#best double strollers

[kidznbaby]

Cool dad, luxury wheels, happiest baby! 🖤✨

[smart-business]

best double strollers

The best double strollers are designed to offer comfort, safety, and convenience for parents with two children. Whether you're looking for a lightweight travel stroller, an all-terrain model, or a jogging stroller, top options feature smooth maneuverability, adjustable reclining seats, and compact folding mechanisms for easy storage and transport. Trusted brands like Graco, Baby Jogger, BOB Gear, and Baby Trend provide versatile designs with large storage baskets, sun canopies, five-point harness systems, and durable frames. Choose from side-by-side or tandem configurations to suit your lifestyle. These strollers make outings with two kids effortless, ensuring a comfortable and secure experience for your little ones. Explore the best picks to find your ideal double stroller!

[astars-things]

Godfather

summary- where Max Fewtrell and Pietra have a daughter y/n, and Lando is the godfather

When Max and Pietra found out they were having a baby, there wasn’t even a conversation about who the godfather would be. They looked at each other and said it in unison, Lando. It was the easiest decision in the world.

 At only a couple of months old, y/n made her first paddock appearance at the Australian Grand Prix, Max was pushing the stroller with one hand interlocking the other with Pietras's hand. Under the blanket that was covering the stroller, y/n didn't know the chaos that was about to happen, They’d barely made it ten steps before Lando appeared, "Where’s my girl?" Lando grinned, already reaching out. "I’ve been waiting for this all week."

Max rolled his eyes fondly as Pietra carefully lifted up the blanket, picking up y/n and handed her over to Lando. "You’re worse than her grandparents." Max laughed 

"She’s my goddaughter, thank you very much," Lando replied proudly, cradling the tiny baby like she was made of porcelain. His smile softened immediately as he looked down at Y/N’s sleepy face. "Hi, bug. It’s your favorite uncle Lando." Lando placed a kiss on her forehead "She smells like baby lotion and heaven." he gushed 

"You’re never giving her back, are you?" Pietra asked with a knowing smile. "Nope," Lando said, swaying gently with Y/N in his arms. "We’ve got important business. Oscar hasn’t met her yet." As Lando walked off to the McLaren hospitality, Max and Pietra stood there frozen that their daughter had just been taken away, but it also gave them an opportunity to walk around the paddock and enjoy a baby-free hour 

As Lando walked into hospitality people glanced up, unsure whether Lando had just stolen a baby or had secretly fathered one. Oscar was sitting on one of the couches with a cup of coffee in his hand, "Osc" Lando called out softly not wanting to wake y/n up, "Mate. Is that a baby?" Oscar questioned looking at the tiny baby in his teammates arms 

"My goddaughter," Lando said proudly. "Y/N. Max and Pietra’s daughter. I’m showing her around. This is her first Grand Prix." Oscar blinked, setting his drink down. "She’s, like... fresh out of the womb." 

"Exactly," Lando said, rocking her slightly. "Start ‘em young. She’s going to be obsessed with racing. It’s in her blood." Oscar walked over, looking down at y/n as she slowly sucked on the pacifier in her mouth, "Shes really cute" Oscar gushed "I know," Lando said smugly. "And she likes me best." 

Lando walked into the garage where the team was working on his car, nobody questions why he was holding a baby. He walked over to his car where he had gently placed y/n in his seat, she looked even tinier, he quickly grabbed out his phone taking a few photos before he put it back in his pocket and picked up y/n, making sure she was comfortable in his arms

"This is where Uncle Lando drives like a maniac" he whispered to her, y/n had started to fuss which meant Lando had to give y/n back so she could be fed, even if he didn’t want to. 

The race was done, and Lando was still buzzing with adrenaline as he stepped into the media pen, his suit unzipped halfway and hair sticking to his forehead. He smiled brightly, answering questions with that usual charm until one reporter glanced off-camera and did a double take.

"woah lando is that your baby?" The reporter said shocked that he had a baby in his arms, Lando blinked, then burst into a laugh, one hand going to his hip "no no, this is my goddaughter y/n" 

The cameras followed his gaze to where a small group had gathered Max and Pietra just out of frame, watching as Y/N, wrapped in a soft McLaren-orange blanket and cradled against Lando’s chest, blinked sleepily under the paddock lights.

"I got special permission, to bring her into the pen" Lando added with a grin Lando gently adjusted the baby in his arms and made his way around the pen so he could show off his god daughter to the rest of grid as he made his way around.  

Max and Pietra saw from the sidelines the look in Lando's eyes whenever he was speaking about y/n or when he had her in his arms, they know they made a good choice in making him the godfather. 

please reblog and like 🫶

[marcusmcdonnell]

[messyemmy]

Run-Ins: Again- Harry Styles x reader.

Premise: When Harry takes a stroll through town, he runs into a familiar fluffy friend and their very pretty owner.

Warnings: Mentions of injury (minor blood). Gender neutral!

Word count: 3.8k

Part 1 // Other writing

☀️

Autumn is definitely around the corner. The sky is just as blue, and on an almost cloudless day, rays of sunshine beam down on Harry’s exposed skin. But there's a crisp chill in the air, chilling his lips and the tip of his nose as he strolls his usual route through town. 

He’d never admit it, but lately, Harry has been running with extra enthusiasm, and now he frequents that horrible hill that had almost cost him a lung. He’s mastered it now. Figured out the best pacing and always double-checks for his water bottle. 

And he had done a great job today, making perfect time, and arriving home with five minutes to spare. It was definitely going to be a good day. So good that Harry thinks he deserves the reward of his favourite matcha from the coffee store down the way. 

So he grabs his trusty lime green tote, his wallet, and sunnies and makes his way into town. Something Harry feels most grateful for is the convenience of his quaint little neighbourhood. Everything is a short walk away, he hardly has to drive anywhere, and there are so many trees and flowers that Harry looks forward to opening his front door to be greeted by the sweet, fresh aroma. 

As he rounds the corner, Main Street comes into view; storefronts for a cafe, a second-hand bookstore, and a small florist, finally allowing Harry to slow down to a stroll. His sun-kissed skin glistens with a thin layer of sweat, chest working to return to a steady flow. 

And it’s hardly past ten a.m., but the street is bustling with early birds, some hand-in-hand with their significant others, a new mum pushing her teeny tot in a fancy stroller, a teen with long blond hair weaving his bicycle along parked cars, and suddenly a group of people scatter along the pavement, followed by a rambunctious puppy with a navy bandana speeding toward him, a big smile on her face and a leash trailing behind her. 

Harry knows that cheeky face- his chest almost wheezes at the reminder of his prior circumstances, how he’ll seemingly never be able to live it down. 

She’s bounding over, and Harry can hardly take a step back before his golden companion barely avoids crashing straight into his shins before she comes to a halt, enthusiastically sitting at the foot of his sneakers. 

Her tail is wagging like a flag on a very windy day, beaming up at Harry with the most innocent caramel eyes, as if she cares little for the chaos that has clearly ensued and resulted in her being here, enthusiastically greeting Harry, and missing her owner. 

He’s crouching to her level without much thought, running a hand along the back of her ear and giving it a good scratch. Her head cranes happily, and Harry gives her a good few forehead pets. 

“Hello, Miss Beans. How nice to see you again.” 

She only responds by gratefully pressing he head further into his palm, panting excitedly, no care in the world. Harry has her face between his hands, giving her the best scratches as he starts to survey the area for her owner.

“Where's your mummy?” 

He’s certain that you aren’t feeling as excited as Beans; likely, you’re currently worried sick and feeling like a bad pet parent once more. Harry doesn’t have to look long as your figure bounds round the corner, a silhouette in the sunshine, and Harry feels a fond familiarity wash over him. 

“Beans!” Your panicked voice calls out, and when you finally spot the nuisance, you call a puppy, and for the first time in over ten minutes, you sigh out in sheer relief, letting your legs slow to a hasty stroll until you’re close enough to draw Beans and her new companions' attention. 

“Thank fuck.” Peering down at Beans as she hardly acknowledges your presence, you prepare for another apologhy tour, “I'm so sorry about her, she's on a mission to- oh.” 

It’s the cute boy from the hill- the one who looked close to passing out. But he somehow looks even better now, soft, fluffy curls tickling his forehead, his lips parting into the prettiest pearly smile, and it reaches up and crinkles the corners of his eyes, almost blinding you into a blushing mess.  

“Y/n. Hi.” 

He’s looking at you endearingly, and slightly amused, which only has your cheeks swelling redder- if possible.

“I know I look like the worst pet owner of all time. I swear it's just a bad coincidence.”

“I don't doubt it.” He chuckles. 

“She just- I looked away for a second.” You try, “Thank you so much for stopping her from further destruction.”

Harry thinks you look far cuter flustered and short of breath than he ever could, and if the frantic calls to locate mischievous Beans are anything to go by, he guarantees that you’re a better pet parent than you give yourself credit for. 

He can’t stop the entertained glimmer in his gaze as it shifts between yours and to a very unfazed puppy currently nibbling at his shoelace. 

“Aw, Beans, your mum's convinced you're a supervillain. That's not true, is it?” 

Your shoulders relax- whole body really- at Harry’s suave ability to win over both you and your little menace, but there’s no way to rid yourself of looking so out-of-breath. One can only pray that Harry mistakes your blushing cheeks for a result of running.

“She's also a pathological liar.” 

Harry’s brow quirks, his smile only growing as he leans in closer to Beans, tilting his ear towards her face, which she takes as an invitation to start licking his cheek. He chuckles and feigns confusion. 

“She just told me that her owner is very pretty.” His eyes are glimmering up at you with mirth, ”And that's no lie.” 

“You're just being kind because I'm a frazzled mess.” 

And if it were under normal circumstances, you would have melted at his statement, but you can’t comprehend a scenario where an extremely handsome man would look at you, right now, and believe you to be anything other than a panting mess. 

Everything hurts, from the fall that chasing after Beans had caused. Trying to catch yourself only ended up with you flat on the sidewalk, palms and knees barely stopping you from smacking face-first into the gravel.

Your right knee is throbbing, and for the first time, you chance it and glance down to assess the damage. 

Harry’s gaze follows, and when they settle on the grazes and scrapes scattered along your knee, his eyes widen, lips parting in a sympathetic gasp as he finds his feet, and it’s jarring how tall he is, peering down at you tenderly.

“Oh. Your knee.” He instantly feels silly for stating the obvious. 

“Did Beans also tell you that I'm clumsy?” You won’t mention that this probably won’t be the last time.

“Don't think she needed to.” 

Harry is a grinning mess, and he really doesn’t want this to be the end of the interaction. His desire for matcha is long gone, and his focus is dedicated to the two cuties. He’s thinking fast now. 

“Do you live far from here?” Christ, that just sounds creepy. 

“No, uh-” 

“I’ll help you home.” He’s hoping this doesn’t sound like a murderous ploy. 

“Really? That’s totally unnecessary.”

The mere suggestion of getting to spend a little longer with Harry is more than you could hope for, and this certainly soothes the dread you’ve been feeling from the moment you glanced down at your bloody graze. 

But he must be feeling sorry for you, right? Evidently, your morning has been anything short of a disaster. Even if he’s just offering to be helpful, you’d feel like an even bigger interference than you already do. 

Harry can see the indecision morphing your features, brows scrunching, botting lip jutting out in deep thought. As adorable as it is, he’d hate to make your day even worse. His new mission is to soothe you back to that sweet smile he has been unable to look away from. 

“It’s the least I can do. Y'saved my life.” 

“That's a massive exaggeration.” You give a dramatic eyeroll, but your insides are melting at his chivalry, his reassurance, his ridiculously charming aura that he so effortlessly exudes. 

So, you nod in acceptance and watch adoringly as Harry bends down to retrieve Beans’ leash, hooking his unnecessarily large hand through the loops, purses and parts his lips, and whistles. 

“C’mon, Beans.” She starts happily bouncing side to side at the sudden attention. “Gonna be a good girl, yeah?”

God, he has to be doing this on purpose. You don’t care if Beans behaves or not, it's you who wants to be Harry’s good girl. 

You join him on the left, strolling in the direction you had come sprinting from, like second nature. Beans leads the way. 

And of course, now she chooses to be the best-behaved pup known to man. This is exactly what she did throughout training classes: seducing everyone into thinking she’s a sweet angel, following instructions like a champ. 

It’s true, Beans is good at almost everything. Except for taking a walk without bolting at the first sight of your distracted attention. And suddenly she’s capable of being a normal dog- it would almost be insulting if it weren't for the fact that Beans giving a good impression might make Harry stick around. 

“See? Not such a menace, are you?” He coos proudly. 

“She's just tryna win you over.” 

“Well, it worked. I'm in love.”

You want to scoff at how well Beans’ deception has worked, but your current focus is on calming your heartbeat before it bruises your chest. 

“You’re being deceived. She's a proper brat, I swear it. Hides it well behind that pretty face.”

“Does that also apply to you?” He’s doing a good job of sending you into a tizzy.

“No, I'm a brat through and through.”

“When you're not busy chasing Beans around town?”

“Or giving my water bottle to a stranger on the brink of passing out.”

Without thought, you playfully bump your shoulder against his own, and Harry both wishes that Niall was here to see this, and is extremely relieved that he isn’t. Because Harry had gushed about your first interaction, and as good of a friend as he is, Niall is awful at playing coy.

“Was it that obvious?”

“Your face was as red as a strawberry.” You confirm proudly. 

“Oh, Christ.” He can feel that reddish hue creeping up along his neck and ears. 

“It was cute!” 

Harry thinks this might be his opening. Maybe he could ask you out for coffee, or whatever you like. He’d do anything you like, really. 

But as his sucks in a breath of courage, you slow to a stop, arm gesturing to the front of a house with cobblestone walls and wildflowers blooming in bushels, creating a pathway to the quirky baby blue front door. All the while trying to swallow disappointment. 

“This is us.”

“Do you have a first aid kit?” Harry doesn’t skip a beat. 

“Of course.” 

Does he think you’re that much of a mess that you wouldn’t have a first aid kit? Doesn’t that prove how necessary having one is? 

“Let's mend that knee then.” 

“Oh.” He’s too sweet. “You don't need to-”

“I want to.” 

And you really want him to. But guilt is more forthright. How sorry for you does he feel? It matters little because you’re now hobbling along to catch up with Beans and Harry. He’s nearly at the front door by the time you manage to speak up. 

“Are you sure? I'm sure you have better things to do.” 

“You think too highly of me.” He teases. 

It’s clear that his mind is made up, and Harry thinks your worry about taking up his time is both cute and totally unnecessary. 

Either way, Beans impatiently scrapes her paw against the door and threatens to keep going if somebody doesn’t open up soon, so you skittishly rummage through your short pockets and retrieve the key. 

The metal jingling only has Beans jumping about, bumping into Harry’s shin as you work to unlock the damn door. As the latch clicks, you realise that the place is messier than you’d like, and what if it’s messier than Harry likes? 

“I haven't had a chance to clean up, so don't judge.”

‘Promise.” 

“Alright, missy, free at last.” You tilt down and unclip Beans’ leash, she happily trots off in search of her water bowl. Stepping further into the entrance hall, Harry follows, taking in the scattered artworks. You’ve disappeared down a hallway, calling out over your shoulder,  “Make yourself at home.”

Harry does as told, strolling past an aged oak side table scattered with big books on quite a few topics. His interest has increased- if possible- this whole home looks like a reflection of how you must be when you aren’t busy chasing Beans around town. 

And you’ve finally managed to locate the first aid kit (maybe you were messier than you thought), returning as fast as a hobble would allow, unsurprised to see Harry focused on a framed painting of an ant wearing a gold crown. 

It’s definitely a conversation starter, and it always ends with guests quirking their brows and shifting their attention to literally anything else. God knows how long Harry has been standing there, back to you, arms folded over his chest. 

A few seconds longer and you fear he might turn on his heels and jog right back out the front door. That would be as mortifying as it would be tragic. Better start the ‘in my defense’ spiel. 

“I painted that at twelve. Gimme some slack.”

Harry jolts at the sound of your sweet and silly words, wondering if you spend a lot of time defending your actions or choices. That would be bizarre, right? He’s more intrigued and fascinated than ever. Who wouldn’t feel the same? 

“I think it’s great.” Just like that, Harry unknowingly soothes a part of you that constantly feels on guard. Why couldn’t others see you the same way? 

You’re standing in the living room, stunned, first aid bag dangling from your limp wrist as Harry’s smile only grows as he makes his way over, and he looks so fluffy and cosy, he’s effortlessly melting your insides. 

He’s close now, sneakers squeaking to a halt and almost brushing against your own. Stretching his arms outward, Harry gestures to the room around him. 

“‘S so cosy in here.” 

“Y'think?” Praying he won’t see how excitement has spread along your features.

“Mm. The walls are so bold… Never thought of painting with dark colours.”

“Next time I bump into you, you'll be thanking me for inspiring you to paint your walls forest green.” You tease, and Harry’s forehead crinkles in surprise. 

“How’d you guess I’d pick green?” 

“You just look like a green guy.” You shrug proudly. 

“Well, you look like a purple person.” 

“So I've been told.”

As much as Harry would love to spend an eternity standing right here, staring into your wide, awfully beautiful eyes, he needs to make good on his offer to mend your knee. 

For all you care, let the knee turn blue if it means Harry stays right here, pearly whites peaking past his plump cherry lips as a smile creeps up his cheeks and two ridiculously adorable dimples make an appearance. 

But he’s walking off before you can comprehend being sad about it, making his way over to your burnt orange sofa where he waits patiently for you to get the memo and join him. When you’re close enough that you have to peer up to catch his grassy-eyed gaze, Harry begins his duty as a makeshift first responder. 

He all but snatches the bag from your hand and fuck, did he also feel that spark when his palm brushed your own? If he did, he’s not letting it show, crouching to his knees and patting the velvety cushion. 

“Right. Sit.”

“You're very bossy, y'know.” Still, you follow his instructions. 

“So I've been told.” 

To say Harry is smitten would be an understatement. You don't question his every move, taking his word and not doubting his motives before he even gets a chance to prove them. 

But here you are, welcoming him into your sanctuary to help mend a wound that you both know could have been tended to all on your own. 

By the time you've cautiously and awkwardly sat down and timidly extended your left leg for his inspection, Harry has already unzipped the bag and analysed its content.

It's impossible to keep a linear thought when he shifts focus to your leg; for you, anticipating his imminent touch, and for Harry, trying not to drool over how soft and glowy your skin is. 

“Alrighty. Let’s assess the damage.” He perfectly imitates a doctor, leaning in, close enough for your cocoa butter lotion to capture his senses. 

It's a graze, a collection of nasty scratches that were cruel enough to draw blood but not too deep for concern. Harry notices a dainty scar on your shin, and he turns away hastily to hide his cheesy smile. 

“You’ll be happy to know that a trip to the ER won't be necessary.” And when he suddenly stands, you can't stop the jolt of surprise that has you seconds away from following after him. 

But he's swift, clearly from all of those runs, disappearing down the hallway just as you had before. The only evidence of his presence is the faucet turning on, and the loud stream of water is somewhat relieving. 

If only he weren’t gone for a good two minutes, leaving you alone with all of these dizzying thoughts that will surely end up with you passing out. 

And that would be the last straw. That would guarantee you never ever leave the house again. Beans could walk herself for all you care- she does a good job already. 

Harry returns with that tender smile in his eyes and a purple washcloth he had run under warm water. He has definitely done this before.

He crouches like before, softly looking up at you for permission to proceed. Words have failed you; all you can manage is a quick nod, gaze settling on your knee.

Harry's hands are somehow more gentle than his doe eyes, as he lightly wraps his palm around your shin. His fingers connect and create a bracelet, which you will be thinking about for days to come. 

He treats your knee like glass that might shatter on impact, dabbing the warm cloth gently along the scrapes and ridding any dried blood. 

Praying that Harry doesn't glance up and notice how beet red your entire face is, you can't stop your own gaze from fixating on his furrowed and focused brow, tongue peaking out of his perfectly pursed lips.

When Harry's satisfied with cleaning the wound, he releases your leg, and the air feels harsh and cruel in his wake. 

Harry’s hand feels lonelier than ever, which has him grabbing a cotton pad and dousing it in an antibacterial liquid before returning to your leg, his palm holding you in place. 

When he looks up at you this time, his features cringe with empathy as he gives a warning for this next part.

“This might sting.” But as he dabs the cotton along your skin, the air between you remains yelp-free. With one last sweep, Harry discards the cotton and frowns, “Well, that was anticlimactic.” 

“Ooh, it burns!” You feign animatedly. 

“I'm starting to get the whole ‘bratty’ thing now.” He teases.

The last thing to do is apply a cute rainbow band-aid, which Harry thinks is as adorable as you find his dedication to treating a minor scrape. And he’s pretty satisfied with his work as pride envelops his features and fuck, that’s both cute and sexy. 

Harry reluctantly lets go of your leg, and he wonders if you’re as disappointed at the loss of contact. You wonder the same about him. Maybe you could tumble over on the other knee, start this whole process over? 

“There we go. Good as new.” Harry hopes he’s done a good enough job for your approval. “Might wanna ice the bruise.”

“My hero!” You gush. 

“Don’t make me blush.” He already is. 

“A proper knight in shining armor, you are.” You need to see that strawberry boy again. 

“You’re practically begging for it now.” There it is. 

“Told you I liked it when your face gets all red.” He’s proving easy to compliment, but you need him to know how much his efforts have been appreciated. “Thank you, Harry. You really didn’t have to.” 

“It's only a pleasure.” 

Harry’s thighs are starting to burn, and he’s been fighting the ache in favour of staying in your orbit, but in seconds, he may end up toppling over, and that’s not a cute look. 

He stands, and you follow suit, wiping your sweaty palms against your shorts before glancing over at Beans, who rests peacefully on her personalised dog bed, snoring softly.  

“Beans, I think you owe Harry a very big thank you.” 

He strolls over to the dozing pup and crouches once more- this is gonna hurt tomorrow- giving her a good scratch behind the ears, which has her groaning pleasantly. 

“You're most welcome, sweetheart.” He’s only half talking to Beans. “But you have to promise me one thing.” She is fast asleep. “No more running off. It makes your mummy awfully worried. We don't want that, do we? No, we don't.” 

If Harry’s goal is to have you spending the rest of your day agonizing over the frustration of not pouncing on him while you have the chance. Maybe in another world where your confidence matches your desires. 

“If she starts behaving, I'll have to call you over to have a chat with her about all of my missing socks.” 

God, you hope he takes you up on the offer- socks or not, and you have no idea how happy Harry is at the hope of possibly seeing you again. Under circumstances that don’t include heat stroke and scraped knees. Beans, Bossy and Bratty, what a perfect trio.

“I'd be more than happy to.”

[seventeenpins]

a slight miscalculation - pt. i

pairing: Joel x F!Reader

word count: 8.3k

summary: Sarah is off to college, and Joel is about to be living in an empty nest. They road trip out together, and as she spends her first night in her new apartment, he's staying in a nearby hotel. Letting go of his inhibitions for the first time in a long time, he tumbles into a one night stand that becomes very complicated, very quickly.

content/warnings: smut, age gap, mycologist!reader, dick sucking, implied pussy eating, fingering, no outbreak au, reader likes to hike, reader also infodumps, joel miller has a big cock, he also has anxiety, reader has anxiety too, and a cat, reader is in early 20s--exact age not established, one (1) use of daddy, alcohol and weed consumption, joel is a diligent condom wearer, set in present day, discussion of girl scout cookies, joel is sweet and soft and hasn't been eviscerated by the death of his daughter

a/n: I'm intending this to be about five parts. This may change, but right now it's looking like five. I've been struggling to write for a while, unable to focus, but I think I'm back at it? as always, your feedback is hugely appreciated, and i'm kissing all likers and commenters and rebloggers deeply and with tongue 🩷

check out pt. ii

For the first time in nineteen years, Joel is completely adrift. Sarah's starting college in just two months.

It's the kind of realization that hits him like a bucket of ice water, a sudden shock and then an unpleasant trickling of anxiety wrapping about him in nasty tendrils. And then he feels guilty, because he's so, so happy for Sarah because he knows that she's thrilled, but fuck she's gonna be two time zones away and now what's Joel meant to do on Thursday movie nights when he's here without her?

It's terrifying, and it's new. And it's not that he's new to anxiety. He's usually anxious, and he has the Sertraline on his bedside stand to prove it. But if his general anxiety baseline usually hovered around a 6.4, where he was at now far surpassed a 10. It felt exponential, and totally exhausting.

When he voices his fears to Tommy, to Joel's horror, Tommy just doubles over in laughter.

"Jesus, Joel," he wheezes, wiping fake tears from his eyes in exaggerated movements, "You looked so serious I thought you were gonna say you'd killed someone."

Joel scowls. "The fuck you laughing for?"

"She's going to college, it's not like she's dying!"

"How'm I gonna be there for her? What if she needs me? What if-"

"Joel-," Tommy pats him gently on the shoulder, "She can always call you, and you can always call her. And we both know she's got a good head on 'er shoulders."

Joel snorts in concession. "Yeah, yeah. Better than yours and mine put together, and then some."

"Exactly." Tommy agrees, "And if there's ever anything that really goes wrong, you got me. We can drive out together and make sure she's okay."

Joel nods and feels the tiniest bit of tension leave him. One step at a time.

Just over nineteen years ago he found out he was about to be a dad. Suddenly, he had a purpose. Having a kid at twenty-two wasn't something he'd ever intended, but somehow he knew he loved his baby girl from the moment he knew she was a possibility. He spent a solid seven months running around, hustling, doing everything he could to get the very best for his kid. He'd take on doubles, working himself to the bone to make sure they had the best crib, and the best stroller, too. He was thrilled and terrified and so, so green.

Now, his heart feels so big he doesn't know how to handle it. His baby girl is an honest-to-god adult, moving out and going to college, and he has no idea what he's gonna do with his time now.

He has work, of course. But beyond that? He's really gotta to widen his circle, he realises, because who's he gonna hang out with? His brother?

He'd only just turned forty-one and had absolutely not come to terms with an empty nest--the few friends from high school he'd kept in touch with were so much further behind than him. The ones that had kids had them later in their twenties and thirties, and now they're raising middle schoolers while Joel's kid is a real fucking person, leaving home and everything. All the scrapping and saving he'd been doing since before Sarah was born–for his little girl to be able to follow any dream she chose–it was finally paying off. The precocious young woman she is, she graduated early and spent nearly a year working retail to save up some cash. She'd applied to colleges all across the country, and a few international ones, too. Joel had been crossing his fingers for months, hoping she'd choose something near Austin, but cheered with her all the same when she got her acceptance letter from Oregon State University. The previous summer, just before she'd started her applications, she and Joel and Tommy spent a miserable, wonderful week hiking round the Pacific Northwest. She fell in love with it, and the university offered a few of the majors she wanted to consider.

Joel didn't know what he'd do with his baby girl so far away, his life, his reason, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna tell her that. He will not clip her wings. His baby's gonna change the world and he's not gonna hold her back. He is, though, gonna require regular phone calls and check-ins and god they grow up so fast.

"Y'all should road trip out there," Tommy suggests one night over the dinner table.

Joel knew the conversation of how Sarah would get to the West Coast would come up, and it oughta be sooner rather than later. He was half afraid that she wanted to head out on her own, that she didn't need her dad anymore. Worried she would say she wanted to get a plane ticket, or take the Amtrak all the way to Corvallis. But he knows he needs to loosen his grip a little, so he braces himself when he turns to her.

"What'dya think, Sarah? You wanna be stuck in a car with your old man for a cross-country trip?"

Sarah rolls her eyes, but her face breaks into a grin. "Can we, Dad?"

This was too good to be true, he knew, but he wasn't gonna give up one last opportunity to spend some time with his girl till winter break.

"Course, baby," he tells her, and that flicker of anxiety quells just the tiniest bit.

The next few weeks fly by, and the knot of anxiety in Joel's chest feels like it's consuming him from the inside out. He's taken some time off, more than Sarah or Tommy can remember, but he's constantly trying to suggest ideas for activities to Sarah. For the most part, she's a good sport, understanding how much it means to her dad. She took pity on him, and let him drag her to places that ideally she would've gone to when she was little, but she humored him and he appreciated her dedication. He did his best to step back when she was heading out to spend time with friends--her time here was limited, after all, and she was always a social butterfly.

There are five weeks till classes start, four weeks, three, two, and in the blink of an eye, they're loading up the truck with all of Sarah's things, and Tommy is hugging Sarah goodbye, teary eyed. He gives Joel a hug, too. Joel would never admit it, but fuck he had really needed that hug.

They would take the scenic route. Make a memorable trip of it. Joel would make sure she settles in safe and sound, and then he'd head home.

6am Sunday.

You wake with a start. It's just over a week before term starts and your entire body aches. Fuck, you think to yourself, definitely overdid it with that last hike.

(The hiking part wasn't itself a problem, but one of the trails had washed out. You thought you'd found your way, but the "easy" three and a half mile hike took about five hours, leaving your calves bruised and your heels blistered.)

You roll over in your hotel room bed and, at the sound of a slight yelp followed by a gentle thud, realise with a sudden start that you just catapulted your cat off the corner.

"Shit, sorry goblin," you tell Spatula, who glares up at you with disdain as he licks at his paw. You reach down and, despite your inadvertent cat launch, he immediately rubs up against your fingertips and lets you scratch behind his ears.

"I'm sorry, baby," you soothe.

He meows, loudly. Howls, really. You take it as an apology accepted.

You sit up properly and look at your phone calendar. Nothing immediate. You don't need to get keys to your new apartment till tomorrow, nor do you meet your roommates till then–they're both moving in today, and moving is already horrible without having to navigate around the belongings of two other people. No, thanks. You can afford one more night at the hotel, and it'll make everything go that little bit more smoothly tomorrow. Besides, you have a bit of reading you'd like to get through, maybe stock up on non-perishables till you have a full-sized fridge, and get to know the city just a little.

You move gingerly, testing the ache in your muscles as you unfold yourself from the position you've been sat in and pull yourself from the bed. It hurts, but not something that won't be fixed with a little movement.

A plan forms. First, a walk, to try and loosen up your tight muscles. Then, errands. You have a whole list, with everything categorised by store, but then you enter IKEA and exit fifteen minutes later, only to find that five and a half hours have passed and it's evening now.

How was it that IKEA harnessed such a malicious power. How could anything harness that?

You need a fucking break. And a goddamn drink.

"Hey Dad," Sarah calls from the adjacent bedroom as Joel sweats, hauling another box towards her. The drive has been good, but it has been long. His legs ache. His back aches. There are parts of him that he didn't know existed that now ache.

"Yeah?" he calls back.

"Are you sure you're okay with me staying here tonight?"

Joel lets out a breath. He wants to be okay with it. And there's no way his nineteen year old would want to hang out with her dad when she could be spending the very first night in her brand new apartment. But he also wishes she wanted to spend one last night, hanging out in a hotel room with her dad. They could watch shitty movies together. Make the most of the final night before this cataclysmic shift.

But no.

That'd just be him being selfish. He can handle a night by himself. He's gotta handle a whole lotta them soon enough.

"O'course baby," he nods, hoping the smile he's plastered on his face looks totally genuine. "But we're still doin' breakfast in the morning, right?"

She nods, vigorous, and then waves her phone around. "I was looking up places! There's a diner called Tommy's," she laughs, "Wanna try that? 9:30?"

"Let's do it," he smiles, and this one is a little less forced.

"How much more do we have?" Sarah asks, nodding towards the box Joel's still holding.

"Last box," he grunts, "What else can I help with?"

He places the box down and lets out a slight, almost silent whimper. Sarah catches it, though.

"Maybe you should take it easy the rest of the day, Dad," she tells him, "We both know you have old man back."

He rolls his eyes but nods. "Guess you're right," he shrugs, "That my cue to take off?"

Sarah blushes but turns to him sheepishly. "Yeah, I-"

"No need to explain," Joel assures, "I know you must wanna get unpacked and settle in, get to know your roommates an' all."

She jumps up and, almost startling him, wraps her arms around him in a bear hug.

"Love you, dad," she grins, and she squeezes just a little tighter than usual.

He squeezes back, and they both pretend there aren't tears in his eyes.

As you step through the doors of the hotel bar, you decide you like it. The lighting is comfortably low. It's not loud, but it's not quiet, either. Colorful bottles line the shelves, the light of the filament bulbs glinting off the glass in rainbow prisms.

You take a seat at the bar and give a nod of thanks as the bartender passes you a small menu. It's unsurprisingly extortionate, hotel bar and all, but it'll do.

"Old fashioned, please," you tell the bartender, who nods in response. A minute later, he hands you a glass, delivered with a twist of orange and a cherry on top.

With your first sip, you feel your shoulders start to relax and some of the tension loosen from your body. The warmth of the burn envelops you and your stress starts to unravel, leaving only the buzz feeling good.

You order a second, and as the glass is handed to you, a voice to your right catches your attention.

"This seat taken?" a man asks.

You shake your head and offer a quick smile, gesturing towards it, "All yours."

"Much obliged," he nods, and slips into the backless stool next to yours.

The bartender comes over and passes him the same menu, but without looking at it he asks, "Could I get an old fashioned?"

You smile and catch his eye, tipping your glass towards him. "An excellent choice," you praise, "Though if you don't have a sweet tooth, I'd recommend asking Jeff there if he can go easy on the simple syrup."

"Oh yeah?" He asks, and then he leans in conspiratorially. "T'tell you the truth, I do have a bit of a sweet tooth."

You raise an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Suddenly, he breaks into a grin and it's dazzling.

"Yeah," he laughs, "I've got cookies stashed in secret locations all through my house."

You raise an eyebrow. "If I keep 'em in my pantry, my brother'll find 'em and eat 'em all," he explains, "But ever since my kid was a girl scout, I always get cravings for girl scout cookies, so I buy an armful o'boxes and try and preserve 'em throughout the year, till I can replenish."

"What's your favorite girl scout cookie?"

"Caramel deLites, hands down."

"Oh yeah?"

"Absolutely," he nods.

The bartender, Jeff, sets the man's drink down with a clink. You catch one another's eye and both erupt into a fit of laughter.

You're not even sure what's funny. Maybe it's just been a long day? Maybe the whiskey was getting to you?

Whatever it is, it feels good.

The man takes a sip of his drink and lets out an aaaahh and it's goofy and charming and then he extends his hand.

"Joel," he tells you, "Joel Miller". You shake his hand, introduce yourself, and then take a sip of your own drink.

"So, tell me about yourself," you smile, "You coming from out of town?"

"Yes ma'am," he nods, "Come up here from Austin."

"Texas?"

Joel nods.

"That's a long trip."

"Yeah," he laughs, "It really is."

"So, you're a nice Southern boy, huh?"

"Well," he swishes his glass and tries to bite back a smile, "I don't know that I'd go quite so far, but my mama did raise me to be a gentleman."

"That so?" you ask and his blush deepens.

"I... have been known to get up to some trouble, but I like to think I've mellowed in my old age." He gestures at the beautiful little smatterings of silver at his temples, and you cackle.

"Okay, that's hot," you tell him and he chokes, but you keep going, "Old age, though? What are you, like, forty?"

He exhales, chagrined. "Forty-one."

You roll your eyes. "That ain't old."

"It feels it sometimes," he smiles, "My kid is grown. My little brother's married with a kid of his own on the way. My back hurts, pretty much all the time."

You snort. You also notice, without trying to look, that he doesn't have a wedding band. Doesn't have a tan line for one, either. Interesting.

"But more than that," he continues, "I guess I feel- I don't know. A little... aimless?"

"Yeah," you nod, and you let the moment sit. "I get that."

He lets out a little breath, and then turns back to you, focused.

"What about you? Where're you from?"

"Oof," you exhale, "All over. Spent a bit of time on the East coast. The Midwest. Lived a few months in the South, even," you tease as you bump your shoulder into his and he laughs. It's a surprisingly familiar gesture, but miraculously comfortable.

"Ever make it to Texas?"

"Naw," you shake your head, "My time in the South was all in Mississippi. After that I moved out to California, and I've been slowly working my way up the West Coast."

"And what have you been enjoying about the West Coast?" Joel asks.

"The mushrooms," you grin, and Joel frowns.

"Like, the kind you get in a little baggy from the dealer down the street, or-?"

"No," you laugh, "Or, well- Okay, sometimes. Gotta say it is great out here for that, too. But I mean fungus as a whole--mushrooms, mold, yeast, lichen. But I'm most interested in mushrooms. They're just really fuckin' cool, and there's so much we don't understand about them. And, they're delicious."

"Huh," Joel ponders, "T'tell you the truth, I've never thought much about mushrooms, besides enjoying 'em as a pizza topping."

"Most people don't," you agree, "But fuck, like-- Okay, so we know there are over five million types of fungi on Earth, but we've identified less than two percent of them. Some fungus aids decomposition. Some fungus is bioluminescent. Some are known worldwide for their delicious flavours, and others are known by the slow, horrible ways they kill you."

Joel raises his eyebrows, and suddenly you feel a little self conscious.

"Sorry, I do this," you laugh, rubbing at the back of your neck, "I get very excited about fungus and manage to alienate everyone around me."

You half expect him to stand up and walk away.

Instead, though, he leans in closer. "Don't apologise," he tells you, "I'm learning something new. Tell me more?"

"No, I should stop. Otherwise I'll never stop talking," you wince.

"How about just one more fungus fact?"

You sit for a minute, pondering. "This is- well, I guess this is one of the reasons I find fungus so fascinating. So, fungus can't photosynthesise the way that plants do--they can't produce their own food from sunshine, and water, and carbon dioxide. Instead, their mycelium-- they're these thread-like networks--they branch out beneath the earth, seeking out food, growing in the direction where it can find the nutrients it needs and breaking down organic material all around them, sometimes living organisms, as a parasite, and sometimes dead organisms as a decomposer, or both. And it's just- It's this hidden world, that exists right beneath the surface even in some of the extreme places on earth, temperature-wise. And most days, we don't even think about it."

You punctuate your thought with a large swallow of your drink, which is half-watered down now that the ice is melted, and doesn't hit quite as hard as you'd hoped, but then you look up at Joel and he's smiling at you, pensive, and--

"That's- That's actually really interesting."

Before you can respond, though, Joel glances at his watch and balks. It is getting late. "Shit," he shakes his head, "I think I oughta call it a night," he says, pulling back. "Early morning tomorrow, and if I stay at the bar I'll just keep drinkin'."

Fuck. That's a dismissal. Of course you went on too much about mushrooms. You'd fucked this up. You'd thought this was going well, but now it felt like a bucket of cold water was dumped over you. "Oh," you nod, matching his posture, and try to swallow down the sudden wave of disappointment. "Of course. Have a good night, Joel."

Joel stands up and then looks you up and down, considering. It's not brazen, but it isn't shy, either. And then understanding flashes across his face.

"Wait- Sorry, that's not how I meant it." He reaches out towards you and you melt into his touch. "I'm messin' this up." He chuckles, but it sounds pained. "Now look, I don't wanna make any presumptions. And I'm really hopin' I'm not coming off as some--dirty old man. Jesus, I haven't done this in a while. But I'm in room 308."

Your eyebrows shoot up. What you'd taken for disinterest was just--nerves?

"I reckon I'll be awake for a while yet. You're welcome to... drop by."

The disappointment melts, making way for a fluttering in your stomach.

"Twenty minutes," you assure him, "308?"

He nods and he brakes into a sheepish grin, shedding what you now realise had been something of an anxious wince. "308."

You watch him leave. When he's out of sight, you toss back the rest of your watery drink and go to pay your tab, but Jeff tells you it was already settled. You thank him and tuck your shaking hands in your pockets. You feel an electricity running through you as you take the elevator up.

When you get back to your room, you hop into the shower, just to freshen up--you keep your hair dry but scrub your body. Once you're clean, you brush your teeth.

Stepping back out of the en suite, you survey the hotel room. Spatula is lounging on the corner of the bed, entirely uninterested in your movements. You top up his dry food bowl and place a kiss between his ears before slipping out.

When you knock at Joel's door, you hear a slight rustle and clatter and then the door swings open, Joel's staring a little wide-eyed, like he didn't actually expect you to show. He's wearing grey sweats and a Johnny Cash t-shirt that looks like it's been around nearly as long as you have. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, an anxious tell that's desperately endearing.

"C'mon in," he smiles, and you step in, closing the door behind you.

You reach out to cup his face, delighting in the feeling of coarse stubble beneath your fingertips. Your first kiss is chaste. You both lean forward and press your lips to one another gently, exploring.

Then, you let out a little moan and Joel shudders. Heat surges between you, and his hands are cradling your head and brushing your cheek and he's pinning you against the closed door. You're kissing again, nothing chaste remaining, learning the taste of him, his rhythm, the crashing waves of give and take between you.

You wrap one leg around him and smirk when he lets out a throaty groan as you grind against his hard cock. You're pretty sure he's not wearing underwear, the thick bulge seemingly unconstrained in his grey sweats, the whole length pressing against your thigh.

Your head falls back and you let out soft, breathy noises as his lips trace along your collarbone, up your throat, and against that tender little spot behind your ear. When he puts your earlobe between his lips and presses his teeth gently against the skin, your knees go weak and he chuckles, strong arms wrapping around you, holding you up.

"Bed?" he asks, and you breathe yes and then, with a yelp and a throaty chuckle, you're lifted up and spun around and both tumbling into the duvet.

You're grasping at each other, desperate to keep your hands on one another. The only times you part is when you undress, and even then, you're helping each other--pulling the hem of his shirt over his lifted arms, pressing into him as he reaches around and moves to unhook your bra, but then he realises you're not wearing one and lets out a groan, his thumbs brushing alongside the tender skin along your ribs, moving gently as if to cup your breasts, but then he pulls back.

Normally you might wait, do this part slowly, draw out the tease just a little bit longer.

Tonight, though, you're ravenous.

As you fiddle with the buttons of your pants, you tug at the drawstring keeping Joel's sweats on his hips. The bow comes loose in one smooth motion, and he lifts his hips and you pull the sweats down.

Your mouth immediately waters seeing him bare, laid out for you. You watch a bead of precum drip down the head and pool on his belly. The coarse hair of his happy trail glistens with it. He's thick, uncut, and looks painfully hard, his cock head ruddy. "Fuck, you're beautiful," you tell him, and his cheeks redden but he grins. It's boyish, the way he grins, and devastatingly charming.

And, what you're saying is true. His body is gorgeous, something you wish you could sketch. Soft flesh over hard muscle, visible tan lines where his chest and shoulders are noticeably lighter than his arms. The muscles and veins along his throat are driving you absolutely fucking insane as he swallows and looks up at you.

He's got freckles on his shoulders, too, and without thinking, you lower yourself down to kiss at his shoulder. He shakes, just a little, and lets out the most beautiful gasp. It's addictive, pulling these noises from him. You follow the curve of him, giving him a taste of his own medicine--tracing feather-light kisses along his collarbone, up the tendons of his neck, behind his ear. You can feel the blood pulse in his veins as your lips brush along him. Joel goes from panting lightly to full on groaning, rutting his hips up towards you and, frustrated, meeting only air.

"Can I taste you?", you ask, and Joel lets out a half-strangled sound and nods, vigorous.

You scoot back, lower yourself, poke out your tongue and, without any preamble, lick at the slit of his head, tasting the salty, tangy precum.

Joel tips his head back and groans and you decide to be kind. You grasp onto his hips and take him in your mouth, slowly sinking down, inch by inch by inch and now you can feel him at the back of your throat, your saliva dripping down the shaft and collecting in the hair between his thighs.

You bob your head up and down, taking him deeper with each thrust, but your throat is full and there are still inches to go. You relax, doing everything you can to take him deeper, and he starts to thrust up gently.

You let him fuck into your mouth but release one of his hips, allowing him to move as freely as he needs and freeing up your hand, which you shove into your underwear, rubbing furiously at your clit.

It doesn't take much to lose yourself in it, to focus only on the sensation. You're so wet, slick coating your fingers, making the glide that much smoother as you touch yourself. Joel tastes so good, too, the intrusion of his cock the most delicious thing, feeling the way he shudders when you moan, the way he moans when you shudder.

"Fuck-" Joel gasps, and then there's a hand guiding you gently off of him.

You raise an eyebrow. "You okay?"

He swallows, hard, and nods. "More than okay. Felt too fuckin' good."

"Oh yeah?" and you lean down, as if to take him back in your mouth, but he chuckles and pulls you back again.

"It's been... a while. For me. And-" He drags his palm down his face, wearing an almost pained expression. "Christ, you just look too fuckin' good down there, mouth stretched 'round me while you touch yourself. An' it feels too fuckin' good, too. I ain't ready for this to be over yet but if you keep lettin' me fuck your throat like that it's gonna be over real quick. And I wanna feel that pretty pussy myself."

You sit back up and he pulls you towards him so you're straddling him.

"You gonna fuck me, Joel?"

"Yes," he breathes, "Yes, baby, please-"

You do an awkward wobble and then stand up, shedding your pants and letting your panties drop, stepping out of them, one foot and then the other, and the way he's watching you is addictive. He watches you with beautiful eyes, drinking all of you in, and suddenly the moment has changed into one of those quiet, intimate moments where you both exhale a laugh.

You straddle him again, and lean down to kiss him, and the electric current surges up. He grabs you by the jaw, meeting your desperation. His lips on yours are exactly the balm you need and you can taste the whiskey on his breath.

"Feels fucking good," you tell Joel as you slide up and down his length. He's not penetrating you, not yet, but the lips of your pussy are spread and you're gliding along him, feeling his head at your clit and thrusting back till you're nearly seated on his balls.

He watches you, nearly unblinking, drinking it all in. Then, he lets out a groan, and half-sits up, suddenly focused.

"Shit," he closes his eyes in frustration, "I don't have any condoms. Shit shit shit-"

You push him back down and kiss him again. Then, you hop off the bed and sift around in your jean pockets.

"Ah-ha!," you exclaim, once you've found your treasure. Joel raises and eyebrow and you wink. "Saw they were selling them in the lobby. Figured it might be a good idea."

"Shit," Joel laughs, and presses his lips just to the side of your mouth. "Clever girl," he tells you, and a shiver goes up your spine.

He leans to help, but you shoo him away and he watches, entranced, as you neatly open the condom wrapper and, with a small amount of difficulty, roll it down his cock.

"Feeling okay?" You ask him, "Shit, I shoulda gotten the Magnums. Is your dick okay? It's not being choked to death by an inappropriately sized rubber, is it?"

Joel snorts. "We'll manage," he says, and then he grips you by the hips, lines himself up. He draws his knuckles along your cunt and groans, "Fuck, so goddamn wet for me-" and, the moment you look at him and nod, he holds the head of his cock against your drooling lips and presses into you.

It's a big stretch as he lowers you down onto him, the intrusion almost painful, but before you can even take a breath, it melts into absolute pleasure. You've fucked people with longer cocks before, and you've fucked people with girthier cocks before, but never have you fucked someone with a cock that's both this long and thick and it feels like you're being split in two and it's perfect and you realise, with a sudden flip of your stomach, he isn't even fully seated inside you yet.

Then, you manage to focus on the words Joel is saying-that had really just been background noise for the past ten seconds or so-and suddenly you're tuning back in for "Tha's it," his voice low and hoarse, surprisingly gentle, "Good girl, takin' this cock so well, look at you."

His brow is furrowed and he's looking at you with such dark eyes, nearly black, the pupils are so blown. "Just a little more, that's it, just one more inch, you can do it, christ, look at you, takin' all of me."

His tone is reverent and it sets a fire through you. You can feel more slickness build and drip out of you, and from the way he moans, you're certain he can feel it too despite the condom.

"So fuckin' wet," he groans, "Soakin' my cock- grippin' me so nice-Fuck--"

He leans towards you and cradles your head in his hand, kissing you hard.

When you both pull back, you know your lips must be kiss swollen and red. His are--they're soft and bright, and you want to eat him whole.

"You're gonna be the death of me, woman."

He's thrusting into you lazily, holding you in place, but you need more, you need all of him.

You push forward and move his hand from your waist to your clit. As you manoeuvre him, his nostrils flare, and you'd wonder if he was angry, if not for the way you felt his cock stiffen even further inside of you. You start to move your hips, to rub up against the thumb on your clit, and to feel every fucking inch of him.

Urged on by the way he groans, you start to ride him, properly. Holding each other close, you fuck down onto him and he leans back, awed.

"Enjoying the show?" you ask.

"Damn- right- I- am-," Joel breathes, every word punctuated with a shuddering breath after you drive back down onto his cock, "Jesus- you- look- so- good- like- that."

You like being watched. Being admired. It sent an extra thrill through you, and your hips stutter, just a little, and now you're following a new, faster rhythm.

"Fuck, that's it, baby-" he praises, "Shit, yes- bounce on it."

You lean forward and kiss his throat, and then he makes this noise, half-strangled and beautiful.

"Shit, honey-- honey, honey, hold on-," he holds you still and you're glad he has, because your brain hadn't quite processed his words.

He's looking at you so earnestly.

"Baby, if you keep ridin' me like this I am gonna blow my load in the next twenty seconds and I don't wanna end this quite so soon."

You hum, a moment of consideration. You stare into his eyes, and part of it is calculated seduction, but another part is getting genuinely lost in the way he looks at you. The crinkles round his eyes. The way he seems able to focus on you, in a way that feels as frightening as it is exhilarating.

"How about this," You smile, "You get yours, and then you can eat me out till I get mine. And if you're ready to go again by the time I've come, we can see where we're at then. Hmm?"

You see a bead of sweat trickle down his temple, and take a moment to appreciate how much he's clearly trying to control himself.

After a moments of avoiding your eye, he looks at you again and he looks utterly wrecked. "You- talkin' like that?" He shakes his head and tries to even his breath. "Fuck, I nearly came right there."

"It's okay," you soothe, and you cup his jaw and resume you movements, riding him like you had before. "You can come if you need to-" your fingertips stroke the stubble of his chin, "You're close, huh? It's okay, daddy, you can let go."

Joel lets out a strangled noise and busts immediately.

You savor the way it feels, the pulse of his cock as he spills into you. No, into the condom, you correct yourself, but you can always pretend-

After his balls relax and you can feel him start to get soft, you hold the condom down as you pull yourself off, and you're nearly unseated when there's a sudden squelch noise that sends you both into tumbles of laughter.

It takes a while to calm down, and you find yourselves heaving, tangled in the sheets, and wrapped up in each other. The condom is hanging limply on Joel's now-soft cock and it's oddly cold and gooey as you accidentally roll against it, and that sends you both off again.

"Fuck," Joel snorts, and tugs at the condom, starting to roll it off his length, "I'd almost forgotten the weird texture of a used condom. Fuckin'... Slug-like."

"That-" you declare, "Is visceral. And I hate it. Thanks."

He snorts, and you suddenly have a question.

"Condoms not making too many appearances in your life?"

"Not many, no."

"What, you usually fuck raw?"

"Just haven't been sleepin' with anyone," he shrugs, nonplussed.

"Well, I gotta say, the good people of Austin have been missing out."

Joel shrugs again, and it comes off as casual, but you notice the way his ears tint pink. "Just- not been something I did. But now, I guess, I can. And with way less guilt."

"Why guilt? Are-" you venture, dread pooling in your stomach, "Are you married?"

His eyes flit up to you sharply, and then soften immediately. He lets out a breath and shakes his head. "No. Nothin' like that. I was married, but I've been divorced nearly twenty years now."

The tightness immediately uncoils and you realise how tense you were only a moment ago. I am not a cog in the machine of a collapsing marriage. Thank fuck.

But now your curiosity is piqued. "So... why the guilt?"

"Sorry, I- I really didn't mean to get into it. I'd rather not get into it. It's- complicated."

"Of course," you shrug, and it isn't a problem because this is just a hot fantasy hookup that you'll remember fondly, and it'll be wonderful masturbation fuel for probably the rest of your life, but you don't wanna make the poor guy go into his life's trauma, especially when he's looking at you so fucking earnestly and you are actually really fucking fascinated but no, you would not let this become a problem.

"Thanks," he says, and then steps out of the room. You hear the clang of the bin as he steps on the pedal, then drops the condom, takes a piss and washes his hands.

"You hungry?" He asks, and you realize very suddenly, you're absolutely famished.

"Yes," you jump up and he laughs when you run, bare-assed and shameless, over to the corner of the room filled with brochures and traveller info and finally, you raise it in triumph when you find it, the list of nearby takeaways.

"Okay," you look at the list, "There's one place at the top of the list here that's apparently highly rated, but I actually have plans there soon and I wanna wait till then to eat there. Hope that's okay."

Joel comes over to you and rests his head on your shoulder. "No problem."

"But... alright," you continue. "There's pizza. Or... more pizza. Or, look--there's a Southern-style place, that'll make you feel right at home!" Joel pokes you in the side and you swat at him as he grunts a laugh.

Suddenly, a warning sound starts playing on loop in your brain. It was dreadfully domestic, wasn't it? This was an absolute stranger you'd just met in a hotel bar? But... it also felt... nice? And it felt nice in ways that you'd never found yourself enjoying before. Even with long-term partners. Maybe because this was so low-stakes, you reasoned, such an inevitably temporary situation, so you weren't putting the same kind of pressure on yourself.

As soon as you think that, the eternal curse of overthinking shows itself and you suddenly feel desperately self conscious. Before you can pull away and make some excuse, though, Joel's arm wraps around you and his thumb starts rubbing little circles into a tender bit of skin between your hip and your tummy. The anxiety spiral you'd been teetering on the edge of suddenly vanishes.

"How about-," he nods at the list, "Pizza?"

After Joel calls in your order, the pizza delivery service tells you to expect your food in about thirty minutes. You remember you have a little box of edibles. You ask Joel if he minds if you take one, and he doesn't. You offer him one, and he automatically declines, but then as he starts to explain, he pauses and pivots, goes "Wait, actually. Yeah. Why not?"

A freckled kid who looks no more than sixteen pulls up with a short stack of pizza boxes and a two liter bottle of root beer. He raps awkwardly on the door after exactly thirty five minutes, and it swings open.

The room looks utterly wrecked, clothing strewn along every surface. Joel answers the door wearing a robe, his entire face smelling of sex, and his moustache still shining with the slick of your release.

"Thanks, kid," Joel nods, and hands him a small wad of cash. The kid eyes him and shrugs. "Keep the change," he tells him, and the door swings back shut.

The edibles have hit beautifully. You're both blissed out, comfortably hazy, lost in the sensation of bare limbs on bedsheets and the flavors of the pizza and it's assorted sauces. You lay together on the bed, paper plates strewn between you. In the background, an X-Files rerun plays.

"Ooh!" You sit up as you catch the premise of the episode, "I love this one! See the goo? There's a giant fungal... entity.. that's working on digesting them, and giving them hallucinations as they die."

"You and mushrooms, huh?" Joel laughs, but then looks back at the episode and contemplates the viscous yellow goo. "Jesus christ," he frowns, and sniffs, now contemplating the mushrooms on his pizza slice.

You spot his glare and snort. "I think you're safe."

He takes another bite and shakes his head as if to clear it.

"I'm getting tired," he admits.

"Me too," you agree.

"No pressure, but in case it wasn't clear, you're welcome to stay the night here."

"That's sweet," you tell him, and think it over. "If I took you up on that, would you be offended if I slip out early?"

Joel raises a brow.

"I have a cat," you explain, "And I'm working on moving into a new place, and meeting a friend for breakfast, and then I need to check out after breakfast because I won't be able to get my keys for the new place until the breakfast but I can't take my cat to a diner-"

You take a breath.

"Basically, I've got a bunch of things I need to do in the morning, but if you don't mind me slipping out around, maybe, 5-ish, then I'd love to stay."

He stares at you.

You regret saying as much as you said. You don't need to over-explain yourself to this actual stranger. He doesn't care. There's no reason for him to care. He's probably in it just for the fuck, and it was fun and if you stay then there's a chance the two of you will wake up at some point in the night, still horny and lustful and you might fuck again and you'd be lying if you said that wasn't part of the draw. You realise, though, you'd also be lying if you said you didn't care what he thought of you. All of a sudden, you are overwhelmed with caring what this man thinks of you.

How fucking inconvenient.

"I wouldn't be offended at all," Joel chews, swallows, wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin and speaks again. "What's your cat's name?"

You don't know what you'd expected he'd say, but it wasn't that. You buffer for a moment. "It's- Spatula."

"Spatula?"

"Yep." You feel foolish.

"Huh. Spatula."

A silent moment between you.

"Got any pictures?"

You weren't expecting that, either. "I... do? Do you want to see them?" He nods. You pull out your phone to scroll through.

Joel, suddenly scrambled around for his phone, too. It was late and he hadn't checked it for hours. Had it been on silent? What if Sarah had called and he'd missed it?

His panic eased when he saw he had only two notifications. Both from Sarah, but neither were bad. He hadn't been neglecting any crises. The first text was a selfie of Sarah and an unfamiliar person, which she'd texted to him with the caption New roomie!! The second contained an address to the place they'd have breakfast tomorrow along with Just wanted you to know I've invited a friend to join us tomorrow morning! Is that okay? Realized I should maybe have checked with you? 😬

There was an ache in his chest. He wanted to keep her to himself, get to spend one last day, just the two of them. It was the start of a whole new chapter, but more than anything, he wished he could hold onto the moment for just a second longer.

But Sarah was stressed, he knew this, so he wasn't gonna make it worse and put this burden on her. He could handle it. He had to handle it. He typed back- No problem, baby. Can't wait to meet your friend.

After a moment, he followed up with another text. Gonna turn in now. Good nite!

The less he texted right now, the better. He did not want Sarah to know anything about the night he was having.

His screen lit up a moment later. Night Dad! He takes a deep breath and wills some of the tension away.

He slips his phone aside and you scoot into bed next to him.

"This," you announce, "Is Spatula."

Joel scrolls thru, his brows raising higher with each image.

With a single nod, he opens his mouth and instead of speaking, he collapses into laughter. It comes out a wheeze- "I-- I know this won't make any sense, but your cat looks just like my goddamn brother."

You're laughing now too, both of you almost hysterical, even though you have no frame of reference. You cherish the absurdity.

Then, Joel pulls up a picture on his phone and shows you, and now you're doubling over again because his brother looks exactly like Spatula.

You don't remember falling asleep. You curse your body's internal clock because you wake up right at 5am, and even though you know you should get up and leave, you wish you could have just a little bit longer.

It's such a comfortable way to wake up. One arm is folded under your pillow, and the other is slung over Joel's hip. He's asleep, snoring softly, and strands of his hair are mussed along his forehead. Your hand is holding his tummy, but you realise there's something pressing against the heel of your hand, and then realise, with a delicious jolt, that he's hard and straining against his boxers.

It's so fucking hard to get out of that bed, but with enough barely-effective reminders--you're gonna fuck up your whole day if you're late, gotta make a good impression, Spatula's gonna be so disappointed if you're late with his breakfast--you manage to bully yourself out of the warm and wonderful bed containing blankets and absolutely fantastic dick, and you tiptoe through the room, dress quickly, and, after making a note and leaving it on his bedside stand, you slip out.

Joel wakes up with a jolt, and then rolls over to see that the alarm clock (which he dared not contemplate the number of times he must have snoozed) was telling him it was 9:13.

He was late. Really fucking late. And then the panic made his brain spin faster and that's when he noticed the note on his bedside table.

I had a really good time If you're in town for a little longer, don't be a stranger?

It's followed with your name and phone number, and a rather detailed mushroom sketch across the page. He wasn't sure what kind of mushroom it was, but it was beautiful, and clearly hand-drawn, and for whatever reason you'd decided to tear it out of, presumably, your sketchbook? And you gave it to him, and he's gonna read that note and replay last night for the rest of his fucking life. It felt incredibly precious. He placed it in a book so it wouldn't get creased or folded. Made sure it was all contained and neat, totally flat in between the pages.

Then, he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower.

After scrubbing the smell of sex off of his entire body, he dresses quickly and checks his watch again. 9:28.

He texts Sarah and lets her know he's a few minutes behind. She responds with an eye roll emoji.

Joel settles in his truck and pulls up directions. It's only a few minutes away. He won't be too late.

When Joel steps into the diner, he's charmed by it. It's old school, with a checkerboard floor and bright red vinyl seats. He scans the room till he spots Sarah in a booth in the corner. She's laughing over a hot chocolate, and her friend must be in the seat opposite her.

He catches Sarah's eye and she grins at him, waving him over.

You've been at the diner about fifteen minutes, and you and Sarah are already getting along beautifully.

You'd met on a university message board and had become fast friends, but meeting someone in person was always a little terrifying. On top of that, you'd already committed to spending at least one (academic) year with this person, so you were damn sure gonna make it work.

Sarah waves over her dad. You can't see him yet, the back of the booth too high.

But then he's standing right there.

You already have a hand outstretched, but when he sees you and you see him, your stomach flips and dread runs through you. All the color drains from his face. He looks like a deer in headlights, and you'd be surprised if you didn't look the same.

Sarah looks between you, not quite concerned, but definitely confused. Sarah smiles and tries to diffuse the situation.

"Hi dad!" She grins, "This is my new roommate! Well, the other new roommate--the one in the picture, their name is Ellie, they weren't able to make it this morning. BUT. Breakfast seemed like a great time to hand off keys!"

Joel is still frozen and white-faced. Your brain whirs, and you know you've just fucking catapulted yourself into a disastrous mess, but you do your very best to save face.

Reaching your hand out further so he can't possibly miss it, he gives into some familiar social instinct, takes it and you shake. You think of his hands, how they dragged along your body last night, touched you, felt you, wrecked you.

You introduce yourself. He nods, avoiding eye contact.

"Joel." He grunts. "Miller."

Sarah frowns at him, but turns back to the menu.

This- was unexpected. Problematic. Arguably, really fucked up. All of those things and more. But it'll be fine.

All throughout breakfast, you repeat that to yourself, letting the words bounce around your head. It will be fine, you repeat your mantra, it will be fine, and you try not to feel too hurt at the way Joel's avoiding eye contact as if simply looking at you will cause him unimaginable disgust.

Everything will be fine.

Note: The fic's premise is loosely based on the book Mistakes Were Made which is a fucking excellent sapphic romance novel that utilises this trope. Would strongly recommend the book if you're into smutty queer stories.

[melosliving]

I know you’re tired of me but can you do a fic where reader is really famous and is married to Aaron but no one knows at all except for close family. They also have kids and ppl think reader is just popping out a random man kids 😂. Until one day they are spotted out together with all their kids in tow.

Um… hey ! It’s been a while ikkk. Let me tell you life has been lifying and it hasn’t been that good so far lol 🫩. So sorry for the delay, hope you’ll enjoy it bb ❤️

Aaron Pierre x wife!reader

yeah.. y’all got kids and told nobody !

You had always been good at keeping your life real quiet. Like, Beyoncé-in-the-hospital-delivery-suite quiet. Which is saying something, considering you were a quite well known. Movie premieres, Vogue covers, Grammy weekends, all of it. Yup, you were that girl. And still, somehow, nobody knew you were married. Or that your husband was Aaron damn Pierre.

See, it wasn’t intentional at first. Y’all just moved different. You didn’t feel the need to overshare, especially not about him. Aaron was your peace, your quiet. The kind of man who made coffee in the morning and rubbed your feet at night. You met on a set, had your first kiss in the makeup trailer, and got married two years later in a garden with your mamas crying and your aunties gossiping about how fine he looked in that linen suit.

Now, four kids later ? And nobody knew ?

Every once in a while, someone would catch you with a stroller or a baby on your hip, and the blogs would go crazy. The captions were wild: “She’s got another one?! Who’s the daddy this time?” Like you were just collecting children like Birkin bags.

Even your fans started making TikToks like:

“Not me thinking she was just giving birth for fun.”

“Girl. Who is your man? WHO.”

“She’s literally on baby #4 and I’ve never seen the same dude twice.”

You and Aaron would laugh about it at home, him with a baby bottle in one hand and your toddler drooling on his shoulder. He’d look at you, “They really think you out here with randoms?”

But then one sunny-ass Saturday, y’all got caught slipping. For the first time.

You’d just finished brunch at this cute lil Black-owned café in Notting Hill, kids wildin’ out like always. Your oldest wearing Aaron’s sunglasses, your second born had one shoe on and was yelling about a pigeon, and your twins were strapped in the double stroller looking like copy-paste versions of their daddy.

Y’all looked like a whole sitcom walking down the street.

And boom. That one damn paparazzi photo changed everything.

Aaron was holding your daughter on his hip, and your son was holding his hand while you adjusted the stroller. Your head was thrown back in laughter, and Aaron was kissing your cheek mid-step. Click. The Photo was taken. And they ate it up !

“WAIT. IS THAT AARON PIERRE??”

“YOU’RE TELLING ME THIS MAN BEEN MARRIED?! FOUR KIDS?! WITH HER?!”

“I THOUGHT SHE WAS SINGLE SINGLE.”

“Now it’s making sense… all her kids got the same exact dimples.”

“THEY BEEN HIDING IN PLAIN SIGHT.”

Even celebs were in the comments like, “Oh y’all was serious about privacy huh.”

And Aaron ? He was so unbothered. Chill as ever. He made a rare post the next day : a blurry photo of y’all cuddled up in the backyard, one kid laying on your chest, another crawling on Aaron’s back.

You almost threw your phone at the wall. “Why would you post that?!”

He just smirked and said, “Let them know I’m yours. Been yours. Always been yours.”

now ? The world knows. But they still don’t know. They see the kids, the love, the kisses. But they don’t see the late-night forehead kisses, the little “you good, baby?” whispers when you’re overwhelmed, the way he carries every baby like they’re royalty. The way your house is filled with music, and warmth, and the smell of his cologne on the baby blankets.

You’re still that girl. But now you’re that wife. And that mama.

And best believe—he’s that man. Periodt.

@melosliving 2025

[just-aake]

A Feline Connection: Halloween Special

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha is getting everything ready for the Halloween event while also helping you find the right costume for her favorite feline.

A/N: This is a side story set at some time between Part 2 and 3 of the A Feline Connection series.

Warnings: fluff

Words: 4450

Natasha carefully sets down two oversized bowls brimming with candy onto one of the many rows of tables, adjusting them slightly before turning her attention to arranging an array of spooky decorations across the counter. 

Around her, eerie decorations fill the park as volunteers bustle about, setting the stage for the Halloween event—a collaboration between the Avengers and the city. 

Team members are spread out everywhere she looks, each helping prepare for the different activities. 

Natasha has taken charge of the trick-or-treat stations, aiming to make the experience fun and safe for the kids, double-checking candy supplies, and ensuring no child goes home without treats. 

As she directs volunteers to rearrange some tables to keep the pathways clear, her phone vibrates in her pocket. 

She pulls it out, her eyes softening at the picture you’ve sent. 

Widow is pouting into the camera, clearly displeased at her current state. The little black cat is decked out in a miniature Iron Man suit, complete with the iconic mask perched on her head.

“Cute,” Natasha mutters, smirking at the picture. 

Moments later, your message follows.

“What do you think about her costume for tonight?”

“Cute, but it doesn’t look like it’s her favorite,” Natasha replies, her fingers tapping a quick response.

A second picture arrives—a close-up of Widow now scratching at the Iron Man mask, a clear statement of her displeasure.

“You might be right. Guess we’ll try out some more.”

Natasha chuckles and quickly forwards the picture to the Avengers group chat. She’s about to tuck her phone away when a curious thought suddenly appears in her mind.

“Are you wearing a costume for tonight?”

Your playful response arrives seconds later.

“Maybe…wouldn’t you like to know, Miss Black Widow.”

Natasha can practically hear your teasing tone. But before she can respond, she’s interrupted by the sound of two small sets of footsteps barreling toward her. 

She looks up just as Lila and Cooper Barton crash into her, giggling as they wrap their arms around her in a tight hug. 

Natasha pretends to stumble, letting out an exaggerated groan as if their embrace had taken her down. 

“Auntie Nat!” Lila shouts, bouncing back with a wide grin, while Cooper nods energetically.

“We’re here to help!” he chimes in, both kids practically vibrating with excitement. 

Natasha eyes them with a hint of suspicion, already guessing what might be fueling their energy. 

“Sorry, we’re late,” Clint says, approaching with a stroller carrying Nathaniel, the youngest Barton. 

Natasha bends down to greet the baby, who lights up and giggles as she tickles his tummy.

“Nat, don’t rile him up!” Clint groans playfully. “I already have these two bouncing off the walls on sugar.” 

Laura steps up beside him, crossing her arms with a sigh. 

“I told you not to give them candy this early.” 

Natasha laughs, straightening up. 

“Well, in that case, this might not be the best area for them to ‘help’ with.” 

She gestures to the tables overflowing with candy, smirking.

Lila and Cooper shake their heads fervently. 

“We can help, Auntie Nat!” Lila insists. 

“Yeah! We won’t eat any more candy, promise!” Cooper echoes, though Natasha gives them both a skeptical look, fully aware of how flimsy that promise is. 

“Don’t you want to check out the other Avengers’ setups?” she suggests, raising an eyebrow. 

The kids exchange a quick look before nodding, excitement building once again. 

Natasha turns to Clint.

“Think you can handle the rest here?”

Clint waves a hand dismissively.

“Go, have fun. I’ve got this covered.” 

With that, the kids race off toward the next area, Natasha following close behind with Laura walking beside her. 

“So,” Laura begins with a knowing smile, “I hear you’re seeing someone.”

Natasha lets out an exasperated sigh. 

“Not you too,” she groans, but Laura’s amused expression softens. 

“Hey, I’m happy for you. You deserve someone good, Nat,” Laura says genuinely. 

“Thanks, but we’re just friends,” Natasha replies, though she can’t help the small smile that forms at the thought of you. 

Laura studies her face and chuckles softly.

“And you like her,” she observes with a smirk. 

Unable to stop the warm sensation in her chest at the thought of you, Natasha admits softly under her breath. 

“Maybe a little.” 

As they continue walking through the park, Laura suddenly stops, pointing toward a commotion in the distance. 

“Is that Stark…destroying the black cat balloons?” 

In the sky above, Tony’s Iron Man suit zooms around, blasting black cat balloons as Rhodey flies after him in the War Machine suit, shouting, “Tony! Stop it! We’re going to have to fly back and get replacements!” 

Natasha rolls her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief. With a small, amused smile, she guides Laura and the kids in a different direction, as if it’s just another typical day with the Avengers.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

As Natasha and Laura guide the kids through the park, they pass by a small stage where Thor suddenly emerges from behind the curtains, lugging a massive armchair with ease. He drops it in the center of the stage with a loud thud, grinning with satisfaction. 

“Need any help?” Natasha asks, raising an eyebrow.

Thor waves her off proudly. 

“No, thank you, Nat, I have everything set up!” 

He gives the arm of the chair an approving pat. 

“Tonight, I shall sit upon this throne and regale the children with the most terrifying stories of Asgard, striking fear into their hearts just as this human holiday requires.” 

“I like scary stories!” Lila exclaims excitedly, her eyes widening. 

Thor nods approvingly.

“Good! These tales will make you so frightened that you may wish never to close your eyes again!” 

“Awesome,” Lila whispers in awe, her enthusiasm undeterred. 

Laura sighs, not entirely thrilled about her daughter’s taste in terrifying tales.

Meanwhile, Cooper, already unnerved, subtly tucks himself behind Natasha, tightly clutching the edge of her jacket. 

Natasha can only stare at Thor in response, momentarily speechless at his well-intentioned but misguided plan, then shakes her head vehemently. 

“No, that’s…that’s not what we’re aiming for tonight,” she says, glancing around. “Where’s Steve? We need to fix this.” 

Thor frowns, confused by the sudden concern. 

“Did I say something wrong?” 

Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation. 

“Laura, can you explain to him while I talk to Steve?”

Laura nods in understanding while holding back Lila, who is already begging Thor to share a story. 

Cooper clings close to Natasha as she heads off to find Steve. 

On her way, Natasha feels her phone vibrate in her pocket. 

Pulling it out, she sees you’ve sent a video this time. 

The thumbnail catches her eye immediately—the familiar colors of red, white, and blue stand out on the cat. 

Huffing in amusement, Natasha taps the screen to play it. 

The video opens with Widow’s wary meow as she glances up at you, her eyes expressing hesitance. She’s dressed in a miniature Captain America costume, complete with a small cowl and a plastic replica of the shield strapped to her back. 

Though, the shield seems slightly too big on her tiny body. 

Your voice comes through the video, soothing and coaxing. 

“Come on, Widow, it’s okay.” 

Widow shoots a disgruntled glare at the camera, hesitating before attempting to step forward. But her movements are stiff and awkward, the shield throwing off her balance. She wobbles for a moment before losing her footing and toppling onto her side. 

The video shakes as your laughter bubbles up in the background, and Natasha can’t help but grin at the sound. 

Widow stays lying there, visibly defeated, meowing her irritation. The video cuts off just as you reach to help her.

A text quickly follows: “I don’t think she likes that one either :(”

Natasha chuckles, typing back with a suggestion. 

“Maybe try something that lets her move around more easily?”

You respond with a thumbs-up emoji, and Natasha contemplates for a moment before sending another text. 

“Do I get a hint about what you're wearing?” 

After a brief pause, your response pops up.

“Mine’s extremely comfortable to move in ;)”

Natasha shakes her head, chuckling at your flirtatious reply.

“Oh, I recognize that look,” a familiar voice calls out nearby. Steve walks over, a knowing grin on his face. “What did your friend say this time?” 

Natasha rolls her eyes, slipping her phone back into her pocket. 

“Trust me, Rogers, if I told you, you’d never be able to look me in the eyes again. Still want to know?”

Steve raises his hands in surrender, laughing. 

“Forget I asked.” 

Her playful expression fades into mild frustration as she crosses her arms, remembering her original purpose for finding him. 

“Did you get a chance to preview any of Thor’s stories before you assigned him the stage for storytelling?” 

Steve furrows his brow, lifting another pumpkin out of a nearby cart. 

“No…why? Are they not good? Thor mentioned that he had a lot of them.” 

“Oh, I’m sure he’s got plenty,” Natasha says, struggling to suppress a laugh. “It’s just that Asgardian scary doesn’t quite translate to our kind of spooky. Someone might want to…filter his options.” 

Steve’s eyes widen as he finally catches on. 

“Right, I’ll talk to him after I finish up here.” 

Just then, Cooper tugs on Steve’s sleeve. 

“Can I help?”

“Of course, buddy,” Steve smiles, handing him a small pumpkin. “Just take it over to Hulk—he’s setting them up over there.” 

Cooper nods and huffs slightly as he carries the pumpkin toward Hulk, who’s busy stacking a few larger ones in designated spots.

Steve turns back to Natasha. 

“Could you check in with Wanda and Vision at the haunted trails? I sent Sam over but haven’t heard back yet.” 

“On it,” Natasha agrees, giving him a quick nod before heading in their direction. 

As she makes her way there, her phone buzzes with another message from you. 

This time, it’s a picture of Widow, now wearing a long Scarlet Witch jacket. She’s curled up, fast asleep, the oversized coat draped over her like a blanket. 

The text reads: “This one might be too comfortable.”

Natasha laughs softly, shaking her head. 

“That’s probably the best option at this point. But if not, you’d better hurry—the event’s starting soon.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be there,” you respond reassuringly. 

Distracted in her texting with you, Natasha doesn’t realize that she’s already at the entrance of the haunted trails until she suddenly notices the stark change in her surroundings.  

On the side she came from, the trees were filled with green leaves, casting warm shadows in the setting sun. 

Meanwhile, from where she’s standing, the trees along the haunted trail are bare and twisted, their leafless branches reaching out like claws, and an eerie red glow seeps through the shadows, casting a haunting atmosphere over the path. 

Natasha stops for a moment, admiring Wanda’s impressive attention to detail in crafting the spooky illusion. 

The eerie quiet breaks with a sudden rustling, making Natasha tense instinctively, her senses heightened as she scans the surrounding trees. 

Bats flutter out from the branches above, and Natasha narrows her eyes, feeling like this illusion might be a little too realistic. 

Just as she’s about to call for Wanda, something suddenly swoops out of the shadows, rushing toward her. 

Reacting instantly, Natasha dodges and rolls to the ground, her Widow’s Bite gauntlets flaring up as she raises them, ready to strike. 

But the blue glow fades as she pauses, realizing it’s only a makeshift ghost—a sheet suspended on a nearly invisible line, guided by the Redwing drone hovering above it. 

Sam’s laughter fills the air as he lands beside her. 

“You should’ve seen your face, Nat,” he chuckles, barely containing his amusement.

Natasha stands up, brushing off her clothes with a deadpan expression. 

“What are you talking about? I wasn’t scared.”

Sam gives her a playful smirk.

“Come on, admit it. I got you good.”

She crosses her arms, eyebrows raised. 

“Did you hear me scream?”

“Not everyone screams when they’re scared. Some just—ah!” 

Two hands suddenly reach up from the ground, grabbing onto their ankles. 

Sam lets out a startled yell, instinctively activating his wings to lift off the ground. 

Natasha, though startled, keeps her composure, only stepping back slightly to pull herself from the hand's grip.

Above, Sam hovers in the air, wide-eyed, as Vision phases fully out of the ground.

“Vision?!” Sam exclaims, still hovering a few feet off the ground. 

Vision regards them with a calm nod, looking somewhat puzzled. 

“My apologies. Wanda suggested that this would be amusing. Was my approach incorrect?”

Wanda emerges from behind a nearby tree, laughing as she pats Vision on the shoulder. 

“No, Vis, you did great.” 

“Wrong,” Sam protests. “That was totally wrong!”

Natasha smirks, crossing her arms as she looks up at him. 

“It’s no different than what you tried to pull. So are you going to come down, or are you too scared?” 

Feigning indifference, Sam pretends to check his wrist communicator. 

“Looks like Cap’s calling me. I’ll catch you all later.”

Natasha huffs, amused, and shakes her head as he disappears before turning back to Wanda and Vision. 

“Great work on the setup over here,” she says, genuinely impressed. 

Wanda beams at the compliment. 

“Thank you,” she says before a mischievous glint appears in her eyes. “You know, this trail would be even more fun with someone special to walk through it with.” 

Natasha narrows her eyes slightly in suspicion.

“And what are you trying to say?” 

“I believe Wanda means that shared experiences under high-pressure situations like this can often lead to stronger bonds, especially if one wishes to develop a closer connection with such a person,” Vision says with his usual thoughtful tone. 

“Yeah, what he said,” Wanda agrees with a smirk. 

Natasha just rolls her eyes. 

“I don’t think she scares easily,” Natasha says, thinking about you and suppressing a small smile. 

Wanda’s face lights up.

“So you are thinking about asking her?” 

Natasha chooses not to respond, giving Wanda a warning look before giving them both a quick wave. 

“I’m going to check on the other preparations.” 

As she walks through the Halloween-themed carnival booths, dusk has fully settled over the park, casting everything in a warm glow. 

Strings of lights and glowing balloons hang high above, illuminating each station and path. 

Her phone buzzes again, and she glances down to see another message from you.

“On our way. Too late for a photo shoot though. Guess you have to wait to see us both in person.” 

Natasha smirks, amused at your teasing. Before she can type a response, a figure suddenly swings down from the large spider web decoration spanning the booths. 

“Hi, hey, Miss Romanoff!” Spider-Man greets, waving with enthusiasm. “Is it okay if I take off early?” 

Natasha tilts her head curiously at the young Avenger. 

“Going trick-or-treating?” 

Spider-Man freezes. 

“What? No! I’m…” he clears his throat, deepening his voice in an attempt to sound more mature. “I’m not a kid.” 

She raises an eyebrow, smirking in amusement.

Spider-Man sighs, giving in as he fidgets nervously. 

“Okay, there’s this girl, MJ. I invited her, and it’s, um, it’s just going to be us instead of the whole group. So I just wanted it to be perfect.”

Natasha chuckles softly at his rambling. 

“It’s fine, Peter. You don’t need to explain everything. You can go. We’re nearly done here anyway.” 

“Awesome, thank you!” he exclaims, turning to swing away, but he pauses, looking back at her. “Oh, and, uh…Mr. Stark said to ask if you’re bringing your—”

Natasha raises a hand, cutting him off. 

“If you keep calling her my ‘crush,’ I’ll assign you to extra security training for the next month.”

Spider-Man immediately covers his mouth, nodding before shooting a web to swing away. 

“Sorry! I’m gonna go get ready, then!”

Natasha watches him disappear, a smirk lingering on her face as she checks her phone again. She types a quick reply to your message. 

“I’ll be at the trick-or-treat stations if you have time to drop by.” 

When your response comes through with a heart emoji, Natasha feels a warmth in her chest that she doesn’t even try to hide, a genuine smile spreading across her face as she pockets her phone and heads toward the trick-or-treat stations, ready to greet you.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The park is alive with laughter and excitement as attendees in colorful costumes move from booth to booth, soaking up the Halloween festivities. 

Natasha finds herself genuinely smiling and enjoying herself as yet another child in a miniature Black Widow costume steps up to her table. 

With an enthusiastic "Trick or treat!" they hold out their basket. 

Natasha hands over a generous scoop of candy, and the kid thanks her with a beaming smile before mimicking her signature move, extending their tiny arm as if launching a Widow Bite. 

Natasha grins and joins in, making a mock "pew" sound, then bumps fists with the little fan. 

The child squeals in delight, racing back to their parents to show off the interaction, and Natasha watches them go with a warm smile. 

Her attention shifts as she notices the next person approaching her table. She turns, ready to greet them, but her words falter as her eyes meet yours. 

Standing before her, you’re dressed in a sleek black velvet ensemble that hugs your figure perfectly. A delicate choker with a small gold charm glimmers at your neck, catching the glow of the park’s lights. Long, satin gloves reach up to your elbows, and a pair of elegant cat ears sit atop your head. 

The subtle smokiness around your eyes and a sharp, alluring cat-eye flick draw her attention to your gaze, while a delicate black nose and faint whiskers complete the look with just the right touch of playfulness.

Caught off guard, Natasha’s breath catches slightly as her eyes take in every detail. Finally, she composes herself enough for a smile to break through as she remarks, “Nice costume. Did Widow put you up to it?” 

You chuckle, and the sound sends a warmth through her. 

“After what I put her through today, I figured it was only fair.” 

Just then, as if on cue, Widow makes an entrance, leaping gracefully onto the table from the shadows. 

Natasha’s smirk widens as she notices the cat’s costume. 

Widow prowls across the table, dressed in a tiny but impressively tailored Black Widow suit. The sleek material hugs her, complete with tiny red accents and a miniature tactical belt with the iconic red hourglass emblem.

Her back paws are fitted with faux combat boots, giving her a serious “spy” aura, but it’s her front legs that steal the show: delicate little cuffs designed to resemble Natasha’s Widow Bite gauntlets, emitting a soft blue glow with each step. 

The tiny LED lights pulse in sync with her paw steps, illuminating Widow’s fur and adding an extra edge to her strut, looking every bit as fierce as her human counterpart. 

The cat pauses in front of Natasha, lifting one paw in a poised gesture and looking at Natasha expectantly. 

Natasha laughs softly, echoing her earlier gesture with the small explosion sound. 

Widow meows in approval before nudging her hand, purring contentedly as Natasha gives her an affectionate scratch. 

“She really likes you,” you say gently, drawing Natasha’s attention back to you. 

Natasha looks up, a playful glint in her eyes. 

“Well, I am pretty amazing,” she teases, earning a light eye roll from you.

You both share a smile, letting the sounds of the crowd fade around you as you hold each other’s gaze. 

“Kitty!” Lila’s excited voice breaks the moment as she runs up to Natasha’s side, her eyes fixed on Widow with delight. 

Widow, clearly unamused by the child’s excited, grabby hands, meows a questioning protest, glancing at you and Natasha for guidance.

“Lila, remember to ask before you pet,” Laura gently reminds her, catching up. She gives you an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that! I’m Laura, by the way—I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Raising an eyebrow, you give Natasha an amused look.

“Have you now?”

Natasha’s quick to shake her head in denial. 

“That’s not true,” she insists, but you only raise your eyebrows, your smile teasing.

“I don’t think that response is any better.” 

Natasha feels a rare flustered moment but quickly regains her composure, crossing her arms.

“It’s not…I just didn’t mean it like that.” 

You bite your lip, suppressing a smirk, and Natasha rolls her eyes in mock annoyance.

Meanwhile, Lila sidles closer, her eyes wide as she looks up at you. 

“Can I pet your cat?”

You smile and nod, calling Widow over with gentle strokes before guiding Lila’s hand onto her fur. The little girl giggles with delight as she pets Widow, who purrs softly, enjoying the attention.

Natasha watches, smiling warmly at the scene, but when she glances up, Laura is giving her a pointed look.

With a subtle thumbs-up and a nod toward you, Laura’s approval is clear. 

Natasha furrows her brows in a silent warning, which only prompts Laura to smirk mischievously. 

Before Natasha can fully comprehend her friend’s intentions, Laura turns to you with a friendly suggestion. 

“Have you checked out the haunted trails yet?” 

You shake your head, glancing curiously toward the spooky path lined with twisted, bare trees in the distance. 

“Not yet. I haven’t had a chance to.”  

“Perfect! Natasha hasn’t either, and she’s been hoping to find someone to go with her,” Laura says with a sly smile.

Natasha’s head snaps to Laura, caught off guard. 

“What? No, I never—” she begins, but Lila interjects. 

“It’s true! I offered to go with Auntie Nat, but she said she’d still be too scared with just the two of us.” 

Natasha stifles a groan, quickly covering Lila’s mouth with her hand and guiding her away from you. 

“Alright, who taught you to lie like that?”

You laugh lightly, raising your brows at Natasha, who’s now thoroughly exasperated. Widow hops into your arms, settling comfortably as she observes the interaction. 

“Well, maybe with two Black Widows, it won’t be as scary,” you suggest, smiling as Widow snuggles against you.

Without missing a beat, Laura nudges Natasha out from behind the table. 

“Great idea! Go on, Nat. I can handle things here.”

Natasha glances back at her friend, her narrowed eyes silently communicating the words she doesn’t say, but Laura only grins, waving her off.

Resigned, Natasha sighs, glancing back at you. 

“Alright then. Shall we?” she says, gesturing toward the haunted trails.

You smile, adjusting Widow in your arms.

“Lead the way.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha was right: fear seemed to be the last thing on your mind as the two of you strolled through the haunted trail. 

Your hands rest casually behind your back, your eyes sweeping over the creepy details Wanda had woven into the path. 

Shadows dance in the dim lighting, and eerie props loom from hidden corners, but you only seem intrigued, your calm composure contrasting the atmosphere. 

Widow, however, was another story. 

After a particularly loud, sudden ghostly screech from a hidden speaker, followed by the whoosh of a flying ghost, she yelps and darts back to the two of you, beelining for Natasha. 

In a flash, she scrambles up Natasha’s side until Natasha steadies her in her arms. 

Tucking herself tightly against Natasha’s chest, Widow let out a small, tremulous meow, seeking comfort from the ordeal. 

With a gentle smile, Natasha rubs her hand along the cat’s back, soothing her. 

You tilt your head, feigning mild offense. 

“Should I be insulted that she ran to you instead of me?” 

“Maybe I’m just more cuddly,” Natasha teases, shooting you a smirk. 

You chuckle, letting the joke hang in the air before a softer look crosses your face. 

“Thank you for inviting us. I didn’t expect to enjoy this as much as I am.” 

You reach out, lightly resting a hand on her shoulder while leaning closer to give Widow a few reassuring pets.

Natasha finds herself stunned at the warmth of your touch and how close you were to her, watching how your expression softens as you look at Widow. 

When you glance up, meeting her eyes, a silence settles between you, almost charged, as if the ghostly ambiance had taken a back seat to the quiet, familiar energy building between you.

But then, your eyes flick just past her, widening in surprise.

You pull back abruptly, stumbling slightly as your hand slips from her shoulder. 

Natasha’s instincts kick in, and she turns quickly to see what had spooked you, catching only a flash of something metallic disappearing into the shadows. 

Widow stiffens in her arms, her fur fluffing out as she lets out a low, wary growl toward the direction of the shadow.

Concerned, Natasha turns back to you. 

“You okay?” she asks, her gaze searching yours. 

You give her a quick nod and a small, reassuring smile. 

“Yeah. Guess I got scared after all,” you say with a little laugh, clearly brushing off the moment. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Widow gives a soft meow in agreement, clearly done with the haunted trail.

As the three of you reach the trail’s end, you call to Widow, who hops back into your arms. 

Natasha slips her hands into her jacket pockets, glancing back toward the trail’s dark path with a hint of curiosity.

The strange, unknown thing in the shadow and the way Widow had reacted—left her with a faint sense of unease. 

But then your voice pulls her focus back to you.

“Thanks again. We had fun,” you say, offering her a small, genuine smile. “But you probably need to return to your post with the trick-or-treaters.” 

Natasha hesitates, caught between a responsible response and a lingering desire to keep talking to you. 

“I…I had fun, too,” she replies, her voice softer. 

“We’re probably heading out for the night,” you add, shifting Widow into a comfortable spot in your arms.

“Oh.” Natasha tries to mask her disappointment with a casual smile. “Are you sure you don’t want to check out any of the other booths?” 

But instead of answering, you give her a playful smile, your eyes gleaming with a touch of mystery. 

“Happy Halloween, Miss Black Widow.” 

And with that teasing smirk, you turn, disappearing into the crowd.

Natasha lingers for a moment, watching you go, a hint of a smile still on her face before heading back to her station. 

Not noticing that somewhere in the shadows behind her, a faint glint of gold reappears before vanishing just as quickly.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: Happy Halloween to everyone! Just wanted to add some fluff into the series for the holiday and before the main story continues because turns out I was wrong…it seems that this series will not be going in the light-hearted direction of small misadventures like originally planned 😬. Essentially, we will now have some sort of plot (with the new hinted character) so be sure to read the warnings in the next chapter before deciding if you want to continue. thanks again for reading!

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

Taglist : @cd-4848, @carifletchersgirl, @skittlebum, @queen-of-chaotic-surprises, @ima-gi--na-tion, @rainix13, @gay4hotmilfs, @imaginexred, @caramelcat123, @2silverchain, @nowthisisliving27, @waltermis, @scarlettbitchx, @self-indulgent-writer, @ashadash0904, @alowint, @littlyamadeus, @so-to-aqui-pelas-fic, @imthenatynat, @transparentflapfarmsludge, @natashasilverfox, @mousetheorist, @btay3115, @samfunko, @wandaromamoff69, @ahsatanizgay, @lost-in-the-ice, @stonemags, @karsonromanoff, @wandanatlov3r, @l1kepeps1cvla, @esposadejoyhuerta

[callsigns-haze]

Can you write something with Y/n and Tyler going baby #2 shopping and it's just cute and fluffy with them and Hazel and maybe add some spice but not when Hazel is there hehe. It can be anything! thanks.

Another 2

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: Tyler and Y/N take their daughter Hazel baby shopping as they prepare for the arrival of their twin boys, savoring a day filled with love, laughter, and the anticipation of expanding their family.

Warning: Brief suggestive content and fluffy family moments.

The morning sun streamed through the nursery windows, casting a warm, golden glow over the room as Y/N and Tyler stood side by side, watching their three-year-old daughter, Hazel, play with her stuffed animals. The room was a blend of pinks and blues, the latter added in preparation for the twin boys who would be arriving soon. Hazel’s giggles filled the air as she carefully arranged her toys in a row, her little brow furrowed in concentration.

Y/N rested a hand on her growing belly, where the twins were nestled, and exchanged a smile with Tyler. “Hard to believe we’re doing this all over again,” she said softly.

Tyler wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “Yeah, except this time it’s double the fun,” he joked, looking down at Hazel with a grin.

Hazel, noticing her parents talking, looked up with bright eyes. “Are the babies coming today?” she asked with the innocent curiosity of a child.

“Not today, sweetie,” Y/N said with a gentle smile. “But soon. We need to make sure we have everything ready for them first.”

“Which is why,” Tyler added, crouching down to Hazel’s level, “we’re going on a little shopping adventure today. You ready to help us pick out some cool stuff for your brothers?”

Hazel’s face lit up at the prospect of an adventure. “Yes! I want to pick the toys!” she declared, bouncing on her feet.

Tyler laughed and scooped Hazel up into his arms. “Alright, little one. Let’s get going.”

The baby store was a whirlwind of colors and options, from tiny onesies to double strollers designed for twins. Y/N held Hazel’s hand as they strolled through the aisles, while Tyler pushed the cart, which was quickly filling with essentials.

“Oh, look at these!” Y/N exclaimed, holding up two identical sets of tiny shoes. “One for each of the boys. Aren’t they adorable?”

Tyler leaned in to take a closer look, grinning. “We should get a matching pair for Hazel too. Can’t leave her out.”

Hazel, who had been eyeing a display of soft blankets, tugged on Y/N’s hand. “Mommy, can we get this for the babies?” She pointed to a light blue blanket covered in little stars.

Y/N smiled down at her. “That’s perfect, Hazel. You’ve got great taste.”

Hazel beamed with pride as Tyler added the blanket to the cart. “You’re going to be the best big sister ever,” Tyler said, giving Hazel’s hair a playful ruffle.

As they moved on to the furniture section, Hazel’s excitement only grew. She eagerly pointed out cribs, rocking chairs, and anything else that caught her eye. Tyler and Y/N laughed as they indulged her suggestions, knowing that Hazel was taking her new role as a big sister very seriously.

After a while, Hazel started to tire out, her earlier enthusiasm giving way to the inevitable crankiness that came with being three years old. Noticing her yawns and rubbing eyes, Tyler suggested they take a break.

“There’s a little café just outside,” he said, adjusting Hazel in his arms as she started to get heavier with sleepiness. “How about we grab something to eat and let Hazel rest for a bit?”

Y/N agreed, and soon they were sitting at a small table in the café, Hazel nestled in Tyler’s lap with a piece of toast in hand. She was quiet now, her eyes drooping as she leaned against her dad, content to let him do most of the eating.

Y/N sipped her iced tea, watching them with a smile. “You know, it’s hard to believe we’re going to have two more little ones soon. It feels like just yesterday we were bringing Hazel home.”

Tyler glanced up at her, his eyes warm. “Yeah, and now look at us. We’re pros at this whole parenting thing.”

“Don’t get too cocky,” Y/N teased, reaching across the table to take his hand. “Twins are going to be a whole new adventure.”

Tyler squeezed her hand gently. “Yeah, but we’ve got this. And we’ve got Hazel to help us out, right?” He looked down at their daughter, who had already started to doze off.

Y/N laughed softly. “If Hazel stays awake long enough, that is.”

By the time they returned home, Hazel was sound asleep in her car seat, clutching the starry blanket she had picked out for her brothers. Tyler carried her inside and gently laid her down on the couch, covering her with a throw blanket. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her little face peaceful and serene.

Y/N set the shopping bags down in the living room and joined Tyler by the couch, watching Hazel sleep. “She’s going to be such a good big sister,” Y/N murmured, leaning against Tyler.

“Yeah, she is,” Tyler agreed, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s waist. “And you’re going to be an amazing mom to three little ones. I don’t know how you do it.”

Y/N smiled up at him. “Because I have you,” she said simply. “We’re a team, remember?”

Tyler leaned down and kissed her softly, his hand resting on her belly where their twins were growing. “Always,” he whispered against her lips.

They stood there for a moment, wrapped up in each other, their future bright and full of love. They knew there would be challenges ahead—sleepless nights, double the diapers, and the chaos of raising three children—but they also knew they would face it all together.

And that was all that mattered.

Later that evening, after Hazel was tucked into bed, Tyler and Y/N found themselves in the nursery, sorting through the day’s purchases. As they arranged the tiny clothes and set up the new furniture, the reality of what was coming began to sink in.

Tyler, always the planner, was checking off items on a list, making sure they hadn’t missed anything. Y/N watched him with a smile, loving how dedicated he was to their growing family.

When the nursery was finally set, Tyler turned to Y/N, a playful glint in his eye. “You know, we haven’t had much time to ourselves lately,” he said, his voice low and suggestive.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “And whose fault is that, Mr. Owens?”

Tyler stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against him. “I’d say it’s our combined efforts,” he teased, his hands sliding to her hips. “But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Y/N laughed softly, looping her arms around his neck. “Neither would I. But I do think we deserve a little alone time.”

Tyler grinned and leaned down, capturing her lips in a slow, lingering kiss. “How about we make the most of it, then?” he murmured against her lips.

Y/N’s heart fluttered, and she nodded, letting Tyler lead her out of the nursery and toward their bedroom. Tonight, they’d savor the quiet, the closeness, and the love they shared, knowing that soon, their lives would become even fuller, even more chaotic, and even more wonderful.

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

@teen-antisocial

@katiemcrae

[ersatz-ostrich]

Baby Fever pt. 1: Prologue

Connor x f!Detective!reader (sorta?)

Connor finds himself caring for a baby while at the DPD. Baby fever quickly begins to spread.

[A/N]: (nervous laughing) so like this was written by a person who has never taken care of an infant for a prolonged period of time— Any parents and experienced baby-rearers out there, please forgive me for any inaccuracies. I could only do so much without making my Google Search history look highly suspect, or at least more so than it already is.

Warnings: Mentions of domestic violence and drug (Red Ice) use (happens before the actual story takes place)

pt. 2 >>

read here on ao3

It was a bitterly cold day in Detroit. Muddy slush from the snowstorm earlier that week was collecting on the sidewalks. Pedestrians slogged on through, their boots and sneakers creating divots and valleys in the already grimy snow. A woman pushed her three-hundred-dollar stroller through the snow, her burbling child jostled gently with each bump. 

Not more than a few meters away, a different woman hurried along with a bundle close to her chest. She rounded the corner and through a set of sliding doors into the bustling lobby of Detroit PD’s Central Station. 

“Hello, miss. How can I help you?” The android receptionist at the front desk greeted the woman cordially. 

“My baby and I are in danger,” the woman began. Her voice was taut with worry. “Her father is addicted to Red Ice…he’s after us.”

“Right this way,” The receptionist showed her to the gates to the inner complex of the precinct, her expression worried. The woman, clutching her child, followed the android to a bench in a quiet area near the bullpen. “Wait here, please. Someone will help you soon.” With that, the ST-300 disappeared behind the DPD’s double doors, returning to her post at the front desk. 

The woman gazed at her baby’s wet eyes and smooth, unsullied skin. She knew she hadn’t been the best mother, but she’d done what she could given the circumstances. For most of the short time they’d spent together with that excuse of a man she had for a husband, they’d barely had enough money and food stamps to stay afloat. She’d skipped meals to be able to afford formula. 

When she first got pregnant, everything seemed fine. Both she and her husband were working; they could cover rent, food, and bills. But then, during her second trimester, things got rough. Her husband lost his job and started leaving the house for hours on end under the guise of ‘job searching’. She soon noticed the changes in his mood; the time he spent away from the house got longer; it wasn’t much longer until she, in her third trimester of pregnancy and nearing her delivery date, realized that her husband had quickly stopped searching for a job and started dealing—and doing—Red Ice. 

When she finally delivered her baby daughter, alone in the wee hours of the morning, she wept. Not tears of joy, but tears of regret, grieving for the life her daughter had been born into. She would have to quit her job to take care of her; in the meantime, she would have to find a way to escape from that terrible man. 

Now, here she was, cradling her child on a bench in Detroit’s center-city precinct.

“Hey there,” Someone whispered softly. “I’m Detective Y/N L/N. I’m here to help you.” The woman raised her gaze to see you stooping slightly to smile at her and her child. “Are you hurt at all?”

“No,” She replied. 

“Okay. I was told you and your child were being threatened,” The woman nodded.

“My husband. He was high on Red Ice…he found out I was saving up some of the money he made from dealing to escape.” She offered her thumb for the baby in her arms to grasp. “I need to find someplace safe for me and my daughter.” 

“I understand,” You responded. “We’ll use any resource we have to help you get somewhere safe.” You glanced at the child—a cherubic little thing with pale blue eyes and wispy blonde hair. “However, I would like to hear about your husband’s situation as well. I’m a part of Detroit PD’s Red Ice Division, and…” The woman’s eyes widened slightly. “...I’d like it if you told me as much as you can about your husband’s Red Ice dealings, for your own safety and our ongoing investigations into Detroit’s Red Ice networks.”

The woman nodded shakily. 

“Of course,” She answered. “I’ll tell you everything I know. Anything to stop that man from harming my family, or anyone else’s.”

“Detective?” You glanced over your shoulder to see Connor approaching you from the bullpen. 

“Connor,” You greeted the android detective. “Can I help you?” When Connor’s eyes fell upon the woman and child sitting before you, he raised his eyebrows. 

“I apologize, I didn’t know you were preoccupied. I came to tell you about the interview notes for the Lance case.” Connor turned to leave.

“About that,” You caught his shoulder, prompting him to turn back around. “This woman and her child are on the run from a family member. Red ice dealer and addict.” You informed in a low voice, so the woman wouldn’t hear.

“Ah.”

“This is Connor,” You presented the android to the pair. “He’s an android investigator. Normally, he works with the Android Crimes Division, but he’s helping me with a case right now.” You locked eyes with Connor again. “So, we have two things to accomplish. First, find a safe place for her and the baby. Second, investigate the husband.”

“I’ll do my best to help you catch that man,” The woman reiterated. “Still, I want to stay with my daughter, but I have nowhere to go. I’ll relinquish her if that means keeping her safe.”

Connor crouched down and smiled at the baby in the woman’s arms. The baby let go of her mother’s thumb to reach out to Connor, making grabby hands at his LED, which had turned a swirling yellow.

Inside his HUD, Connor saw a text box appear. 

“Michigan’s Safe Delivery of Newborns law stipulates that a baby may be confidentially relinquished by biological parent(s) to emergency service providers within 72 hours of delivery.”

He also saw a pop-up with the baby’s birth date and birth certificate, provided to him from the state’s vital records by way of the DPD. From that information, he determined the baby to be around six months old.

“She’s too old to be relinquished. Newborns must be relinquished within 72 hours of delivery, per state laws.” Connor stated. “I will conduct a search for homes and shelters suitable for mothers and their children.” 

“We’ll get you back on your feet, I promise.” You added reassuringly. “Would you mind giving us a statement?” 

“Absolutely.” The woman stood. “What do I need to do?”

Let me know if you want to be part of my general, Connor, or Detroit taglists!

[kidznbaby]

Sunny days just got brighter☀️💕 Your little adventurer will love every ride on the Mima ZOOM Lite Balance Bike 🚲🌸✨

[procyonloser]

Pt 2

Lucifer had been thinking about the guy at the aquarium for the last two weeks, on and off. He'd not really been eager to date since the divorce, and Lucifer was not a hook up kind of guy. He truly did want to be an anglerfish, he wanted to latch onto his partner until one or (ideally) both of them died. He was obsessive, but in a fun caring way that definitely didn't drive his ex wife away.

"Ugh..." Lucifer dragged his hand down his face, trying not to look at himself in the mirror, at the risk of seeing the purple under his eyes that seemed just ever present at this point in his exhausted life.

"Papa, look!" Charlie said, standing up from her little table he had in the living room for all her arts and crafts. She ran over, holding a big piece of paper with a bunch of scribbles on it, but in the middle was unmistakenly a jellyfish from the aquarium. Lucifer grabbed it in his hands with a big smile, marveling at it - his daughter was so talented!

"It's beautiful, Charchar!" Lucifer exclaimed, kissing her all over her head, to squeals of giggles. "Wow, look at that, what a perfect jellyfish! You really liked the aquarium, huh?"

Charlie nodded her head, eyes big and bright. "I like the one tank with the pink stuff, and the other one with the one thing, and the floppy little guys on the ground, and the-"

"Do you want to go again?" Lucifer asked her, and Charlie froze up for a second, processing the question, before she bolted for the door, grabbing her little red coat and boots. Lucifer wanted to cry, she was so cute.

Lucifer had packed in the car her stroller wagon, because Charlie had started to get tired last time by the end, and she'd made Lucifer carry her coat and stuffed toys the entire time. They'd been rolling around the aquarium for a bit, looking at the different displays, before Charlie got excited at the penguin exhibit. Not exactly what Lucifer considered aquarium animals, but he supposed it made as much sense as an otter or seal.

He lifted Charlie up so she could see the birds waddle around, and he was so distracted by her reaction, he didn't notice the shadow beside him.

"I hate penguins," the voice said, and Lucifer turned slightly to look at the man, before doing a double take, eyes going wide. Oh, oh it was the hot but not hot guy from before, Lucifer opened his mouth, before closing it, and then opened it again. "You doing your best fish impersonation? You really do want to be a male anglerfish, don't you?" He asked with a cheeky grin, and Lucifer finally got the chance to see his name tag.

Adam. Yeah, he looked like an Adam.

"Well, you know," Lucifer laughed nervously, maybe a little too enthusiastically, but he had a hard time gauging that sort of thing. "Why don't you like penguins?"

"The stink, and they're fucking sociopaths, like they're tiny demons. Everyone goes, oh they're so cute, oh look at the gay penguins, aren't they great? No, they're awful. Worse than dolphins. You know what necrophilia is?" Lucifer regretfully nodded his head, grimace spreading across his face.

"Like I said," Adam said with a huff, looking back over at the birds. "I don't like penguins."

"Reasonable," Lucifer said in a slightly higher tone, growing more aware the man was just... There. Standing next to him. No one else was around. Sure, maybe he was an employee talking to a client, but it didn't seem like that was it. "Do you like any birds, or is your thing just...fish?"

"Swans are cool," Adam said, glancing at him. "They are super loyal, they mate for life, and they're giant vicious shits."

"I like ducks," Lucifer said plainly, immediately regretting it.

"Don't get me started on ducks," Adam rolled his eyes, before pushing away from the banister. "I'm about to go run the touch tank in the kid's activity reef room, if your kiddo wants to come see. You can touch little rays, starfish, shrimp, sea cucumbers."

"...Sea cucumbers?" Lucifer asked, raising an eyebrow. He'd never heard of them, was that like a sea sponge? But Adam sent him a wicked grin in response to the question, like he'd been hoping Lucifer wouldn't know much about them.

"Yeah, they're long tubes basically, and if you rub them too much and they get overwhelmed, they shoot out their intestines in long white stands." Adam said with a wink, before he walked a few feet away, glancing back at Lucifer with a smirk. "You gunna come, or do you need to latch onto me to keep up?"

"Ha...ha," Lucifer wheezed out, eyes falling to Adam's backside, before Charlie tugged on his jacket.

"Can we go? I want to see the shrimps." Charlie asked, giving her best puppy eyes, which worked instantly of course, Lucifer was a bit of a push over when it came to her.

"Absolutely," Lucifer said, already planning on buying a yearly membership to the aquarium.

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

Good Morning Hawkins I Have Dad!Eddie Munson Headcanons

Why are we as a society not talking about Stay At Home Dad Eddie?

I know we want our little domestic fantasies. But this man consistently says “fuck the system” every day. No forced conformity in this private domicile.

If you’ve got the drive to want to work after having the kid, he volunteers to stay home and take care of the baby.

Honestly, with his reputation it might be easier should you decide to stay in Hawkins because you’re the face of the relationship. It might actually be harder for him to find a job in town than it might be for you.

He also 100% cleans up his act, stops selling, and goes on the straight and narrow after having a kid. He doesn’t want baby reaching into cabinets and getting into things they shouldn’t get into.

He may still sell a little grass on the side, but he keeps it hidden in the van where little fingers can’t access it.

Eddie might not be the best housekeeper, but god dammit he tries. Like, he will genuinely try over and over to get things right even if it kills him. You don’t have to worry about weaponized incompetence with him.

He’ll start having favorite brands of cleaning products, favorite brands of formula and diapers, and he might get fussy if you bring the wrong ones home.

He’s a nerd. Plain and simple. He’ll be picking up Dustin in the van and taking little munchkin to the library to find any kind of book in relation to parenting, cooking, etc.

I can see Eddie actually becoming a very competent cook. He even makes the kid’s meals into fun little shapes for their lunchboxes.

Fun finger foods is his main staple when he’s not being Betty Crocker.

Literally does not care how he looks, he’ll push the most dolled up little stroller around Hawkins in broad daylight. He’ll wander out to Bradley’s in a polkadot apron and a pink baby sling. And when the kid is old enough to play salon with daddy, he’s gonna wander out in public with anything from pink scrunchies and glitter polish to a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles backpack and magic marker on his face.

I can see Eddie being a little shit and purposely buying the most girly pink items for the baby when they’re little, no matter the gender.

He likes wearing pink in public. It pisses off the conservative parents who see him and the kid coming.

The only thing is you have to have a serious talk with him about is smoking around the kid, because Eddie’s one flaw may be that he’s got the propensity to be a cigarette mom. (It’s the late 80’s, and this was reality for a lot of older Millennials.)

So throw away his Camels and pay Dustin to tail him with a fire extinguisher.

Dustin is going to be Parent Number 3 in this relationship. I’m sorry but it’s reality.

Has absolutely no idea how to take care of a baby but is willing to learn.

Eddie would probably have to reschedule D&D nights with his buddies, because money would be hella tight now that the two of you have a little gremlin and one income. So you can’t exactly pay a sitter.

But he loves to make campaigns based on the stories he tells to the baby during bedtime.

RIP to y’all but once you have that baby, Uncle Wayne’s gonna refuse to let you and Eddie move out. He’s gonna change his work schedule too so he can spend time with the baby.

It would probably take a lot of overtime and a bit of Eddie’s extra side hustle, but the single wide is eventually going to get upgraded to a two bedroom double wide.

Uncle Wayne will insist on giving you, Eddie and the baby the master bedroom. Hell, he might even try to give the kid his bedroom.

Eddie is going to fucking refuse to let his uncle sleep in the living room of the new double wide.

Eddie might also become a little codependent on the kid. School will be a nightmare, because he’ll suddenly be alone in the trailer all day and chain smoke waiting for the kiddo to come home from school.

[marcusmcdonnell]

Baby Jogger Double Strollers

[jerzwriter]

Thank you to @snoopdogcone for this prompt for @choicesprompts Flufftober event! (Day out with baby)

Book: Open Heart (Post Series) Pairing: Ethan x Kaycee (F!MC) Rating: General Words: 865 Summary: Kaycee and Ethan introduce baby Emma to some of her mother's favorite things.

A/N: Participating in @choicesmonthlychallenge crisp air, apple cider, pumpkins, laughter, and cuddling.

Autumn was Kaycee’s season. Ever since she was a little girl, the changing leaves signaled that her favorite time of year had arrived. It was time for crisp days, pumpkin picking, hot cider, and orange lights twinkling throughout her neighborhood. And it wasn’t limited to her childhood. With each passing year, Kaycee loved fall more and more. Now,  with a daughter of her own, she was eager to share all of it with her.

While Ethan was fully on board with introducing Emma to his wife's favorite things, he thought she was still a little too young; the autumn exploration could surely wait until next year, but Kaycee was undeterred. So, on a bright and clear autumn day, he found himself loading the stroller into the back of his SUV before anxiously buckling Emma into her car seat. Checking and double-checking every buckle and strap to ensure they were perfectly in place.  

“Ready, love?” Kaycee smiled when she saw Ethan’s expression. It was tense, even for him.

“Almost,” he replied, adjusting the strap one last time before closing the door. “I still say she’s too young for this. Why can't we just take her for a walk through Boston Commons instead?”

Kaycee chuckled as she climbed into the front seat. “Because if I don’t start breaking you of your overprotectiveness now, Emma won’t want anything to do with you by the time she turns thirteen, and that would break your heart. So, essentially, I’m looking out for you, babe.”

He shot her a look filled with both playfulness and annoyance. “Well, is it my fault that you gave birth to the most precious little girl ever? I’m only doing what I have to do in order to keep her safe.”

“All of this from the man who didn’t see children in his future,” Kaycee laughed as Ethan let out a woeful sigh.

“Did you ever think part of the reason I took that stance was I knew the insanity that would ensue?”

“Good point,” she smiled, taking his hand and chuckling as he shooed it away. “I know, I know,” she surrendered. “That’s a safety hazard!”

“Well, it is!” he defended.

“Mmm. Do I need to remind you of the things we used to do while you were driving?”

“Not in front of Emma,” he smirked, kissing Kaycee’s hand the moment they were safely stopped at a red light.

While Kaycee was in a buoyant mood when they left their condo, it didn't compare to her excitement as Boston's cityscape morphed into a more rustic tableau dotted with the oranges, yellows, and reds that made her heart sing. Their favorite pumpkin patch was only a short drive out of the city, and with Emma babbling softly in the backseat, both of her parents were sure this was going to be their best trip yet.

When they arrived, they bundled Emma in her soft pumpkin sweater and the family was off to explore. Ethan pushed the stroller with one hand, and the other rested gently on Kaycee’s back as they meandered through rows of pumpkins, their breath visible in the cool air.

Emma’s eyes were wide as she took in the vibrant colors surrounding her. “Look at her,” Ethan said, voice filled with awe. “Look at how curious she is! I swear, she’s going to be walking any day now.”

“Of course she is, love,” Kaycee laughed, handing Emma a tiny pumpkin. But Ethan took it away the second it landed in her mouth, and the hand-sanitizing wipes flew out of the diaper bag.

They picked a few of their favorite pumpkins and smiled for family selfies that would soon line the shelves in their condo. Later, they sat down in a quiet corner by the hay bales to enjoy some seasonal snacks. Kaycee leaned against Ethan, who was discussing the merits of hot cider, while Emma kicked her little legs with excitement.

“We needed this,” she smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. “This was a good idea.”

Ethan kissed the top of her head. “You’re right. We need to do this more often.”

Kaycee pulled back, her eyes wide. “Go pumkin picking?!”

“If necessary,” he chuckled. “But I meant taking time just be. To enjoy our time as a family.”

Kaycee nodded, feeling her heart fill with joy in the tender moment. Despite the uncertainties, anxiety, and exhaustion that came with being new parents, there was also this, and this was more than she ever hoped for.

“Next year's going to be even better,” Kaycee smiled. “She’ll be running all over, and we’ll be trying to keep up with her. At least you will, old man.”

Ethan's eyes narrowed. “You mean the old man who’s up for a run at the crack of dawn as his millennial wife grumbles incoherently in her sleep?”

“All right, you’ve got me there,” she surrendered, nudging his shoulder with her own. “So, I’ll let you chase after her. I’ll just pretend as I eat pumpkin donuts.”

“That works for me,” Ethan laughed.

They watched as the autumn sun dipped in the sky, knowing what was most important—simple moments like this that would live in their hearts forever.

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.