nodded again. "Alright...thanks." "Just, when you're done, give the keys to Gregory; we don't want anything happening if those keys are found by kids or teens, okay, Newbie?"

Saluting to him, your face went cute. "Yes, sir!" He cringed. "Just finish up you doof." And with that, Cyrus left you in Montie's room.

Looking around and out of windows to see if no one was coming, your body turned, looking at Monty's broken yet elegant guitar.

Hearing his story replay in your head caused your heart to break while staring at it more, as your hands gently grasped the large instrument.

You play a little guitar at home, and you had a fair share of broken instruments, special ones. So hearing that story, knowing Monty's pain and anger, it's like looking in a mirror.

Everyone has bad days, but this Monty has been dealing with a lot of them for many bad days.

Yes, you are a Janitor, and Yes, you shouldn't be thinking this, and yes, it's only your first day, but if you were going to work here forever, you might as well start building a relationship with your co-workers and even the glam rocks. Feeling the guitar, every inch, string, and flaw this machine has, you knew exactly how to fix it. "Alright, Monty, you suffered enough days of anger......Now..."

"It's time to make things right."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Monty's guitar :)

[the-shipper-center]

My vent as a former anti. Now, being a proshipper from 2 years

I can still remember the first time I stumbled into fandom spaces—it was around 2018, and, back then, it felt like a completely different world. I spent all my time on Amino communities, pouring my heart and soul into my posts about my unnecessary overly complicated gacha OCs. I’d obsess over any gay ship I came across because, let’s be honest, it was a lifeline. It felt freeing, validating even, to just fangirl and enjoy the ships that made me happy, no matter how niche or strange they seemed to others. I thought I had found my space, my people.

For years, I avoided TikTok like the plague. Until curiosity got the best of me in December 2021. That’s when I finally gave in and downloaded TikTok, thinking maybe I was just being close-minded. I wish I could say it opened my eyes in a positive way, but honestly, it was more like a punch to the gut. Everything I had loved, every ship I had adored, was suddenly labeled as problematic or "gross." And if you dared to enjoy them publicly? Forget it. You’d be torn apart, dragged for things you didn’t even realize people found offensive.

I was harassed constantly, called names, made to feel like I was disgusting for simply liking the things that had brought me so much joy before. At first, I tried to defend myself, to argue that shipping was just that—fiction. But it felt like everyone was screaming at me, telling me I was wrong. I started questioning myself. Maybe I was the problem? Maybe all the things I had loved really were as bad as they said? It got to the point where I was so mentally exhausted from the constant attacks that I gave in. I stopped enjoying those ships. I became an anti, turned my back on everything I used to like, because it was easier to just follow the crowd than to keep fighting. For two long years, I lived like that—policing myself, hating on the things I once loved, just to avoid more harassment.

The amount of hate I got was insane. It was like the second I stepped out of line from what the fandom deemed acceptable, they came at me full force. I can’t even count the number of times people told me to kill myself or threw disgusting jokes my way. The rape jokes were constant, like they thought making fun of something so vile was the way to make me feel ashamed of what I liked. No one should have to deal with that. I’d get these long paragraphs telling me how I was “a disgusting freak,” how I was the reason fandom spaces were “toxic,” all because I shipped something that didn’t fit their moral purity.

But the thing is, living like that takes a toll. It's draining to constantly censor yourself, to constantly fight against your own interests because someone else told you they were wrong. By mid-2023, I was exhausted. I’d stopped even enjoying fandom. I wasn’t posting, wasn’t engaging. I was just… there. And then, almost as a joke, I found myself wandering into a proshipper server. I thought, “Why not? I’ll just see what they’re all about. It doesn’t mean anything.” But the more time I spent there, the more I started to question why I’d let other people make me feel so ashamed of what I liked. I mean, seriously—how had it come to this? Being scared to talk about fictional characters and pairings????

Before I knew it, I started to find peace in that space, like I was finally breathing again. It wasn’t immediate, but little by little, I started to let go of the guilt I had carried for so long. And, yeah, I eventually became a proshipper myself. But it wasn’t some huge revelation or sudden change. It was more like finally reclaiming something I had been forced to give up. And now, looking back on those years I spent hating myself for liking what I liked? It makes me angry. Angry at the fandom, angry at the people who made me feel like I had to pick a side, like I had to tear myself apart to fit into their mold of what was "acceptable."

I made friends. Real friends. People who weren’t there to tear me down, but to support me and share in the things that made us happy. For the first time in what felt like forever, I had people I could talk to without constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering if I was going to get attacked for every little thing. These friends didn’t care if my ships were "problematic." They just wanted to enjoy fandom without the toxicity, without the constant fear of being canceled or harassed. And that was something I hadn’t realized how badly I needed.

I wasted years of my life trying to be something I’m not, all because of this toxic, moralizing part of fandom that I never wanted to be a part of in the first place. And the worst part? It wasn’t even about them; it was about me. They didn’t care. They didn’t know me. But I let them control how I felt, and that’s something I still struggle with. Even now, there’s this lingering doubt in the back of my mind, like, “What if they’re right? What if I’m the problem?” But deep down, I know that I’ve found my space again, and that’s all that really matters.

It’s just hard to accept that you let yourself be molded by people who didn’t care about you in the first place. That kind of pressure leaves scars, and I’m still working on healing.

[ghost-tings]

so I'm on the final book woooo we love this honestly doing lore stuff for ocs or just scrolling on my phone while listening to the audio books is so much more easier than picking up the fucking kindle to complete my reread when im already down two of the books anyway, the character development the relationships is just so lovely to hear again

"I warned not to put a leash on me"

"I didn't" neil said "you put that leash on yourself when you told me to stay no matter what, don't be mad at me just because I was smart enough to pick up the other end of it"

hell yeah one of the best interactions in my opinion I'm looking so forward to baltimore I can't wait for it man "I wanna see you lose control." oof that was so great the back and forth those to have is just amazing.

alright its his birthday woooo locker room mess woop woop, let's go (low-key I can do the happy 19th birthday junior in December because I'm 19 then) BLOOD SPLATTER (poor boy he doesn't deserve this) God damn that sucks him going through a slight panic is just so great like it sucks.

"HAAPPY 19TH BIRTHDAY JUNIOR!" LETS FUCKING GO HECK YEAH well oh well way to go shut down your panic all you want "carrie stunt double" only one of matts best lines in this books love you for that dude

[dragonmarquise]

BRC Headcanon Full Names

I have another BRC ask to work on tonight, thus I figure I should post this now. So then, behold! A big ol’ list of full name headcanons!

Basically a continuation of this post I made a long while back. This covers pretty much all the major characters, at least the playable ones. Plus even specific crew members from the rival crews!

Some of these have specific meanings that I used for the particular character, others were just kind of more general vibes, like “Oh this sounds cool/cute/etc.” A few of these will have extra notes on why I picked particular given/family names, but otherwise just assume it was because I liked the sound of it! Went with mostly Dutch last names for most of these characters since, well, dialog in parts of the game imply New Amsterdam is still in the Netherlands, so that made it a bit easier when I couldn't think of anything else to try, y'know? :P

Also note, not everyone here has a middle name. Not everyone irl has one anyways! Also also, some of the Dutch last names may be in the format of “Van (something)” or “De (something”, so just wanted to point that out in case anyone might get confused and think Van/De is a middle name, lol

Starting with the main cast:

Tryce = Tristian Christoffel

Bel = Annabella Pieper

DJ Cyber = Cyrus Rafaël Nassau

Felix = Bernard Manfred Van Steen (I still maintain that Felix looks like his real name would be Bernard, lol)

Vinyl = Florence Zoë Hendriks (when she was a child, she would sometimes write it as “Hendrix” and try to convince people she was related to Jimi Hendrix; it worked more often than it probably should have)

Solace = Levi Smit

The five bonus BRC members:

Rave = Vanessa Yvonne Ziegler (A headcanon, note, her dad is a black German, and her mom is from the Dominican Republic! Since she has a bunch of lines in German, and at least two in Spanish (one in particular being specifically Dominican slang), so that’s how I’m handled this :P )

Mesh = Bassam Karimi (first name means “smiling” in Arabic, last name is derived from the given name Karim/Kareem, which in turn means something along the lines of "generous, noble" or “dignity”; my research into this yielded differing results, but this seems to be more or less the overall idea. Honestly think it both sounds nice and really suits him!)

Shine = Sol Bakker (“Sol” just means “sun” in Spanish and Portugese, basically the idea is she derived her street name from that!)

Rise = Josephine Katherina Thomas (She hates being called any sort of nickname for her first name. It’s either Rise or Josephine, that’s it)

Coil = Oscar Meijer (Fun fact, the English equivalent of Meijer is Meyer/Mayer. I genuinely did not intentionally make Coil’s real name to be a roundabout reference to the lunch meat, but now that I realize it, I’m definitely keeping it this way, loool)

Some others:

Rietveld = We know here full name is Irene Rietveld, but a bonus idea: the rest of BRC point out it’s a bit awkward for her to go by her real name as her street/writer name, so she eventually settles on Rivet as an alias! :D

Escher = Matthias Conrad Escher (Originally just Matthias, but then decided to make a reference to the actual M. C. Escher, “Yeah, my parents knew what they were doing.”; thanks to @slappels for the suggestion way back when!!)

My Devil Theory OCs! The season in parentheses is what in-game palette they correspond with.

Sai (spring) = Tomás Lucas Ortiz

Nunchaku (summer) = Roxanne Beverly Sullivan

Daishō (autumn) = Hiro Francisco Morikawa (first name using the character for “prosperous” (浩); last name using the characters for “forest” (森) and “river” (川). Not that he ever gets a chance to write them in Japanese characters anyways :P )

Bō (winter) = Gavril Jansen

Now for DOT EXE! A repeat from the full DOT EXE headcanons I made a while back, but still including it here for convenience.

Cueball = Ernesto Alberto Visser (Dutch father and Italian-American mother; “Her side of the family were like, the conservative Italian-American types. The kind that makes an annoyingly big deal about celebrating Columbus Day.”; his first and middle name come from two different great grandfathers on his mom’s side)

Eight Ball = Frederik Visser (older half-brother to Cueball, they share the same dad)

Cinco (five ball) = César Hugo Raúl Garcia-Flores (last name got hyphenated when he moved to New Amsterdam while getting his papers in order and stuff; not sure if I ever clarified it in the original post, but in most (probably all?) Spanish-speaking countries, people have two last names, one from their father and the other from their mother. When moving to a country that doesn’t allow for two last names, some people end up forced to pick one or the other. Cinco went with just hyphenating it to be able to effectively keep both.)

Neun (nine ball) = Sebastián Montero Sebastian Jäger

Twoson (two ball) = Beau Driessen

Fourside (four ball) = Robin Zaal

Jūrō (ten ball) = Maximilien Théodore Perrault

Quatorze (fourteen ball) = Marie-Madeleine Lucille Perrault

And heck, the rest of the New Amsterdam crews too while I’m at it. Same as with DT and DE, the season in parentheses is the corresponding in-game palette for the playable rival character.

The Franks:

Flesh Prince = Ruben Vos (last name meaning fox, and apparently was/is a nickname for a clever person… or a person with red hair, lol)

Bill (spring) = Caspar Westenberg

Charles (summer) = Thomas Vogels

Michael (autumn) = Abraham Joël Admiraal

Larry (winter) = Lennard Van Herten

(For their street names besides the Prince, they’re named after famous basketball players, specifically from this list; Charles, Michael, and Larry are probably obvious, with Bill there’s at least two different Bills on that list lol)

Eclipse: (Street names come from constellations, I tried to go with more (relatively?) obscure ones for the names)

Vela (spring) = Sara Al-Ghazzawi

Aquila (summer) = Melissa Agnes Fortuin

Lyra (autumn) = Hannah De Klerk

Cassiopeia (winter) = Xandra Gemma Daalmans (given name is actually Alexandra, but she goes mostly by Xandra for her business)

And finally the rest of FUTURISM: (see my recent short headcanon post about them!)

Nyx (spring) = Laura Kappel

Jazz (summer) = Vincent Linden

Veronica (autumn) = Paula Prinsen (Paula is the feminine form of Paul, which in turn has roots in the Latin word Paulus which can mean humble. This is an intentionally ironic name choice for this character, lmao. Also Prinsen means “son of the Prince”, so this one is more in line with her haughty attitude)

Quantum (winter) = Esther Katja Hoedemaker (She goes by Kat as a nickname)

This next one only applies to my fanfic AU of “What if we take the postgame at face value and Red somehow became a separate person from both Felix and Faux”, but anyways:

Red = Russell Miles Van Steen (Picked the first and middle names himself, note that Russell just means “red” lol. He took on Felix’s last name since they see each other as brothers after a certain point. And it’s not like Red could come up with a better last name anyways. His middle name when paired with Felix’s middle name is a Miles Edgeworth reference :P )

[dindjarindiaries]

The Rising Phoenix - Chapter One

series masterlist • main masterlist • ao3

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pairing ➵ din djarin x fem!oc rating ➵ mature (18+) tags ➵ enemies to lovers, fluff & angst, emotional & physical hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, injuries & blood, trauma, eventual/mild smut, strong language, sexual references word count ➵ 3.847k chapter summary ➵ This year's team of Mandalorian recruits embark on their journey to Kyrbej, their home for the next brutal cycle.

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CHAPTER ONE

I tie off my right boot and stand up, facing the reflection of myself in the long piece of reflective transparisteel. The leather of my training gear groans at the movements. I bite my cheek. That will take some getting used to.

Damn. I look disproportionate as hell with my beskar helmet and absolutely no other armor joining it. That will be another thing I’ll have to get used to.

Not that there will be any mirrors for me to see myself at Kyrbej. The training grounds on the other side of Concordia’s surface are known for their practicality, not any type of luxury. Certainly not anything more than what we already have in our stronghold. If I want to look at myself, I’ll have to bring my own shard of reflective transparisteel.

Given Linessa’s warnings about how the next cycle will go, though, I’m fairly sure I won’t want to look at myself, anyway.

I’m only able to heave one more breath before there’s a rapid knocking at my door. “Rhi! Hurry! You’re barely giving me any time to say goodbye!”

I swallow the sudden knot my twin sister’s words tie in my throat and pick up my rucksack. It’s heavy as hell, but given the fact I’ll be living out of it, I’m surprised it’s not even heavier. I slide my door open and Rowyn’s standing there, her emerald helmet adorned with gold embellishments flashing in my gaze as she lunges forward to wrap her arms tight around me.

The rucksack falls to the floor as I hug her back. For the first time since we were younglings, our paths are diverging. It’s the Way, as Mom has reminded me so many times before, as the Ancestors have called us each to our own unique paths.

“I’ll see you soon.” I say the words to Rowyn with confidence, even if there’s a wide-open chasm of uncertainty in my chest. I’ve been preparing for this for years, ever since I slid this beskar over my head. My hand cups the back of her helmet. “You better have a full suit ready for me when I get back.”

Rowyn manages a short laugh at that. “First of all, I’m not in charge of giving you armor.” She pulls away and holds my own emerald helmet between her hands, though I can see the white accents I added to each curve of the beskar reflected in her visor. “Second of all, I’m gonna need more than a cycle to learn how to make a full fucking suit.”

I laugh with her. Our helmets touch, silence sitting between us, before I step away and hold her hands in mine. “Tell the Armorer to go easy on you." I squeeze her hands. “I know how easily you blister.”

“I could say the very same about you.” Rowyn’s thumb runs over my palm. “But I think I’ll have it easier over here than you will over there.”

I scoff. “Have you met the Armorer?”

Rowyn can’t laugh this time. I don’t need to see her face to identify her concern. After years without seeing a single person’s face, it’s easy to spot emotions in other ways, especially the people I know best. “Just be careful, Rhi.”

“I will.” I give her hands another squeeze. “You’ve seen how well I can kick ass.”

Rowyn’s helmet tilts, her substitution for a smile. “Yeah, that makes me feel better.”

I chuckle and sigh, going in for one last hug. “I’m gonna miss you so fucking much, Row.”

“I’ll miss you too, Rhi.”

“Rhiane,” Mom’s voice calls for me further down the corridor. “It’s time to get going.”

Rowyn and I step away from each other at the same time. I pick up my rucksack and nod at her, taking in the last of my twin sister before I turn and start to walk towards Mom. Rowyn, however, adds one more thing over my shoulder. “And Rhiane!”

I whip my helmet around. Rowyn jogs to get closer to me, lowering her modulated voice so only I can hear.

“Kick Din Djarin’s ass for me.”

I huff at that, as much as the sound of his name alone sets my chest aflame with deeply planted bitterness. “Easy.”

“Rhiane.” Mom’s voice is more stern now. I wince and turn to face her again, her battle-worn emerald suit of armor serving as a warning rather than an inspiration right now. “Let’s go.”

I look at my boots as I follow her out of the part of the stronghold I’ve called home for twenty-two cycles, now. Hopefully, Dad’s waiting outside, or else I won’t have a chance to say goodbye. There’s no way Mom’s going to let me back inside, and I can’t blame her. The last thing I’d want to do is either hold up the whole group of this cycle’s recruits or have to run like hell to catch up to them.

The maze of the stronghold soon gives way to Concordia’s swirling atmosphere, and as I look up, I can see the distant image of Mandalore. The familiar ache of curiosity and nostalgia I have no need for hits at the sight of our people’s homeworld. I wonder if earning my place as a warrior will ever grant me permission to visit our history there. Even Mom and Dad seem to miss it after running a few missions there when I was little.

Speaking of Dad, he stands with the other parents of my fellow recruits, who will see us off as we head to Kyrbej. There are less parents here than there are recruits, even if there aren’t that many of us. I push the unnecessary observation away and focus on the last goodbyes I have to make.

“You’re late, Rhiane,” Dad greets me, his gloved hand tapping the side of his helmet—and no doubt powering down the chrono within his visor.

Mom offers him the answer. “Rowyn.”

Dad nods in understanding. He approaches me and sets a strong hand on my shoulder. “You’ve been waiting a long time for this day, verd’ika.” I smile to myself at the nickname. I’ve had it ever since I tried to force Rowyn into wrestling matches when we were kids. “I know you’ll make us proud.”

“Thank you.” I nod, maintaining my composure and respect in light of the fellow Mandalorians who surround us.

“The Fighting Corps isn’t ready for you.” Mom speaks up next. She presses her hand against the back of my emerald helmet to make it meet her own. “But you are damn sure ready for it.”

My eyes start to sting, my nose prickling and my throat tied up in a spikey knot. Shit. I told myself I wouldn’t get emotional, even if my beskar could hide it—but I hadn’t expected my parents to show me anything more than tough-love in front of others. “Thank you.” I force the words through my tightened throat.

“The cycle will be over before you know it.” Dad steps towards me when Mom gives him room to, his helmet also meeting my own. “You’ll be a full-fledged warrior next time we see you.”

“Just a full-fledged recruit, Dad.” I manage to maintain my usual smartass tone even amidst my emotional struggle. Dad huffs and steps away. I look between my parents and lower my helmet in love and respect. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.” Their comforting voices are a chorus that wrap around me like a sweet embrace as I force myself to turn my back on them. I join the group of recruits and get in formation, falling into the empty space in the two-by-two line that’s been saved for me.

“It’s about time your ass turned up.” The recruit at my side’s tone is full of nothing but amusement as she tilts her purple helmet at me. “I was starting to think you were having second thoughts.”

I shoved my shoulder against hers. “Fuck off, Sahra.” I tilt my helmet back at her. “As if I’d be the one between us to stay behind.”

I could almost feel the hot waves of Sahra’s embarrassment warming my black leathers. “That’s different. Since Thiio’s due for his training next year—.”

“—You’ll be spending two cycles apart, not just one. I know.” I find her hand and give it a squeeze. “But this will be good for you two. You’ve been inseparable ever since they moved his family’s wing closer to yours.”

“And?” Sahra’s curt response is almost a challenge.

“Selfishly, it gives me more alone time with you.” I let her hand go and shrug. “Plus, who knows. Maybe training will bring out something new in someone that you’ll like.” I gesture with my  helmet to the path we’re about to take. “There’s gonna be a lot of extra adrenaline we have to take care of out there.”

“Fair point.” Sahra becomes more amused again as she crosses her arms over her chest. “And who exactly do you think you’ll be choosing for that task?”

I shrug again. “I’ll have to wait and see.” I spot a familiar shine diagonally across from my position, about four rows of recruits ahead. “I do know who I won’t be choosing, though.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” My visor snaps over to Sahra. She dramatically fires my own words back at me. “Maybe training will bring out something new in someone that you’ll like.”

“Fuck no.” I find the silver helmet again, the only one in this entire group that hasn’t been painted, and tighten my jaw. “That doesn’t apply to him.”

“Really, Rhiane?” Sahra is using the tone of voice that makes it hard to tell if she’s being serious or not. “I always thought you two would be a power—.”

I shove my elbow hard enough into her ribs to make her lose her breath for a moment.

“Damn, fine then. Comm received.” Sahra rubs her hand over her ribs. “No more jokes about Djarin.”

The sound of his name causes his silver helmet to turn over his shoulder. I don’t let my visor stray from his, instead challenging him to look away first. My hands curl into fists at my sides and I wish I could swing them in his direction. I’ve already sparred with him enough times to know, though, that I won’t win—but neither will he.

The question now, then, is who’s going to win this staring contest of ours.

“Recruits!” A booming voice announces from the front of the group.

Another draw it is. We look away from each other at the same time, focusing our attention to the black-armored Mandalorian ahead of us. Captain Hosnan has been running the Fighting Corps’ training for cycles, even before more than half our ranks abandoned the Way during the Clone Wars.

“You’ve been training for cycles to see this moment. You’re now mere minutes away from embarking on this journey, a Mandalorian tradition that’s been in place for thousands of years.”

My stomach twists with nerves I’m not used to having. The historical weight of this training isn’t lost on me, especially when I remember who my ancestors are. Settling for anything less than the goal I’ve made for myself in my mind is unacceptable.

“You’ve sworn the Creed. You’ve earned your most valuable piece of armor: your helmets.” 

Each one of our helmets is unique in some way, all adorned with special colors and embellishments—except for Din’s. For some reason, it makes my blood boil even more.

“Now, you will go on to earn each piece of your full suit of armor with each challenge you undertake. It won’t be easy, but the generations before you have proven it can be done. I’m the first captain to have no deaths reported at Kyrbej in three-hundred years, so don’t be my first.”

I swallow hard. No pressure.

“But don’t be mistaken. This isn’t because I’m softer than the other captains.” Captain Hosnan crosses his arms over his cuirass. “It’s because I’m tougher, and that toughness yields results. So, if any one of you feels you’re not up for the challenge, do us all a favor and walk away now while you can. As for the rest of you…”

Captain Hosnan lowers his arms to lift his fist to the center of his cuirass, right over the kar’ta. 

“Welcome to the Fighting Corps.” He lowers his helmet. “This is the Way.”

We all mirror his gesture, crossing our right arms over our chests and lowering our helmets. “This is the Way.”

The family members beside us are the last to say the phrase. “This is the Way.”

Captain Hosnan turns and begins to walk forward, and our group of recruits follows in obedient formation. I pull the straps of my rucksack higher on my shoulders and give Sahra a look. “Are you ready, Private Auren?”

Sahra tilts her helmet at me. “As ready as I’ll ever be, Private Voss.”

▼▲▼

As it turns out, the hardest part of our cycle at Kyrbej is fucking walking there.

After endless hours of non-stop travel across this desolate moon we call home, Captain Hosnan has finally allowed us to make camp. We don’t have the supplies to pitch tents, so we settle for various alcoves in the nearby rock structures that have defined Concordia ever since it was settled—or, at least, mined.

My feet are throbbing and my legs nearly give out when I sit down beside Sahra at our makeshift fire, but at least this walk is breaking in my boots. I chew on the ration pack Rowyn helped me acquire from the kitchen of our wing, sliding the material in the gap between the lip of my helmet and my skin. There’s no chance I’m gonna be able to hunt something out here.

The recruits are scattered throughout the alcove in their small friend groups, the ones made long before Kyrbej was even on the horizon. I’m well aware these groups will be drastically different by the time we all complete our training, and not just because of Linessa’s warning. It’s common sense. The shit we’re about to go through this cycle changes people from the inside-out.

“I’ll be right back,” Sahra speaks up into our comfortable silence. She stands and brushes the dirt of the alcove off her leathers. “I’ll let you know if I find a decent corner of privacy for relieving ourselves.”

I snort with amusement and watch her as she strides away. I’m not on my own for long, though, as another person soon comes to take her place. I don’t bother fighting the snarl underneath my  helmet or the roll of my eyes behind my visor.

“Voss.” Din’s modulated tone is curt as he stands over me.

“Djarin.” I all but bite his name out.

His arms cross over his chest. His broad chest. Shit, does that tiny detail really matter? “You seem tired.”

I scoff. “What a fucking compliment.” I sit up more and tilt my helmet. “Are you not exhausted from walking for at least six hours straight?” When he starts to reply, I hold up my hand. “Wait, let me guess. You’ve somehow been training for this specific part along with everything else.”

Din tilts his helmet back at me. “You’re catching on.”

Frustration pumps through my veins like hot, molten lava. “Well, what the hell do you want? Or did you just come over here to be an asshole?”

Din doesn’t waver at my hurled insults. “You tell me. Your friend was the one who said my name earlier.”

I narrow my eyes at him and hope he can somehow see their wrath behind my visor, even if it breaks the Creed. “Can’t live with the fact your name’s said in conversations you’re not a part of, Djarin?” I let out an amused huff. “Because I hate to tell you, people are allowed to say your name when you’re not around.”

“I would’ve been content to leave you to it.” Din shifts his weight to one hip. “But you were looking at me, so… naturally, I assumed you had something to say.”

“Nope.” I’m suddenly grateful for the Creed again that keeps my warm, embarrassed face from Din’s line of vision. Ancestors, forgive me. “Consider it a mistake.”

Din’s helmet straightens. “Let me give you some advice.” He gestures with his helmet to the view of Concordia outside the alcove. “There’s no room for mistakes at Kyrbej. Even one could move you down the ranks, and fast. My advice, then?” He drops his arms back to his sides, conveying his severity. “Don’t let it happen again.”

My anger becomes so volatile that I’m relieved I don’t have a metal suit of armor covering me. It would just melt into my skin. “So now you’re giving me orders?” I shake my helmet. “Hell no. And you say that as if I don’t already know.” My anger unties a cruel knot within my throat and unleashes its full wrath. “Unlike you, I have a fucking legacy to maintain.”

Din stiffens, but it only lasts for a moment. His hands curl into fists at his sides, but it’s not an unusual action for him. “Good.” He nods at me, having the audacity to remain civil after my harsh bite—and making me feel like the asshole here. “I expect it won’t happen again, then.”

He turns his back before he can see my middle finger extended up at him. I curse under my breath and wrap my arms around myself for more warmth, glancing at the unfinished ration pack on my lap. I’ve lost my appetite, and I could use the rest for breakfast, anyway.

No. I am not letting this man make me eat myself alive because he was the one who approached me in the first place. He’s trying to get to me mentally, since he can’t beat me physically. I won’t let him win.

Sahra returns and sits even closer to my side than she had before. “Damn, what did I miss?” Her visor gives me a once-over. “You’re tenser than a lariat.” She points at my unfinished ration. “And I expected that to be crumbs by now.”

“What do you think happened?” My visor’s glaring in Din’s direction, even though he’s become lost within the fray of recruits. I find his silver helmet amidst a group of other foundling recruits. He’s the biggest of them all.

“You mean, who do I think happened?” Sahra huffs. “It’s not really a question.”

“He was an asshole for coming over here, and then he made me be an asshole back.”

Sahra tilts her helmet at me. “He ‘made’ you?”

I finally turn to face her. “He wanted to know why you said his name earlier, before we left.”

I hate the way I can practically see Sahra’s purple helmet grow brighter, as if the fire suddenly got more powerful. “Yeah? And what did he have to say about my brilliant joke?”

“Your brilliantly fucking stupid joke? Yeah, he doesn’t know about it.” I huff in indignation. “He just threatened me not to make the ‘mistake’ of using his name without telling him about it again.”

Sahra’s shoulders tense at that. “What the hell?”

“Exactly.” I rest even further against the smooth slab of stone supporting me.

“So, how exactly were you an asshole in this context?”

I cringe, squeezing my eyes tight behind my visor in embarrassment. “Don’t judge me.” The only person who knows the Creed better than me is Din himself. The man’s a stickler for the rules and customs of our people. The foundlings are the future.

“Let me guess.” Sahra’s fingers tap over her thigh in unnecessary concentration. I already know she’s going to get it right on the first try. “You made a jab about him being a foundling?”

I palm my helmet with one of my hands. “Why am I such an ass about that sometimes, Sahra?” I shake my head.

“It’s the only leverage you have on him.” Sahra shrugs and pokes at the fire to keep it burning. “He’s not the most open about his life before his rescue, and he’s definitely not the type to tell anyone how he feels about it—or anything else.”

I stare at the fire. “That doesn’t make it right. He just…” I clench my hands into tight fists, “shit, he makes me so damn angry sometimes.”

“It may not be right, but it’s understandable.” Sahra nods at me. “You were predicted to be the top of our cycle from a young fucking age. Then Djarin just comes in, and… well, he’s the only one who can threaten that.”

I exhale deeply and close my eyes, feeling the weight of this day and situation upon me. “I don’t want to think about that day anymore.”

Sahra’s hand gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I understand.” I hear her shuffling around as she leans back next to me. “Get some rest. I have a feeling Hosnan’s gonna have us up and at ‘em as early as possible.”

Sahra’s right. It feels like I’ve been asleep for all of five minutes when the sound of beskar-on-beskar rings throughout the alcove.

The rest of the recruits and I jolt awake, looking to see Captain Hosnan with his gauntlets crossed over each other. “Morning, recruits! You have five minutes to fully put out your fires, pack your rucksacks, and relieve yourselves before we continue on!”

I groan and let my helmet hit the stone behind me for a moment. We’re not even at Kyrbej yet, and I already understand why I’ve trained like hell for this cycle.

But we will be getting to Kyrbej today, and that excitement alone is what gets me moving faster than anything else.

Once we’re all back on our feet and in our two-by-two formation, Captain Hosnan continues on our path to Kyrbej. Sahra’s quick to notice the sudden hop in my step. “What’s got you so excited to walk another six hours straight?”

I shoot her an incredulous look. “Kyrbej.”

“Right.” Sahra’s visor rises to the swirling sky for a moment. “I almost forgot the destination.”

“I’ve only been training my whole life for it.” I smile to myself, experience my first true wave of joy since leaving the stronghold. “Plus, I’ll finally get to see Linessa.”

Sahra’s helmet snaps back towards me. “Oh, shit, that’s right. She was team leader last year.”

“Damn right she was.” I tilt my helmet towards her. “She’s a Vizsla, after all.”

Sahra snorts. “If Paz was my older brother, I’d work my ass off to be team leader, too.” She gives me a knowing look. “But I’m not even gonna try when I know who it’s going to.”

I bite my cheek. “You don’t know that.”

“By the Ancestors, Rhiane, don’t lose your confidence already.” Sahra nudges my arm. “Your jab at Djarin may have been brutal, but it’s true. Even if he could possibly manage to beat you out in skill, when was the last time they made someone who’s not tied to a clan or a house a fucking team leader?”

My jaw remains wired shut. She’s right. The revelation floods relief through me. “Fair point. I’ll give you that.”

I don’t have another option; I have to believe her. Failing to become team leader isn’t an option. I won’t be able to face Dad, Mom, or even Rowyn if I don’t earn the title.

The hours go by surprisingly quickly, either because of the haziness of my exhaustion or because of the verbal games Sahra and I play to keep ourselves entertained. That haze, however, is quickly replaced by shocking clarity as the adrenaline kicks in at the sight on the horizon.

The unmistakable pillars of Kyrbej frame a tight group of Mandalorian warriors, those who will be serving as our officers, leaders, and teachers for the next cycle. I’m already searching for Linessa’s telltale blue helmet, but as much as I love the woman who’s like another sister to me, she’s not the only reason why my heart is racing with excitement.

After cycles and cycles of waiting, I’m finally at Kyrbej. I’m finally facing my long-awaited destiny. Not even my doubts about Djarin or team leader can quell my pure anticipation.

I don’t have to be Force-sensitive to know that I—and Kyrbej itself—won’t ever be the same after this moment.

◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢

series masterlist • main masterlist • ao3

[allthistrashtalkmakemeitchin]

Ghostwriter CH 25

Unbetad Unedited Unhinged || AO3 Wattpad

Character(s): Kendall Knight, James Diamond, Carlos Garcia, Logan Mitchell, Gustavo Rocque, Kelly Wainwright, Mrs. Knight, Katie Knight, Mr. Clark oc, Veronica Clark oc

Pairing(s): Kendall Knight/Original Female Characters, Kendall Knight & James Diamond & Carlos Garcia & Logan Mitchell,

Word Count: 5544

“Look, the album is called All Over Again, so I want this tour to be called All Over The World!” Gustavo slammed his hand on the map and dragged it across. 

So far, Big Time Rush logos were plastered across North America, which was only part of the world. Gustavo and Kelly were in the producer's office with cardboard cutouts of the band. Kelly sat at his desk on the phone, the receiver pressing between her face and shoulder. 

“Well, Germany won’t return our calls, and Australia won't answer any of our emails!”  Kelly exasperatedly slammed the phone down. 

For Big Time Rush’s next biggest tour, the planning situation was starting to look like it wasn’t going as the producer thought. The round man ensured that he apologized to Belgium after accidentally saying, “I hate Brussels” instead of “Brussels sprouts.” Unfortunately, team BTR was having more problems than they thought. Then again, this entire thing was extremely short notice since Griffin spontaneously called at midnight to let Gustavo know he wanted the band to tour the globe. The boys stressed their producer out enough as it is, but Griffin was beginning to take their spot of being a top-tier annoyance. 

“Gustavo, we have a problem!” Kendall panicked into the office but stopped when he saw the maps all over the room paired with cardboard cutouts with captions in different languages.

“I know.” Gustavo sighed, but that didn’t stop him from riling himself up. “We’re trying to book venues for your All Over the World tour, but the world won’t call us back!”  

“Actually, no.” Kendall chuckled awkwardly. “The guys and I got into a huge fight, and they moved out.” 

“They moved out?!” Gustavo and Kelly shouted. 

“Yeah, funny story.” The blonde clapped his hands together. “Also, Ronnie hasn’t come out of her apartment in a couple of days, so…” 

“You need to fix this!” Gustavo shouted, pointing his half-eaten banana at Kendall. “Whatever is going on with you and your friends, and whatever has Ronnie so upset!” 

“That’s easier said than done, and I can’t exactly fix a problem if I don’t know what the problem is–” 

“Now!” Gustavo was red in the face. 

Kendall didn’t stick around to determine how upset the producer could be. The teenager booked it out of Rocque Records in an instant. Whenever Gustavo was upset, no one wanted to stick around for the aftermath. Except for Kelly, he pays her, so it’s probably a lot different. Halfway out the front door, he turned around, took the elevator upstairs, and walked back into the office.

“No. Can you please yell at the guys so that we can live together again?” 

“Yes, because I love yelling, and I don’t need this band to break up before our soon-to-be world tour.” Gustavo practically inhaled the last piece of his banana and then promptly spiked the peel on the floor as a weird way to assert dominance.

“Can you please not spike a banana peel?” Kelly massaged her temples. “And pick that up before you slip and throw your back out.” 

“Ha! That only happens in cartoons. This is real life.” Gustavo laughed but complied and bent over to pick up the banana peel since this was his office, and he liked to keep it clean most of the time. 

But instead of slipping and throwing his back out, there was a loud and grotesque crack when he bent over. The producer was stuck. Kendall and Kelly gasped, their eyes wide and fearful. 

“My back!” Gustavo wheezed. 

It wasn’t like Kelly wanted this to happen. She was only making an observation and attempting to steer her boss at least away from an unfortunate accident. Of course, throwing his back out because he bent over to pick something up was just something Gustavo would get himself into. The talent scout moved around him and stood next to Kendall. Under any other circumstance, this would have been fine because he could go to the doctor and cancel a rehearsal, but because they were trying to wring enough venues for the upcoming tour, it was less than ideal.

“Oh, this looks bad.” Kelly winced. Kendall grimaced and nodded. 

“I can’t move… or yell.” Gustavo sounded breathy, and he was in excruciating pain. 

“Maybe it’s not so bad,” Kelly shrugged. 

“Yes, it is!” Kendall shouted. “He needs to get to the Palm Woods so he can fix us!” The blonde pointed at the producer. Gustavo held his hand up. 

“Kendall, you have to do it yourself. You have to keep this band together.” The man was whispering, and it was honestly terrifying. With all their time together, the blonde swore he never wanted to reencounter a quiet Gustavo. “And Kelly, call Doc Hollywood.” 

“You know, I’ve never heard him whisper before.” 

“I will destroy all of you.” It wasn’t as threatening when he was whispering, but the sentiment was there. Either way, Kendall ran out of the office to get to the Palm Woods as Kelly scrambled to get to the phone to call the doctor. 

After a quick, would-be thirty-minute call to the doctor’s office of Doc Hollywood, Kelly somehow managed to get Gustavo up on a table. It was an impressive feat, but she didn’t have time to pat herself on the back. 

“Why am I on this table?” Gustavo groaned. He was utterly terrified. The talent scout filed that away as untapped childhood trauma to be rediscovered later. 

“Doc Hollywood said you have to lie flat on a hard surface,” she moved the phone away from her mouth. 

“Where is Doc Hollywood?” 

“Shooting his reality series.” Kelly deadpanned as she put the phone down. “But he said he’s sending over the best in the business.” 

“And that would be me.” 

Seemingly, out of nowhere, a balding man with long grey hair in a blue tunic covered in beaded jewelry appeared in the doorway. Gustavo turned his head slightly and tensed up. Oh no. No, no, no. There was no way another guru was going to get in the way of his career again. 

“Chantal, alternative healer and spiritual advisor to the stars.” The man pressed his hands together and bowed. 

“Absolutely not!” Kelly knew what her boss was thinking. She put the phone down and held her hands up. “No robe-y quacks!” 

“That’s what Johnny Depp said until I cursed his halitosis.” Chantal deadpanned. “With my palms.” He added in a weird, mysterious voice. 

“Cure me!” Gustavo was desperate. He knew his talent scout was floundering as she tried to find venues for Big Time Rush that weren’t in North America. “I have to get up and get our almost world tour going.” Gustavo tried to move, but he whined in pain. 

Chantal dropped his bag and stepped forward. His eyes were wide. It was like he was staring into Gustavo’s soul. It was weird, but the producer couldn’t complain. He needed his back fixed pronto and would do anything or try anything to fix it. 

“70% of all ailments are in the mind,” Chantal pointed to his temples. “So, we must trick this mind into getting him off this table.” The man waved his hand over Gustavo’s face and gently moved the table on wheels. Thankfully, the table was on wheels. 

Kelly was skeptical, of course. The last time a guru was involved was when Buddha Bob used a monkey pinch on Gustavo, and suddenly, the record producer was no longer angry. Gustavo also lost all of his talent when that happened. It was safe to say that she did not want anything like that happening again, as they were incredibly close to starting their tour. She also had a feeling that this Chantal character would attempt to take over Rocque Records. He seemed like the type of washed-up celebrity to do that. 

She wasn’t expecting Chantal to push the table with all his strength and send Gustavo flying out of the room. The only problem was that Gustavo couldn’t get up. The producer screamed, and glass shattered in the hallway. Kelly gasped and held her hand over her mouth. She shot a glare at the older man in the robe. 

“Okay, now we know it’s not only in his mind.” 

It was as if Chantal purposefully feigned innocence. The talent scout knew that Gustavo would sue him for everything he had once this was over. 

Unfortunately, Kelly had to get Gustavo back into the office and back on the table because Chantal had shoved him out of the room. Chantal was no help, not that she expected him to be of any help to her. It was an hour of struggling until she finally got him back on the cold metal table, and it was more of a struggle to push the table back into the room. Just as she thought she could take a break, the phone rang, and she raced over. 

“Kelly Wainwright, BTR tour manager.” She picked up the phone with lightning-fast reflexes. Gustavo was groaning in pain as Chantal was waving his hands over the producer again. 

“Yes!” Kelly gasped and put the phone down. 

“What?” Gustavo tried to crane his neck to see what was going on, but a sickening crack came from him again, and he screamed in agony. 

“We are playing Vancouver, Canada, which means BTR’s All Over The World Tour is... On!” She took one of the little pushpins and put one in the Canada providence. 

“Yes!” Gustavo moved his arms to celebrate this victory, but his bones made an awful crunching sound again. 

“Technically, that’s a North American tour. You need to play another continent for a world tour.” Chantal chimed in. Neither Gustavo nor Kelly were impressed with his input. 

“Not helping.” Gustavo wheezed. 

“And you need to fix him so he can move again!” Kelly jabbed a finger in Chantal’s direction. 

“My record is perfect!” Chantal snapped. “But my positive vibes have never faced such negative blocks before.” He kept moving his hands, trying to fix the man on the table. 

“Look,” Kelly pulled the album CD out of a drawer. “Our album is called All Over Again, so do what you’re doing all over again until he’s fixed.” 

“Then I will resort to more Western chiropractic methods.” 

And the weirdo was back to waving his hands over Gustavo as if that would fix anything by moving “energy” around him. Kelly was beginning to doubt this man's credentials. 

“I’ll crack the vertebra, thereby creating a space to let the good vibes in.” 

Kelly winced as he rolled Gustavo off the table onto the hardwood floor. 

“Okay,” Chantal’s shoulders slumped. “This guy is unhealable.” 

“I’m going to be on my back forever.” Gustavo looked like he was… Crying? “With no world tour!” 

“Wait, perhaps if Chantal uses an unorthodox method to heal him.” 

Gustavo moaned in pain. Kelly watched as the strange man picked up one of the flagged needles off the desk and pressed the pad of his index finger against the metal point. 

“No, no, no. No acupuncture!” Kelly shook her head and crossed her arms. 

“Actually, I’m the spiritual advisor to Sir Huge Concert Promoter in England,” 

Gustavo turned his head. He was intrigued. 

“I am simply going to advise him to book a Big Time Rush concert in London.” Chantal took the pin and stuck it where the star on the map was. 

“Yes!” Gustavo jumped to his feet. “Holy shit! My back! It’s healed!” He gasped. 

Chantal pressed his hands together and bowed. 

“And as long as Kendall’s healed the guys’ friendship,” Kelly grinned. 

“Big Time Rush is going on a world tour!” Gustavo pumped his fist in the air. 

With the help of his younger sister, Kendall somehow managed to bring his friends together one last time to give one of his famous speeches. Of course, he had to manipulate his friends to get them into apartment 2J, but the details didn’t matter because he got them together and made them realize how much they meant to each other. Also, it took them an entire day to realize Battleblast 5, Biohazard, was causing them to fight so much. Logan was obsessed with checking statistics for the game and rubbed it in his friends' faces; Carlos wasn’t a team player and was sharing the items with his friends in the game, which upset James and caused them to fight. The only one who was level-headed about it was Kendall. 

Ultimately, Kendall gave the game to his mother because he didn’t want to fight with his friends anymore. The last thing to figure out was how to help Ronnie. It was strange he hadn’t seen her all day. Usually, she tried to stay out of the chaos that the four of them caused, but sometimes, she got sucked into whatever scheme of theirs needed to be cleaned up. Not that he thought she should always be around to clean up their messes, but it was disappointing that she wasn’t around at all. 

“So now, maybe you will finally go outside and play?” Mrs. Knight gestured to the open door behind her. 

“Mom, we’re not eight.” Kendall scoffed. 

“Dust off your passports, cause Big Time Rush’s All Over The World tour is a go!” Gustavo opened his jacket to reveal a black t-shirt with a red and white graphic design of a globe and the word Big Time Rush’s All Over the World Tour on it. Kelly was wearing one, too. 

It was more than likely they would be selling these as merch for the tour. 

The four boys cheered. 

“With tour dates in the United States, Canada, and London!” Kelly added. 

���We’re going to England?” The boys gasped. 

“And we need to start rehearsal now.” Gustavo waved his hands around. 

Mrs. Knight smirked. The guys were playing outside, after all. 

“Wait, wait, wait.” Carlos, James, and Logan were halfway out the door when Kendall stopped them. “Where’s Ronnie? Where’s our songwriter? Shouldn’t she know about this too?” 

“Right, I haven’t seen her all day.” Carlos scratched his chin. 

“Oh! Maybe she’s out with her boyfriend!” Logan suggested. 

“Can’t be,” Kendall shook his head. “He hasn’t texted her since last week,” 

“And how do you know this?” James narrowed his eyes. “Have you been spying on them? Spying on her?” 

“She told me.” Kendall nudged James’ shoulder. 

“Okay then? Let’s go see what she’s up to.” Carlos’ eyes lit up. “The last one to the elevator has to ring the doorbell!” The dark-haired boy started running. 

“No fair, her dad’s terrifying!” Kendall shouted, running after his friend. 

Gustavo, Kelly, and Mrs. Knight moved out of the way of the four of them. It was good to know that they worried about her. Mrs. Knight was a little worried they wouldn’t want anything to do with her on their journey to become famous, but it was sweet that she wasn’t left behind. 

Carlos got to the elevator first, and Logan got there last. Kendall was thankful it wasn’t him. He was a little scared of Mr. Clark. It was impossible to tell if the guy could be easily impressed. The blonde also felt like Mr. Clark hated him. It was weird, considering they barely interacted. Of course, delivering the tour news was exciting, but no one stopped to ask Gustavo if she would even be allowed on tour with them. The details could be figured out later. They could all celebrate their hard work and revel in their accomplishments. A world tour was the first step to stardom. From then on, they would all be rich and famous. 

It was already late in the day. The guys didn’t anticipate her being in her apartment, but they were hoping someone was home in 3G. Logan rang the doorbell and ushered them all to step back. He didn’t want it to seem weird if they were crowding around the front door. The four waited five minutes, and Logan rang the doorbell again. 

Unexpectedly, Mr. Clark opened the door and stared down at the boys. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. 

“What do you want?” 

“Hey, Mister C, is Ronnie home?” Carlos asked with a big, innocent grin. 

Mr. Clark furrowed his brows. 

“You just missed her. She went out on a date with her boyfriend Curt.” The man shot a glare at Kendall, who tensed up. The boy smiled sheepishly and looked away. 

“Oh.” Carlos frowned. “Can you take a message?” 

“Can’t you text her?” Mr. Clark asked tiredly. They were interrupting his precious midday nap. 

“Well, yes.” James chuckled. “But we thought sharing this information in person would be much better than a simple text.” 

“Okay, what is it?” Mr. Clark sighed. 

“Big Time Rush is going on their world tour!” The four boys exclaimed excitedly. 

Mr. Clark leaned back and blinked twice. That was different from the message he was expecting. Adjusting his glasses, he coughed into his hand. 

“If I’m home, I’ll make sure to let her know about this world tour.” 

“Thanks,” Logan snapped finger guns awkwardly. 

“See you boys.” Mr. Clark closed the door in their faces. 

“Okay! Let’s get to rehearsal!” Kendall clapped his hands together, trying to shake off the awkwardness settling in the air. 

Ronnie assumed inviting Curt to her apartment would have made him feel better. Tension hung heavy in the air. Her lungs struggled to expand as she unlocked the front door. Her father wasn’t home because he was working late. She wasn’t anxious. She knew something was wrong. There was something that had been off the entire night. Ronnie swallowed audibly and wrung her hands together. She looked at the floor like a guilty little kid. 

“What? What’s wrong, now?” There was an edge to Curt’s voice she hadn’t heard before. Her fight or flight kicked in, but she froze. Her head snapped up, and she looked at him with wide eyes. 

“Nothing wrong. You’re the one who has been off all evening.” 

“Me? I’m the one who’s off?” 

“Yes!” Ronnie took a hesitant step back. “You’ve been short with me, and your answers have been cold!” 

“I’ve been short with you? Oh, finally, you noticed!” Curt threw his hands up. “This past week, it’s like I’ve been nonexistent to you!” 

“I’ve been trying to spend time with you all week,” 

“But then, when work calls, you make your getaway.” 

“Because my dream is balancing on this second album!” Ronnie snapped. She didn’t like the belligerent tone he’d taken with her. He was talking to her like an annoying child. 

“Not everything is about your dream!” 

She stared at him with wide, scared eyes—the reality set in almost instantaneously. Curt didn’t know what her dream was. Curt didn’t know why she was in L.A. He didn’t know that her career was balancing precariously on whether Griffin liked the second album. Was she another girl in L.A. to him? Suddenly, the rose-colored glasses came off. 

“You change like the wind,” Curt laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “One moment, you’re talking about marriage like some psycho, and the next, you can’t spare me a few moments of your day!” He threw his head back and started laughing hysterically. 

“What has gotten into you?” Ronnie’s voice was barely above a whisper. 

“Me? What has gotten in me?” The hockey player looked offended. For some reason, he looked a bit like Kendall, with his hair messed up and his suit jacket ruffled. “What matters more to you? Me or your job?” 

“You can’t make me choose–” 

“No, no. It’s just a simple question.” Curt shook his head. 

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t make me choose–” 

“Do you love me? Because you spend a lot of fucking time with Kendall,” 

“I work with him…” Ronnie took another step back. “What are you implying? Do you think I’m cheating?” 

“I don’t have to because you said it!” Curt jabbed a finger at her. “You’re cheating on me with Kendall. I knew it!” 

“I’m not cheating on you with him,” 

“But you might as well be. I thought I knew you. I thought you weren’t like other girls.” 

“I am like other girls.” Ronnie tensed up. “I– I’m normal. I’m like everyone else,” 

“That’s what you’re offended by?” Curt deadpanned. 

“I think I like Kendall, but I’m not cheating on you!” Ronnie said quickly. She ripped the truth off like a bandage. She covered her mouth, and her eyes widened. 

“You think you like Kendall?” Curt’s words were like venom. His eyes darkened. “Oh, for fucks sake grow up! You love him, and you never loved me at all.” 

“No–” Ronnie felt like she was breathing through a straw. “I do love you.” 

“You can’t love me if you like someone else,” Curt sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“No, but I figured I would stop liking him if I admitted it. That’s how it works, isn’t it?” 

“What?” Curt stared blankly at her face. “It’s like I never even knew you at all. That’s your conclusion? Are you a fucking idiot?” 

Tears pricked her eyes, and Ronnie balled her hands into fists at her sides. The shame and the anxiety welled the surface, setting her skin ablaze. 

“Get out.” Her voice was terrifyingly level and calm. 

“You can’t be crying about that.” 

“Get out of my apartment, Curt.” Ronnie nudged him to the door. She looked down at her feet, straining to keep her tears in. She shouldn’t fall apart in front of him. 

“Seriously?” Curt shuffled towards the door. He was caught off guard by her reaction. He at least expected her to blow up. Instead, it was like she was holding it. “What? You can’t admit you’re a cheater, so your last ditch effort is to kick me out?” 

“I didn’t cheat on you, Curt,” Ronnie’s shoulders shook, and her voice cracked. “This wasn’t what I expected, and I guess we didn’t know each other as well as we thought.” 

“Veronica–” 

“I wanted someone who wanted me, but the only time you’ve shown me you needed me was when I was sick a couple of weeks ago.” Ronnie took a deep breath. “What about when I called and you never answered? What about how ashamed you look in interviews when anyone mentions me?” 

“Ronnie, I’m the only guy that could love you.” Curt chuckled and grabbed her shoulders gently. “I’m sorry for shouting at you, baby.” 

“I thought I could have hit so many milestones with you and achieved things that other people glorify, but– I don’t– I don’t know why I got my hopes up.” 

“Hey, hey, hey.” Curt put his foot in the doorframe. “Wait. You can’t break up with me because I’m breaking up with you!” 

“Either way,” Ronnie tried to close the door. “Goodbye…” 

“You’ll crawl back to me. I know it!” 

The songwriter nudged his foot out of the way and finally closed the door in his face. She pressed her back firmly against the door and sighed heavily. Curt would have been her everything. She counted the days until they were old enough to get married and wondered what their future would look like. The tears gathered in the outer corners of her eyes rolled down her face, leaving cold tear stains in their wake. Her knees buckled, and she crumpled to the ground. Her world was falling apart around her. There was this pain in her chest as though her heart were ripping in half. Wrapping her arms around herself, she wished so badly that her mother could hug her. Was this her fault for getting too attached? Ronnie hadn’t expected him to pull away when she showed she loved him. 

The green-haired girl took her shoes off and stood hesitantly from the floor. The lights in the apartment were dim, and her eyesight was blurry from the tears. Her phone was on the kitchen counter. She could only make it to the couch with her heels in her hand when the damn broke for a second time. Ronnie wiped at her face. There was mascara and makeup on her hands. Her eyes burned. Turning all the lights off and crying in the dark would be extremely dramatic, but she didn’t feel like getting up. Like ivy creeping up the side of a brick building, she hoped to sit there on the couch until no one could tell the difference between her and the couch. She didn’t hear the knock on the door over the pounding in her ears. That or she assumed it was a figment of her imagination. No one would come to save her. No one would pick the pieces of porcelain off the floor to help her rebuild. Ronnie didn’t know if she wanted someone to pick up the pieces. All her life, she had picked the pieces up alone. She was used to doing things by herself. Why would this be any different? 

The knock at the door came again, followed by a muffled voice. The floodgate had already been opened; try as she might, the songwriter couldn’t force it closed. Ronnie furiously wiped at her face and brushed her hair back. There was no doubt in her mind that her makeup was smeared and running down her face alongside the cold, sticky tear stains. The door opened, and she jumped. It was unlocked. She only closed the door after Curt left. She thought it was Curt for a split second, but instead of clouded blue eyes, she saw worrying swirling within forest green eyes. At a distance, Kendall didn’t notice she was crying and assumed she had woken up from a nap because she was rubbing at her face. 

“I know you weren’t there when Griffin stopped by, but Gustavo announced the tour.” He smiled slightly and mimicked James’ jazz hands. “I came by since you weren’t answering my texts,” 

“That’s… Great!” Ronnie’s voice broke, and Kendall's smile was wiped off. She sniffled and turned her head away. She couldn’t let him see her like this. 

The blonde’s heart dropped. It sank to the bottom of Kendall’s stomach like a stone in a pond. Her tears were like a slow and simple melody that broke his heart. Had it been building up to this all week? Had he done something wrong? Kendall swallowed thickly and closed the door. He crossed the space between the front door and the couch with ease. 

“Ronnie…” 

He knelt in front of her. Her hair curled her face, and she was hiding in her hands. The rapid beating in her ears got louder as she held her breath. It wasn’t fair for him to see her like this. They worked together. He didn’t want to be friends with her in the first place. Hesitantly, he touched her hand. He wasn’t sure if she would lash out at him. Ronnie was frozen like a statue. What would he say if he saw her? What would he do? She could already hear his harsh words laced with venom in her mind. She was a mess. He moved her hand gently. Her fingertips were smudged with mascara and eyeshadow that she had tried to wipe away hastily. She stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes. What was he going to do? 

“I’ll get something to wipe your face,” 

That soft tone in his voice was strange but welcomed. Ronnie tucked her hair behind her ears and looked down at her hands. How much makeup did she put on? It was like she was the main character in one of those sad romance movies with the running mascara. The thought made her laugh. Unsteadily, she exited the couch and followed him into the bathroom. The singer crouched in the small bathroom, looking through the cabinets under the sink. She spotted the makeup wipes he was looking for on the shelf behind him. Carefully, she leaned over him and grabbed them. Kendall accidentally whacked his head on the cabinet, trying to pull his head out. 

“Oh.” At first, Ronnie thought he was commenting about her appearance, but he looked at the makeup wipes in her hand. 

“I can wipe my face myself…” She frowned at him. 

“That wasn’t what I was going to suggest,” Kendall held his hands up. “But, if you don’t want to–” 

Ronnie sighed and handed Kendall the package of makeup wipes. Part of her was giving in because she wanted him to, but mainly, she gave in. After all, if she stared at herself in the mirror, she would start crying again. The songwriter squeezed past Kendall and sat on the closed toilet lid. The package crinkled as the blonde struggled to open it, but the smell of aloe vera bloomed from the container once he finally got it open. Gently, Kendall wiped at her face. He wasn’t sure how gentle her skin was. This little action reminded him of the times he cleaned theatre makeup off James’ face, except James hadn’t been crying for who knows how long. 

The makeup wipe was cold against her burning skin. Kendall could feel it. As much as he wanted to ask what happened, he chose not to. She blinked when he carefully dabbed at her eyes. For the most part, she no longer had a lot of makeup on her face.

“Do you– Do you want to watch a movie?” Kendall cleared his throat and looked away. “That uhh– That usually helps… When I’m upset.” 

She didn’t respond, afraid her voice would betray her. 

“Okay, then.” Kendall took a step backward out of the bathroom and then took another step. He didn’t want to be too close.  

“I’ll uhh… Go look at what you have…” He jutted his thumb over his shoulder and headed toward the living room. 

Ronnie sighed and stood up from the toilet. She turned the hot water on and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red, and her hair was unkempt, primarily because she’d been running her hands through it all evening. She cupped her hands under the hot water and rubbed the soap against her palms. Hand soap wasn’t advised, but she didn’t feel like getting out of all the skin care products James had gifted her. The songwriter scrubbed at her face until it was red, and she could no longer see the remnants of her ruined makeup. Which, she wore because Curt said something in an interview about how he wished she wore makeup more often. 

The light turned off in the bathroom, and she shuffled across the floor to her bedroom. The hardwood was cold on her feet, and her bones were heavy. If the Earth opened to swallow her whole, she wouldn’t think twice about letting it. She didn’t close her bedroom door all the way accidentally. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she let her back hit the mattress and stared at the ceiling. This was her fault. It had to be her fault. Curt wouldn’t have broken up with her if she had been a better girlfriend. Her hair splayed in a halo around her head. She wanted nothing more than to get out of this dress and bundle herself with one of those crocheted blankets her mother made. Instead of sitting up, she rolled onto her side and stared blankly at her dresser. Oh, how she wished clothes would telepathically be moved from the drawers. But maybe that was a little too dramatic. She got up begrudgingly and pulled out non-matching pajamas. The pants were white, fuzzy, and patterned with various fruits. At random, she grabbed an oversized NCIS t-shirt, which belonged to her mother, only because she knew her mother loved NCIS. Before shuffling out of her room, she grabbed a pair of striped fuzzy socks and pulled her hair into a messy ponytail. It didn’t matter what style her hair was in. She needed to be comfortable.

Kendall was still trying to pick a movie when she exited her bedroom.  She sat on the end of the couch and grabbed a throw pillow, which she hugged to her chest. Why was he here? Why was he helping her? The television remote was on the end table next to her. She turned the television on, which scared the crap out of Kendall. 

“What are you–” 

“You’re taking too long to decide,” Ronnie mumbled into the throw pillow. “We’re watching 50 First Dates.” 

Kendall rummaged through the DVD box momentarily and pulled out the DVD. Romantic comedies weren’t his favorite, but it wasn’t his call to make. He suggested the movie to help at least ease her pain. The DVD opened with a satisfying pop, and he gingerly placed the disc in the DVD player. 

“Do you want ice cream? Popcorn– Wait, how about both? Sweet and salty?” Kendall grinned from ear to ear. “The perfect combination.” 

“Do you even know where we keep the popcorn?” Ronnie raised a brow. 

“No, but I think I’ll be able to find it. And before you say it, you are not allowed to help me.” He looked down at her and crossed his arms. “Just relax, and let me get you whatever you want.”