#zip Repair

[bxtailors]

Why Tailor Services in Watford Are the Best for Zip Repairs on Coats, Bags, and More

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[doctorbeth]

Pojo and Mambo's Hospital Visits

Hi All! I'm back with a bunch of new stories, and Pojo's is first. To paraphrase Panic at the Disco:

Here I come

Oh, how it's been so long

I'm so sorry I've been gone I've been busy writing posts for you!

Well, actually I've been busy taking care of stuffed animals, which then leads to stories that lead to posts but, you get the idea. :-)

Anyway... the first pair of patients I'm going to share are relatives (the same style of animal). They came to the hospital nearly four months apart. Pojo is about 2 feet tall, Mombo is closer to 3 feet, but their relationship will be obvious.

Here are Pojo's diagnosis photos:

I've seen some of his relatives in the past, so I knew he was originally an almost velvety fur, and he had red suspenders. Pojo had lived with his human for over 50 years. She wrote:

"As you can see his entire body needs to be replaced and re-stuffed. His plastic parts, if possible, need to be cleaned but if not, I love him the way he is. His pants, arms and head are black, his shirt is yellow and he has red suspenders. Please let me know if you can help him."

Now, as you may have realized by now, I try not to replace actual bodies, rather, we replace the stuffing as part of cleaning (because stuffing does not clean or dry well), and then recover. And that was the plan for Pojo when he arrived in May.

Here he is starting treatment with his bubble bath:

Next up, once he dried, was recovering his fur. A perfect texture match to his original fur isn't possible without a donor, so I sent photos of two options. One was a modern fluffier fur:

And the other was a modern minky fur which is smoother:

His human opted for the minky. So surgery proceeded till the next decision point, what ribbons for his new suspenders:

His human opted for the narrower fur.

Pojo was almost better.... last little bits included putting in his new heart (from the new minky fur) made with a bit of his original stuffing:

And then he was ready to fly home to Illinois:

His human's response? He is beautiful!

But I promised two chimps in this post and the second was here this past month. Mombo's predecessor had been with his person for over 60 years, but his condition was such that his human felt a new Mombo was needed. So he searched the web for a Mombo in better shape. He found one, but it was holding a banana in one hand, and needed stuffing and some seams tightened up. So the human opted to send the new Mombo to me, with the original Mombo's hand! The plan was to spruce up the new Mombo, repair his seams, replace his suspenders, and replace the banana hand with the original Mombo's hand. And here's the New Mombo (Mombo reincarnated?) all better and ready to fly home to Florida (you can see how much bigger he is than Pojo!):

Mombo's person wrote: He looks great n enjoyed the attention.

[comrade-kit]

i had a very productive evening :) i boil dipped everyone's limbs to remove the string and end cap things since i decided i should restring everyone so i can more thoroughly clean the bodies and vinyls. everyone's limbs got washed in dish soap and white vinegar (to kill any potential mold). i also went through with the baking soda paste and a mr. clean to try to get at some stains again (alas, they're still there ;-;)

i bought the acne cream today, so i will set that up tomorrow morning if i'm up early enough :)

otherwise, i washed two of the cloth bodies yesterday (in a laundry detergent and white vinegar mix). this got rid of the stain on #23's body!!!! i still need to wash chrissa's body but the limbs taking up all the drying space ;-;

it sucks that they're all taken apart and there's still the faces to clean and stains to remove, but the dolls are no longer triggering my allergies and giving me hives outbreaks so that's a massive win, lmao

i've also had some clothes soaking over the past few days :) i've been washing everything in the laundry detergent and vinegar mix and then occasionally using a stain pre-treatment before soaking or hand washing. the only thing i've successfully laundered is everyone's unnlderwear 🫠 everything else i've gotten to has been going through the process of multiple soaks + dryings + pre-stain treatments. the stains are def lightening with each go so there's that :) i probably need to leave some of the dirtier pieces soaking overnight :/

^ i'm also not overly concerned bc i ordered everyone's meet outfits online and those will probably come in before i finish cleaning them 💀 so they won't be naked for long after being put back together :)

the other big things i have to do are wash the stuffing + dry it, take everyone's eyes out (big yikes), clean their faces thoroughly, and then finish their hair

[p-jinx]

Tasteful nudity but it's because I literally forgot to draw clothing during the lining process. It genuinely wasn't supposed to be like this lmfao

I think it would be comfy to be held in the palm of someone's hand (if not WILDLY terrifying. Gotta have some serious trust.)

Yes it's slightly older art. Hush

[inkmaze]

found this old cheap secondhand leather jacket recently and I adoooore it, busted bits and all. also still repping my beloved barbed wire trans shirt from @homoidiotic ❣️

[sparklehoard]

Deadass why would you turn a conversation of where to get winter tires into a you screaming at me about wasting money and turning it into a competition about how many car accidents we've both been in

[imlandscapeandmasonry]

How To Choose The Right Landscaper Near Peekskill, NY For Your Project

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Assess Their Expertise

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Check Their Portfolio

Always ask for a portfolio of previous projects. Reviewing their work gives you insight into their style and quality. For example, if you’re interested in unique stone patios or retaining walls, a good Landscaper Near Peekskill NY will showcase similar projects to prove their capability.

Verify Licensing and Insurance

Professional landscapers should have the necessary licenses and insurance. This protects you from liability during the project and ensures they adhere to industry standards.

Read Client Reviews

Look for testimonials or reviews from previous clients. A landscaper with glowing reviews from clients in Peekskill or the 10566 area is likely reliable and skilled. You can also ask for references to speak directly with past clients.

Ask About Materials and Techniques

A skilled landscaper will use high-quality materials and employ proven techniques tailored to Peekskill's climate. For instance, when considering Masonry Repair Zip Code 10566, they should recommend durable solutions that withstand weather changes in the region.

Get a Detailed Quote

Request a detailed quote that breaks down the costs of materials, labor, and additional services. This transparency helps you compare landscapers and avoid unexpected expenses.

Prioritize Communication

Choose a landscaper who listens to your ideas, answers your questions, and communicates clearly. A landscaper who understands your vision is more likely to deliver results that match your expectations.

By following these tips, you’ll find the perfect Landscaper Near Peekskill NY to create the outdoor space of your dreams. For expert landscaping and Masonry Repair Zip Code 10566, check out IM Landscape & Masonry for professional, reliable services.

[jr2882070]

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[bxtailors]

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[charlirobinson11]

Shoe Bag and Zip Repair

Say goodbye to shoe bag and zip repair services. We specialize in fixing shoe bags and zippers to ensure your belongings are secure and protected. Trust our skilled professionals to provide high-quality repairs that will extend the life of your favourite items. Get reliable, affordable, and convenient solutions for all your shoe bag and zip repair needs.

[theleatherlaundry]

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[comrade-kit]

restoring my childhood jly #19 (second release) | day 1

tldr: i took really good care of my ag dolls until i lost interest as a teen and improperly stored them twice ;-; now i'm trying to restore them :)

where we're starting + first progress pics are under the cut :) any and all advice is welcome <3

the starting point/before restoring:

she absolutely did not look like this before i stored her away </3 we've now got the following problems:

dry/frizzy hair

marks on her cheek (pictured) and other limbs. some seem to be from just general wear and tear, some (like the brown cheek marks) are maybe from mouse droppings?

this weird white stuff that's maybe a kind of mold?

a lose leg (not pictured) and neck that needs to be retightened (which maybe explains the lopsided look on her face?)

fixing problem 1: dry/frizzy hair

i got myself an ag brand wire brush and thoroughly wet her hair (while keeping her eyes dry) before brushing her hair from the bottom to the top. her hair is no longer dry! and (imo) a lot of the strangs that were flying away at the top and off the sides are now tame :)

however, i have this patch of hair along the bottom bag of her wig that's frizzy? idk what to call it but these strands are bent/short/something that prevents them from lying flat. i think a boil dunk might be needed to solve this? advice/recommendations are appreciated <3

otherwise, my plan is to wait for the braid spray i ordered (it's coming next week) and then brush through with that to see if it helps. i also need to cut some pieces at the end of her hair that are oddly long so everything is the same length

fixing problems 2 and 3: viny stains

i have no pics to show for this bc i haven't made a lot of progress :( i wiped her down with a wet rag which made the white stuff go away, but it would reappear after the vinyl dried. i then tried the baking soda paste, which got rid of some marks, like the white stuff! however, the brown stains (like on the cheek) remain </3

i found a store near me that has that acne cream in stock so i will be picking it up tomorrow and starting that process. i may also grab a magic eraser for her limbs (i won't use it on her cheek bc i would take the cheek paint off and i don't want to repaint that)

she's got some dust and maybe mold in her ears, mouth, and nostrils that i've been having trouble wiping away because those are such small openings. and then she's got dust/maybe mold/stains near her eye sockets which is evil bc i'm trying not to get water in there ;-; any advice for navigating these issues would be appreciated <3 (i have already tried using q-tips btw)

problem 4: tighting limbs and neck

the only progress i made with this was destuffing her which was very interesting! i had never taken apart an ag doll like this and i didn't know what to expect

i found a shoulder tag in her and she's also marked with the letter F. ik that's for manufacturing but it was really funny to look at her head and just see an F as if the universe was telling me F in the chat for her, lmao

the most interesting thing about the shoulder tag is that it's different from my other jly even though they both have 2008 body tags. my only theory is it's because they came in different meet outfits (the i like your style and star hoodie outfit). i don't know when shoulder tags stopped being a thing, but i have chrissa (who was released in 2009) and she doesn't have one

i was also kind of disappointed by the sewing inside jly #19's body. it's very messy. and ik hidden/inside seams don't need to be perfect but she's so stringy and it kept getting caught in the stuffing. she was just so expensive and i expected better quality from ag

the star dividers are from this post. all of the other photos are mine :)

[mylockitdown]

Shoe Bag and Zip Repair

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[pink-petal-horns]

Go on baby—Get outta my hair

Shane Walsh x Fem!Reader

Rating 18+ SMUT

WARNING: D/s themes, dom!Shane, subby!clingy!Reader, dumbification kink, rough sex, semi-public tension, overstimulation, creampie, aftercare.

You’d been following Shane around like a lost puppy all day. Again.

He was fixing a fence post—again—and you were hovering three feet behind him with your hands clasped behind your back, watching like he was putting on a show just for you.

“Shane?” you chirped.

He sighed. “Yeah, baby?”

“You want me to… go pick some berries or somethin’? Or maybe I can sweep the porch again? Or—oh! I can refill your water jug. It’s gotta be warm now, right?”

He wiped sweat from his brow, cast you a look over his shoulder.

You were smiling. Wide. Like it was the best part of your day just being assigned some meaningless task by him.

Shane ran his hand down his face and muttered, “Yeah, alright. Porch could use a sweep.”

You gasped, delighted.

“Yes, sir!”

And off you went. Practically skipping.

—

Ten minutes.

He got ten minutes.

Then:

“I swept it twice just to be sure!”

You were back, beaming, barefoot now for some reason, proudly holding the broom like it was a weapon you’d conquered.

Shane squinted up at you.

“You done already?”

“Uh-huh! Wasn’t even that dusty.”

He stared at you for a long second. Then sighed again.

“Alright. Why don’t you go check on the chickens. Make sure they got food. Might be some corn still in the sack behind the coop.”

You nodded. “Yessir!”

Off again.

—

Eight minutes this time.

“They’re all fed! One of them pecked at me but I think she was just confused ‘cause I smell like you.”

Shane looked up from his half-repaired post, jaw clenched.

You weren’t trying to be a pain. He knew that. You were sweet. Soft. Practically glowing with adoration every time your eyes met his. You looked at him like he hung the damn moon. And some sick, selfish part of him loved it.

But another part?

The part that was hot, sweaty, and trying to fix a fence post that wouldn’t set straight?

Was losing his goddamn mind.

“Alright, sugar,” he said, voice tight. “Think you can go… polish my boots?”

“Ooooh, yes.” You grinned like he just gave you an award. “I’ll even shine the little buckles.”

Of course you would.

—

Seven minutes.

He didn’t even hear you come back that time. Just looked up and there you were—knees dirty, holding his boots like a trophy, cheeks flushed from the sun.

“All done!”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

You blinked.

“What?”

Shane didn’t answer. Just stood up. Tossed the hammer down in the grass. Marched toward you.

You opened your mouth to ask something else—but before you could speak, he grabbed your wrist and dragged you back toward the house.

“Shane?”

“Inside. Now.”

Your heart fluttered. Your tummy did that little flip it did when he used that tone. You followed in silence, eyes big, breath shallow.

—

As soon as you were inside the bedroom and the door shut behind you, he had you up against the wall.

“Can’t give me ten minutes, can you?” he growled. “Not ten goddamn minutes to myself.”

You whined, eyes shining. “I just wanted to help—”

“You ain’t helpin’. You’re drivin’ me crazy. Baby, I love that pretty little smile and your sweet voice and that dumb-ass giggle—but fuck. I need a break.”

You blinked, mouth trembling just a little.

“Don’t… don’t want you to need a break from me,” you whispered.

Shane stared at you for a moment. Then something shifted behind his eyes. His jaw ticked. His hands gripped your hips.

“I’ll tell you what I need.”

You whimpered as he spun you around and bent you over the bed.

“Shane—”

“Shhh. Be good.”

You heard the buckle of his belt. The zip. The rustle of his jeans.

You wiggled your hips, needy, aching, brain already fogging from the sudden change in tone.

“I was bein’ good, I was—”

“No,” he snapped, yanking your shorts down roughly. “You were bein’ a damn nuisance.”

Your pussy clenched.

“You like bein’ a nuisance?” he asked low, dragging the head of his cock through your folds.

You whined. “N-no… I just like bein’ near you…”

He chuckled darkly.

“Course you do.”

He shoved inside you in one deep thrust and you cried out, clutching the sheets, breath caught in your throat.

“You fuckin’ live for this, don’t you?” he hissed, snapping his hips. “All day, followin’ me around like a goddamn puppy. You just wanted cock.”

You sobbed into the mattress. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—Shane—”

“You’re soaked,” he growled. “Don’t lie to me.”

He pounded into you, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

“Take it, baby,” he grunted. “Take it like a good little fuckdoll.”

You mewled. “I am, I am, I’m bein’ good, I swear—”

“Say it.”

“M’bein’ good! Bein’ good for you, daddy!”

His hips stuttered.

You moaned at the sound of his groan behind you, the way he suddenly grabbed your hair and pulled you up so your back arched and you were crying from how deep he hit.

“You gonna be quiet for me now?” he rasped into your ear. “Let me finish my work without you draggin’ your cute little ass back every five fuckin’ minutes?”

You whined.

“Don’t know… need you too much…”

He fucked you harder.

You were close. Your legs shook. Your thighs quivered.

He slipped a hand down and rubbed your clit, fast and filthy.

“Cum for me,” he ordered. “Now.”

You screamed, head thrown back, toes curling, mind going blank.

And he kept going. Hips pounding until he slammed in deep and groaned low, filling you up.

—

You didn’t even realize when he pulled out. Or when he cleaned you up. You were limp, dazed, cheek pressed to the sheets, eyelids heavy.

Shane pulled the covers up over you gently.

“Go to sleep, baby.”

You whined softly, tugging at his wrist.

“Don’t wanna sleep unless you’re stayin’…”

He leaned down, kissed your forehead.

“I’ll be back. Just need to fix that post. You wore me out.”

You pouted, already drifting.

“’Kay… but come back…”

“Always do.”

—

Shane walked out of the room, finally getting the silence he’d begged for all day.

But even as he returned to the fence, hands to work, all he could think about was you curled up in his bed—barely able to keep your eyes open—dreaming about him.

And he knew you’d be back at his side the second you woke up.

God help him.

But he wouldn’t want it any other way.

[vinnyvamppp]

we need more mark grayson co-parenting please PLEASE IM GOING TK CRY PLEAAAE

Our Son, Apparently

Note: DON'T CRY, LMFAO. I've made this installment longer, why? Because it hopefully wont bring the request of a third part, but honestly so much could be done with this, I wouldn't be surprised if someone did. This only scratches the surface.

Synopsis: Mark Grayson never meant to be a single dad. You never meant to become a co-parent by proximity. But when Oliver enters your life, everything changes. From grocery store breakdowns to baby-proofing the world from Viltrumite tantrums, you and Mark find yourselves building a family you didn’t plan for… and falling in love right in the middle of the mess.

Warnings: Mild Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Flirting, Canon-Level Superhero Violence, Themes of Single Parenthood, Accidental Family, Identity Pressure, Interrupted Intimancy, Baby... Fluids? EXHAUSTION, etc. (Two and a Half Graysons PART 2: Previous Part: Here.)

Mark Grayson x GN!Reader

WC: 1.9k

It starts with a crack. Not just a crack, an explosion of glass, a shriek of wind, and the sharp twang of something small and plastic ricocheting off the opposite wall. You freeze in the kitchen, work uniform half-smeared with banana mush, its watered down taste and betrayal.

Across the room, the window is obliterated. Shattered glass glitters on the floor like a warning. And at the epicenter—with his fists balled and cheeks flushed purple—is Oliver, practically vibrating with frustration. The pacifier lies in the corner like the murder weapon it is. A stubby, rubber-tipped missile of infant rage.

“Okay,” you say slowly, voice high-pitched and tight. “So we’re entering our supervillain phase early. That’s cool.” Before you can even take a step, there’s a sonic thud and Mark crashes through the hallway barefoot, hoodie half-zipped and clinging to one arm, hair soaking wet and sticking up in every direction like he lost a fight with a showerhead and a towel.

He’s holding one of Oliver’s tiny socks in one hand and nothing in the other. No shirt, no shoes, just sweatpants and alarm. “What happened? Are you okay? Did someone break in—?” He pauses and sees the window, then Oliver. Then you, standing frozen with a spoonful of rejected mashed banana still in your hand.

Mark’s chest rises and falls with the kind of slow, controlled inhale you recognize immediately: do not freak out in front of the baby, do not freak out in front of the baby, do not—

He exhales and rubs his face. “What did I miss?” You gesture broadly at the destruction. “He didn’t like the unmashed banana.” Mark squints. “So he shattered the window?” You hold up the spoon. “I didn’t chew it first. Apparently that’s a crime now.”

There’s a long pause as Oliver lets out a little grunt, his chubby fingers clawing at the legs of your trousers, his face formed into the most pitiful pout. Mark presses his knuckles to his temple. “Cecil’s going to want to classify him as a WMD.” You snort. “I mean. Technically… he already is.”

Mark walks over, still barefoot, and carefully lowers Oliver back into the bouncer with gentle, practiced hands. Oliver lets out one last indignant coo before settling, hands clasping around his finger. Mark looks back at you. “I’ll fix the glass,” you murmur. “You just… survive until nap time.” You glance at him—hoodie half-hanging off one shoulder, sleep lines on his face, eyes soft and tired and still glowing faintly from adrenaline. And yeah, you think, maybe this is a disaster. It’s almost midnight when it’s finally quiet again.

The pacifier incident has been cleaned. The window is now repaired thanks to Cecil’s intervention (and Mark, who partially caved and followed a tutorial and swore under his breath the entire time). Oliver is tucked in, finally knocked out cold after Mark flew circles around the home until the kid passed out mid-air.

You’re standing in the kitchen, stirring a lukewarm cup of tea and staring into the nothingness that lives inside every sleep-deprived parent’s soul.

Behind you, a familiar heat. That slight change in air pressure when Mark enters the room. When he leans against the fridge with that look that always gets you into trouble. A lopsided grin, a raised brow, and a T-shirt long abandoned in the laundry apocalypse. What’s left of his khaki’s slung low, one hand casually holding a bowl of food he’s absolutely not eating. 

"You good?" he asks, voice low. "You look like you're about to throw the tea at the wall."

You glance over your shoulder. “If I don’t have a breakdown soon, it’s gonna get stuck in my chest. Gotta let the crazy out somehow.” You pause, finally catching his innuendo. “Are you trying to seduce me with that logic or your cereal breath?”

Mark steps behind you, hands finding your hips. His warmth sinks into your back, and you lean into him instinctively. His nose brushes your neck. “Both. Let it out later. We’ve got ten whole minutes of peace. Maybe twenty.”

You feel his hand drift, slide under the hem of your hoodie, fingers skimming over the expanse of flesh. Your breath catches in your throat. Your whole body hums and you can feel the tension shift—sharp, sweet, starved. His lips graze just behind your ear. “You smell like puff dust,” he murmurs. “It’s weirdly hot.”

You laugh, breathless, turning to face him. He lifts you onto the counter without hesitation, standing between your knees. He’s kissing you—slow, deep, one hand curling around your waist like he’s remembering your shape. Your fingers tangle within his curls, his fingers traveling lower unsure of their destination. You let him press you back against the fridge, and god, it’s been weeks. You can feel the tension unraveling between you both, fingertips digging, breathing uneven—

WAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH. You both freeze, eyes wide.

Mark groans, head dropping to your shoulder. “I jinxed it.”

“I knew he was waiting to ruin this. He has a sixth sense for foreplay.” It was the next morning, and you both were awoken by the print of small feet against your lower back and the soft padded knocks at the front door. Cecil had sent a nanny. You weren't consulted, nor was Mark.

She arrives at 7 a.m. sharp in a shimmering suit, floating half an inch off the floor. Thressa, from the Glorvax system. Glowing skin, elegant limbs, eyes like a lava lamp. She walks into the home like she's visited a dozen times in past lives and scoops Oliver up like she’s been waiting years.

He giggles and reaches for her face before nuzzling her like a puppy.

You and Mark stare in utter, sleep-deprived bewilderment. Both looking like abandoned houseplants as she explains his development and gently feeds Oliver a new formula. Mark leans in, whispering, “Do you think she’s actually a nanny or just here to steal him from us?” You narrow your eyes. “She called him ‘my sweet hatchling.’ That’s not childcare. That’s a claim.”

Thressa turns and smiles warmly. “You two look stressed. Would you like time to yourselves? Perhaps a long shower together?”

You silently stare at her. Mark begins coughing violently, clearly flustered. And Oliver’s gleeful giggles ring out. “She knows Viltrumite development inside and out,” Cecil says, appearing via teleportation, money soon to be wasted as you hastily usher him away. “We need to start assessments. He’s already got strength enhancements and advanced development. She’ll help you prepare.”

“Did you hire her?” you ask flatly.

“No,” Cecil says. “I deployed her.”

And that’s when you snap.

You’re pacing Mark’s bedroom, hair mussed and voice sharp. “She shows up, picks up our kid, and suddenly he’s just—hers? She calls him her hatchling, Mark. Who says that? Who just decides they’re a better parent without even talking to us?”

Mark sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, watching you. Quiet. “I’m trying,” you say, and your voice breaks just a little. “I’m not his real parent. I know that. I’m not even—whatever we are, I just—but I love him. I choose him every single day. And I—”

You cut yourself off, chest heaving. Mark’s looking at you like you’ve just lit up the whole room.

“What?” you ask, flustered beyond comparison. “You said ‘our kid,’” he says quietly. “Like it’s just true. No hesitation.” You blink. “I—yeah. Because it is.” There was no in your words hesitation this time. He crosses the room in three steps and pulls you into a hug that feels like a home. "You're walking this with me. Every step. You didn't have to. But you are." And for a moment, you just breathe together, hearts dancing amongst one another as the night crickets sing.

Later that night, you’re curled up on the couch. Oliver’s asleep on your chest, tiny fingers fisted in your shirt. Mark’s beside you, legs tangled with yours, quiet. Soft. “I’ve been thinking,” he says, voice rough with something raw. “About all of this. You. Him. Us.” You glance over. His hand is fidgeting in his hoodie pocket. You feel your heart catch.

Mark doesn’t look at you. “It’s not the life I pictured. But it’s the only one I want. I don’t need perfect. I just need you.” You lean in and start placing soft kisses—one to his forehead. One to his closed eyelid. One to his cheek. Your lips brush his jaw last, and you whisper, “I already said yes.”

He looks at you, blinking, smile blooming like sunlight. He starts to move—to speak, maybe reach for something, and then— BLLAAAHHRGGHHH. A full-force stream of baby puke explodes all over your chest.

Oliver sits up mid-sleep and lets out a happy screech. Mark stares, frozen and yu stare down at your shirt. Silence…

You sigh. “So. Romantic.” Mark laughs, helpless, but relieved. “I was so close.” You press your forehead to his. “You still are. Just—Just give me a moment.” The apartment is quiet for once—no screeching, no flying objects, no sudden diaper blowouts or random alien agency visits. The air hums with that tired kind of stillness you only get after surviving a war made entirely of juice spills and broken windows.

You’re both on the couch, half-curled into each other like always—your legs over his lap, his hand absently stroking up and down your shin. There’s a half-empty bottle of formula abandoned on the coffee table, and Mark’s hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows as he stares at your joined limbs like he’s seeing something new.

He’s not shirtless, shockingly, but the gray tee he is wearing is soft and thin and rides up when he shifts. You’re trying not to think about that. Or about how stupid in love you feel. And then he does it—says the thing that makes everything tilt slightly sideways.

“I really wanted to do this earlier.”

You glance over at him, brow raised. “Do what?” You knew, but you always loved watching him stammer. Mark’s eyes flick toward the hallway—where the baby’s sleeping like a tiny purple demon—and then back to you. “The real version. Not the puke-soaked one.”

Your chest tightens. That thing in your stomach flips over once. He shifts under your legs, suddenly looking very much like the guy who once flew through asteroids but is now panicking because emotions are harder than world threatening catastrophes.

“I didn’t get to say it the way I wanted to,” he says. “Didn’t even get the sentence out. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot. About you. About Oliver. About how you’ve been in it with me. Even when it’s been hell. And I just—” He stops and scratches the back of his neck, blotches of blush creeping up his skin.

“I’m not great at this,” he mutters. “The talking thing. Or the… ring thing.” Your breath catches as he pulls something out of his pocket. It’s small a small, silver band at first glance. No grand box, no sparkle, but honest. The kind of ring someone keeps in their hoodie for weeks because they never know when life will let them have five minutes to use it.

He looks up at you. His eyes are soft and unsteady, but open. “I don’t need a ceremony or a perfect moment. I just want to make this official. Me and you. And him. Because you’re already it for me. You’ve been it since you didn’t flinch when I showed up with a purple alien baby and said, ‘Hey, I kind of need you.’”

You stare at him for a second, heart full to the point of bursting, brain trying to keep up with the wave of affection suddenly choking you. You lean in slowly. Your lips brush along his jaw as you whisper, “You never had to ask.” He exhales like you just took all the weight out of his chest.

You take the ring from his fingers and slide it onto your own without ceremony, just solid, quiet finality. The ring is smooth and silver-toned, with a thin, engraved pattern around the band—a repeating geometric design that, at first glance, looks abstract. But you recognize it immediately: a minimalist recreation of the pattern around Science Dog’s communicator. On the inside, there’s a small engraving: “For the one who made it all mean something. (Issue#47)”

“Wait, is this… Science Dog’s communicator symbol?”

“You noticed that?” Mark mumbles, stumbling slightly over his words. “Yeah. I mean, he always picks love over logic, even when it gets him hurt. Felt fitting.” It was fitting. He left you in a stunned silence, a grin etching across your lips as his panic set in.

“Look, I saw it on a fan site and the engraving said, ‘Intergalactic loyalty since Issue #1’ and I just—it felt right, okay? Don’t make fun of me.” He laughs—small and a little dazed—and pulls you into his lap, burying his face in your neck. “God, you’re stuck with me now.”

“Mark,” you murmur, smiling. “I’ve been stuck since the first time you showed up at my job holding a diaper bag and looking like a confused golden retriever.” He snorts. “Sexy golden retriever,” he corrects, smitten against your collarbone. “Yeah. Covered in formula and baby wipes. Total heartthrob.”

He pulls back to look at you, the grin soft but teasing. “I love you.” The words are quiet. Uncomplicated and true.

The only sound left in the room is your breathing—and his. Your fingers brush his jaw, just enough to tilt his face toward yours. His eyes are tired but warm—lit from within by something more than adrenaline or duty or even affection. It’s love, and it’s undeniable.

His hands curl around your waist, pulling you closer like he’s making sure this is real. Your thighs bracket his, your knees brushing, and your fingers slide into his hair with a practiced ease that makes him shudder. “We could…” he whispers, his breath catching as your lips brush the curve of his neck. “Maybe… actually finish something tonight?”

You grin against his skin. “Finish or start something. We don’t have to be ambitious.” He laughs, low and warm, and leans into the kiss again, deeper this time. It builds—slow but certain. A quiet dam that’s been waiting to break.

Your hips shift against his. His hand trails beneath the hem of your shirt, and you feel it in your stomach first—the pull of wanting, of comfort, of home. But you pause. Just long enough to breathe together, forehead pressed to his.

Mark’s ring glinting softly on his finger where it presses against your clothed skin. The family photo Eve took on your fridge: slightly blurry, your hair a mess, Mark looking exhausted, Oliver mid-sneeze—and all of you smiling like you didn’t know the moment was going to matter.

Because it does.

Mark didn’t plan for any of this. Not fatherhood. Not an engagement. Not this future. But right now, watching you lean into him like you were always meant to be there, he wouldn’t trade a second of it. Because this is his family. And you?

You’ve been his world since the day he showed up in your doorway with panic in his eyes and a baby in his arms.

You kiss him again, slow this time—no interruptions, no crying, no urgency. Just warmth. His hands around your waist. Your fingers gliding across his scalp. Mouths meeting gently, like you’ve got all the time in the world.

And for once… you do. A/N: I'm contractually obligated to end every fic with a sappy one liner. CONGRATS READER, YOU'RE OFFICIALLY A GRAYSON. (If anyone requests a part three, I promise you I will go full chaos with the nest one, had to keep this one adjacent to comic timing, though.)

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚