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beardedjoel · 10 months ago

Text

oasis

dbf neighbor! joel miller x f!reader. one shot.

main masterlist | ao3 | kofi

summary: your dad's friend is tasked with looking after you while he's out of town. he ends up finding you somewhere you absolutely shouldn't be. blackmail ensues. 8.3k words.

for @iamasaddie's writing challenge! my genre was dark and the prompt was "please don't tell my dad!" thanks for the amazing challenge! 💌

warnings: 18+ MDNI! dark themes, joel is pervy and sleazy, age gap (reader is under drinking age but an adult so 18-20, joel's age unmentioned but he calls himself an old man and he's 50+ in my head), consensual but there are elements of coercion and blackmail so... (it's dark! okay!), unprotected piv, lap sitting, lap dance, thigh/crotch riding, orgasm denial, pussy pronouns, dirty diiiirty talk, cumshot?, reader has hair that can be pulled and wears lingerie but otherwise is undescribed.

a/n: this is less edited than my usual work but i hope i did it justice! it was very fun and silly to come up with this idea and i ended up loooving how crazy it got!

Keep an eye on her while we’re gone, eh?

The words from your father ring through Joel’s ears when he hears the start of an engine from where he sits in his living room, his view on the plush couch offering a perfect view through the large picture window on the front of the house. Right to where you live with your dad, where he can see the lights of your car come on. Bingo. He’s got you now.

Obsession felt like a strong word, but Joel could describe it no other way as soon as you’d moved in across the street - your dad was a longtime friend and neighbor, talk of his little girl rampant for years before he’d had the chance to meet you. You were going to be going to college nearby, so you moved from where you lived with your mom in California down to your father in Texas, right across the street from where he’d had the pleasure of laying eyes on you for the first time.

Young. Supple. Beautiful. And so damn shy.

He hated just how much it turned him on when your timid eyes would find his. The pervy old man who couldn’t keep his eyes off a young girl - what a god damned cliche he’d become. He kept tabs on you, at first not really realizing he was doing it, eyes peering out the windows to catch you on your way out the door or coming home soon escalated to trying to see into your bedroom window at the front of the house. His time with your father mysteriously seemed to double, then triple, any chance he could to get close to you, see you in your natural habitat, hoping to learn more about this special girl that had captured so much of his attention.

You dressed modestly, too - far too modestly for his liking - he knew your father was a strict man, and assumed just as much about your mother from the way your dad talked about his ex-wife. He never got to see enough of you, except for the few times you had on shorter dresses when the summer heat just got to be too much to bear, and those rare occasions burned themselves into his memory, a bank of images to pull from when he took a hand to his cock and thought of you.

He’s up in a flash, smiling softly to himself as he quickly slides on his shoes and swipes his keys from the front table, exiting the house and seeing your car still parked in the drive. You always sit there too long before driving off, probably playing on your phone, texting your friends, whatever the hell young girls like you do. All Joel knows is he’s grateful it gives him enough time to sneak to his truck before you can get too far, waiting until you pull out and start down the street before starting his own car.

Joel checks the time as he starts down his driveway and sees it’s well after 9:00 pm. Where the hell could you be going, you naughty thing? Your dad has a strict curfew for you, he knows, and if he’s tasked with keeping an eye on you, he might as well do it right.

So he follows you. You get on the highway, heading towards downtown, and Joel’s eyebrows raise as he turns up his music, cruising along behind you, so unaware as he sees the outline of your own head bopping along to your music when he can get a clear enough view.

When you finally park, the city streets bustling with people out late on a Friday night around you, Joel sits in his truck, eyes peeled as he watches you round a building, disappearing. Oasis, the glowing sign on the front says. It looks a bit seedy, this area of town, a bouncer on the outside that you’d given a curt wave to sending Joel’s expression into pure shock before a determined smirk crosses his lips.

It turns out it’s not as exclusive as having a bouncer would make it seem. Joel waits in line with the others, feeling a bit out of place but his appetite to bust you outweighs all of it. Not more than ten minutes later he’s inside, the dark hallway opening up to a massive room laid out in front of him. It’s busy - bodies everywhere, the smell of sweat, alcohol, and arousal permeating everything and Joel blinks to adjust his eyes to the dim mood lighting. A dance floor takes up most of the middle, crowded to the max as music bumps through the speakers, and two bars flank either side, fully packed as well. There are lounges everywhere - cushy leather couches with tables, and as Joel’s vision comes in in full, he sees more private spots along the edges of the room on a slightly elevated area, curtains closing them in.

Too busy taking everything in, he doesn’t even notice the most important detail right away - the waitresses. More specifically, the way they’re all dressed. Gorgeous bodies of all shapes and sizes, parading around in what is essentially lingerie - a lacy black bra paired with a matching set of panties, sheer black stockings and a garter trailing down their legs all the way to the heels that adorn their feet. Joel feels a twinge inside his belly, pulling low and taut when he spots one of the waitresses with thick thighs and a plush stomach grinding on a woman sitting on one of the couches, the receiver throwing her head back in teasing, pleased laughter before taking a long sip of her drink. He continues scanning the room, seeing another man closer to his age being straddled by a different waitress with one of the nicest pairs of tits Joel has ever seen in that same uniform, her hips swaying and grinding so close to his crotch as she gives him a lapdance.

Fuck.

His mind spins faster, blood going hot as it runs through his veins, his cock twitching under the denim of his jeans. It’s been too long - all the pining, the built up frustration, and he’s needy. He finds it hard to believe you’d just be out partying at a place like this, certainly not the neighborly girl he knows. Bringing over leftovers you’d cooked for you and your dad, always with a little treat on the side and a soft smile, your frilly socks and white tennis shoes, collars that never revealed much past the very top of your gorgeous tits. But it still made him fucking crazy, all of it. He wanted to be the one to ruin it, to see who you really are underneath all of the fluff and sweetness. Because at the end of the day, he knows he wasn’t imagining that glint in your eye that told him you had more to offer.

Joel shakes the distractions and his dirty, racing thoughts, eyes scanning the room for you, remembering his mission. He is about to internally ask himself the question when your appearance answers everything he needs to know. Slack jawed, he looks on as you step out from behind one of the bars, tossing a smile over your shoulder at one of the other workers as you start to move carrying a tray full of drinks.

When you emerge in full, strutting your way across the room, you’re wearing it. The outfit. The skimpy bra and panties to match all of the other servers. Your coworkers. Oh, he’s so thoroughly fucked right now, he thinks in a rising panic. But then again, so are you.

“Thank god you’re here! You’re seriously such a life saver,” Kristina says breathlessly as you breeze into the locker room. She’s one of the supervisors here at Oasis, the club you’ve been working at since the beginning of the summer. Sure, you were underage to serve alcohol, but the owners of this club seemed willing to turn a blind eye to a lot of things to gain good talent. Good pay, direct cash, and an insane amount in tips. Enough to pay your way through college, you hoped. Beyond all of that, once you’d gotten into the swing of things you found that you liked it, too. The power you felt in these heels, the way eyes followed you everywhere, you’d never felt so desired, so free or sexually open in your life. Although the only time you’d actually had sex was with your one ex-boyfriend, and it never felt like you do here - sexy, with raw desire filling the air, something so tangible you feel you can reach out and touch it sometimes.

You pull your shirt over your head, unclasping your regular bra and swapping it for the black, lacy one that lives inside your locker. Kristina stands nearby, unfazed by your bare chest as she thanks you. She’d called you about forty five minutes ago, begging for you to come in on your night off when another server, Rochelle, got sick right as things started to pick up. Friday night tips hadn’t sounded so bad when you had no plans apart from watching TV in your dad’s empty house, so it felt like a win.

“No problem,” you say, smiling at her. “Happy to help.”

“You’ve got section five tonight - Justin has Laura covering right now, just switch out when you’re ready, kay?”

You confirm, quickly finishing up your swap into your uniform, admiring yourself in the mirror with a soft smile, still getting used to the look of lingerie on you. You’d have been stupid to keep something like this in the house with either of your parents, not worth the risk if they found out about it.

The noise of the club blares, making you wince for a quick moment as you step out from the calmness of the locker room to the deafening noise beyond and get your bearings behind the bar. It really is busy, but all you can see is money when you glance around, admiring how full the place is tonight.

You’re stopped in the middle of your flow after swinging by the bar to pick up drinks for one of your tables. It’s an extra flirtatious group of men who are practically ready to feast on you, but for all the poorly managed things about this club, they at least have a strict no touching rule with the staff that is enforced by any number of the security guards around. So you get to have your fun, keep your distance, and hope they pay extra for a lapdance from you and tip you well for it.

“You’ve got a, uh, private request,” Justin says, speaking quietly but leaning close to your ear so you can hear him. You pull back, a look of surprise on your face, a questioning glance that he confirms with a nod. “We’ll cover your tables. Room seven.”

Your mind spins faster as you walk towards the room. The rooms aren’t fully private, just a halfway curtain that gives the impression you’re more alone than you are. That luxury doesn’t come cheap, so whoever booked this room and asked for you must mean business. In fact, management hasn’t even put you on serving private rooms regularly yet, reserving that right to the more tenured employees until you work your way up the ladder. You smile, wondering who it could even be that specifically requested you - a regular that loved the banter you’d offered? A new customer who was drawn to you from across the room? It makes your heart skip a little, anticipation and a hint of nervousness coursing through you as you reach the curtain, stepping beyond to see your mystery customer.

Holy shit.

The sultry smile you’d plastered on fades right off your face, replaced with a deep set frown, your mouth open but unable to speak. Your stomach is rapidly dropping to depths it's never known before as your face starts to burn hot, cheeks feeling like they’re on fire. Your arms fly up to your chest, crossing them over as some kind of futile cover of yourself, but his eyes are trained there unashamedly, seeing the way your arms have really just accentuated your cleavage. He’s spread out on one of the loveseats, completely alone, knees wide apart, lap open and desperately inviting when it absolutely should not be.

“M-Mr. Miller?”

Joel was having far too much fun with this. The priceless look on your face that had wiped off the pretty grin you’d had was worth every damn penny he’d spent on this ridiculous room just to get you alone. You think you can cover up, somehow, but it only really offers Joel a better view of your bottom half, the lacy shorts style panties a treat for his weary gaze, the garters sitting against your soft skin one of the most enticing things he’s ever seen. He instantly feels his cock getting hard as his eyes rake up and down your body, settling on where your tits are now pressed together against your crossed arms.

“Mr. Miller?” you stutter out after a long, dense silence between the two of you.

“Don’t cover up on account’a me, sweetheart,” Joel replies cooly, threading his hands together behind his head, looking even more relaxed than when you’d first walked in. Your arms seem to tighten around you, the complete opposite of Joel.

“Wh-what are you -” you start trying to ask, and Joel notices how you suddenly look unbalanced, legs shaking underneath you. You attempt a step forward, bringing yourself further into the room and it gives Joel an even closer look at you, and god damn you’re gorgeous. Your skin looks flawless, so smooth and soft looking - the apex of your thighs coming closer to eye level as you move forward, all adorned by that lace that’s making him wild. He’s never seen anything close to this much of your skin before, and he has half a mind to grab you right here and toss you over his lap, taking everything he wants from you.

“Could ask you the same thing, couldn’t I?” he questions you, enjoying the tease, the way he sees your face screw up a little tighter at the very valid point he was making. You’re caught, and there’s no way around it now, he thinks smugly.

Your face falls, eyes going to the ground and watching your feet shift nervously in your heels. “I-I get it. You made your point. I’ll go home, okay? I know I shouldn’t be here -” you stammer out, and the guilty look on your face tells Joel what he’d already suspected - your dad knows absolutely nothing about this job of yours.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Joel says, but he makes no move to get up, keeping a steady, unrelenting gaze on you. When you flick your eyes up to him, he sees they’re watery, and it makes his insides twinge with a strange mixture of regret and pleasure as he sees the tears brimming along the edges of your eyes, the subtle panic he can see growing.

“You’re bein’ very bad, ain’t ya? ” Joel tuts, and you seem to almost flinch at the words from where you awkwardly stand in front of him still, unsure of what to do, where to go. Joel feels that pleasure growing warm in his gut, knowing he has you right where he wants you. “I mean, look at that outfit, sweetheart -” Joel starts with a low whistle, sitting forward slightly so you can see just how much he’s admiring it, his eyes narrowed in inspection, the weathered lines in his face apparent with the way his brows are raised. “Thas’ a far cry from those clothes you wear on my doorstep, play actin’ a good little girl.”

“N-no! I don’t - I didn’t mean - I am good.” You’re more and more visibly flustered, your arms wrapping around yourself as Joel continues to tease you, intent on bringing you down a few more notches.

Joel gives you a condescending glare. “Darlin’, ain’t nothin’ good about this. Lemme tell you what I think…” He leans back again, staring up at you, not once inviting you to sit, and knowing you won’t unless he does - he wants to make you sweat. “You never got to have that rebellious streak w’ both your parents bein’ who they are, did ya? An’ you thought you deserved it, to have a little fun, didn’t you?”

Your lip quivers and you blink back another set of hot, embarrassed tears, eyes trained back on the dark, faux marble floors, refusing to speak.

“Didn’t you?” he asks again with more bite. Fucking brat. Good thing Joel had plenty of tactics up his sleeve to whip a wannabe brat back into a good girl, he thinks with a sly smile to himself.

“Y-yes! Okay? I wanted to do something… for me,” you finally admit, feeling yourself shake a little at his demanding words.

“Now was that so hard?” Joel asks, becoming acutely aware of just how hard he is, almost painfully so now that he’s been teasing you, fantasizing about this moment for far too long. You shake your head, still hung downwards in shame before bringing your eyes back to his. They look soft, youthful and desperate, and Joel has never felt so turned on in his goddamn life, all the power he’s feeling rushing right to his cock.

“J-just… please don’t tell my dad,” you say, almost quiet enough Joel can’t hear it over the distant bump of the music. But he made it out, the words he’d been hoping you’d say, the ones he knew you’d have to utter.

“I won’t,” Joel starts, seeing the relief flood your face, nearly laughing at how quickly you put stock in his words before even hearing what else he has to say. So naive. “But what’s in it for me, hm? Ain’t gonna keep a secret without a little… incentive.” Joel’s hands plant on his thighs, running up the length of them as he watches your emotions shift in real time, your jaw going slack, eyes widening and barely blinking. You just stutter, completely taken aback and Joel had expected as much - you’re too good of a girl to navigate a situation like this. Good thing he already has his next words planned and loaded up to help you along.

“Laps feelin’ mighty empty, y’know…” Joel muses, leaning back and spreading his palms out on the leather couch next to his thighs. You flash your eyes to his legs, then his face again, mouth gaping open, finally realizing just what he’s asking for.

You can’t believe this is happening to you. You should never have taken this job, kept such a big secret from your dad that you knew he’d absolutely kill you for if he found out. You were technically an adult now, but that didn’t mean you could just throw away his rules while you lived at home with him.

And now you were being blackmailed by his friend. His very handsome friend, but you’re trying hard not to think about that right now. There’s no way he’s serious about this, no way he could actually want this from you? The neighbor girl, his friend’s daughter? Mr. Miller had always been kind, just a bit of a grumpy edge to him but he loved to joke around with your dad. You often caught them laughing together, too shy to have inserted yourself enough with someone who made your skin grow hot just from glancing into his dark, chocolate brown eyes. But without that buffer of your dad, here alone in the dim lighting of the club, it was like he’d become another man.

“Y-you want me to…?” you say, blinking hard as you stare at his thick thighs and crotch, all spread wide open. It’s enticing - normally even with an attractive customer you find yourself thinking of it more as work - fun work, but still work. But with Joel… you’d felt heat pooling between your thighs as he observed you this entire conversation, the desire starting to outweigh the embarrassment you were feeling.

“Paid for it, didn’t I?” he remarks practically, a nip of impatience edging his voice as you swallow hard and step forward.

“Y-you don’t have to… we can get a refund if you don’t want me to do it…” you say, trying to remind yourself not to mumble, but your nerves are getting the best of you.

Joel’s head shakes slowly, his hand drifting out smoothly from his body towards you, tenderly locking on to where your wrist dangles at your side and pulls you closer. Closer. Closer, until he’s pulling you down so that you have to bend down, coming face to face with him. Your cheeks burn, breathing heavy and stunted as the tension in the air thickens, his lips so close to yours. You can’t help but glance at them, the inviting curve of his lips drawing you in, but Joel’s eyes are elsewhere, peering down right between your bodies where your tits are on such display for him, spilling out of the bra at this angle.

“Like I said,” he coos softly, eyes obviously drifting up towards your face, “I need a little incentive to not spill your dirty little secret, darlin’.” A smirk grows on his face before he lets go of your wrist, and you stumble backwards a little.

“Y-you -” you stutter again, trying to counter him, but you come up short. “O-okay…” you mutter with a sigh, taking a deep breath before you hesitantly turn around, facing your back to him.

Joel tuts immediately at your lack of enthusiasm. “None of that, gimme the full show, sweetheart, or the deal’s off.”

You huff quietly, taking a few steps away from Joel, readying yourself. He can see the change in your demeanor already, the more confident strides you take before turning around, facing him again. Then you begin your routine, practiced and ready, pacing towards him with a feline, graceful energy, heels clicking on the floor as you slip one leg in front of the other, heading towards him. You almost hesitate, pushing yourself through the doubt as your hand reaches out, grazing along his shoulder, moving inward towards his collarbone.

Your fingers drag along his chest, where one button of his flannel shirt is open, wishing you could delve your whole hand inside and feel the more than likely gorgeous planes of his chest. Christ, he’s so meaty, so thick everywhere you touch.

A soft rumble escapes his chest before you turn around, grinding your ass downwards and then back up, teasing him by getting a little lower each time. But it’s not enough, he knows you’re holding back, your movements a little stilted and awkward. His cell phone is out of his pocket before he can think much more about it, snapping a photo of the way your ass is grinding down towards him, just enough of your side profile in the photo that it’s undeniably you.

“Come on, know you can do better’n that.” Joel clicks his tongue, making you freeze, hovering awkwardly above him. “Do this for a livin’ lord knows how many nights a week. If you ain’t gonna give me what I paid my hard earned money for I can call your daddy right now… maybe jus’ text him this picture. What d’you think about that?” Joel asks, holding his cell phone forward and into your eyesight. You gasp, hands grabbing for it just as he snatches it away.

“D-delete that! Please!” you cry out, feeling panic squeeze at your chest. Fuckfuckfuck you are so thoroughly fucked right now if Joel has photo evidence.

Joel smiles down at his phone, peering at the image one last time before pocketing it. “No can do, sweetheart. Now, I don’t really wanna have to ask again, yeah?”

You only gape at him for a moment longer before snapping your mouth shut and positioning yourself above his lap again. “F-fine. Jesus,” you mutter angrily, finding that the irritation you’re feeling is starting to spur you on as you begin to move again, feeling yourself turned on by Joel’s musk in your space, the heat of his body radiating towards yours in this close proximity. Not to mention you can sense just how turned on he is, how much this is affecting him as you move with more conviction, hips delicately swinging in front of him. If he wants a show, you’ll give him your best yet, you think with determination.

“F-fuck… attagirl,” Joel lets slip when you brush his crotch with your ass. He’s barely holding it together with your curves swaying tantalizingly in front of him, something even his wildest dreams likely couldn’t have conjured up. He’d never think he’d see you like this - so sensual, so fucking gorgeously in control of your sexual aura that it could make a man lose control. Your customers were beyond lucky, he thinks with a pang of jealousy shooting through him, making his blood boil hotter, his possessive side come out. While he’d been at home pining over you, thinking about you with a hand stroking his own cock, you’d been here - rubbing your pretty ass on all those lucky fucks and their undeserving crotches.

The thought makes him insane, the image of you doing this to any other man, so when you lean back against him, pressing your back to his chest, your ass just beginning to grind on his jeans, his hands go to your hips instinctively trying to bring you down onto him, to claim you. You slow your movements to a stop, leaning your head back towards his ear so that you’re almost entirely pressed against him now.

“Not s-supposed to touch,” you say, you voice the only thing giving away just how nervous you still are.

“Don’t fuckin’ care, if I’m honest,” Joel huffs back quietly, his voice husky and breathless. You bite back a moan as his rough hands wrap around each side of your waist tightly and help guide you that last inch downwards, sending your ass fully rolling over his crotch.

“H-holy shit…” you whimper when you feel the rough denim brush along the outside of your panties. You feel a flush run through you, your skin burning hot as you realize you won’t be able to hide how wet you’ve gotten for very long. It began slowly, just with his brooding, questioning eyes on you, now reaching a fever pitch as you’re in his space and feeling the prominent bulge in his pants.

It’s been far too long since you were satisfied. Truly satisfied.

Your breath catches as Joel fingers wiggle inward a little after hearing how much you’re getting into it, even closer to the waistband of your panties, the two of you facilitating the grinding motion together as you bear down a little more on his lap. Joel lets out a pleased hum, still somehow giving you the sense that he’s the one holding back now. His hands still have an air of respect to them, like they’re vibrating with the need to wrap completely around you and pull you to him, to roam your skin and grab at all the forbidden parts of you.

When the thought flashes across your mind, you realize you want him to.

“T-touch me…” you whisper, immediately clamping your betraying mouth shut as the words float out into the air. You hold your breath, waiting to see if Joel heard you.

“What’s that, gorgeous? Couldn’t quite hear you,” Joel says, his tone a low, mocking sound that tells you he’s baiting you, that he wants to play with his food before eating it. Your eyes narrow before they shut completely, rolling back when he forces your ass to move along his bulge again.

“F-fu- touch me,” you spit out a bit louder. “Please.”

“You poor thing,” you hear him tut from behind you, forcing your hips upwards and away before grasping onto your hands, turning you around to face him. “Can’t get us in trouble now, can we?” he asks tauntingly, his eyes giving you a heated staredown as they widen, almost looking sympathetic if there wasn’t so much of an appetite behind them.

You whimper, visibly whining as your face screws up, squeezing his hands with yours. Joel tugs, so lightly that you’d almost think it was your own idea as you start to come back down towards him, pressing the warmth between your legs against his thigh. You sigh shakily, eyes fluttering shut as you slowly swing one leg over top of his and bear down a little more, straddling his thigh.

“We w-won’t… we won’t…” you breathe out, knowing it’s not the complete truth, but room seven is especially tucked back, hardly getting any traffic. In fact, it was known for bending the rules a bit.

“She’s so needy, huh? You all wet for me, sweetheart, that it? She need a little relief?” Joel taunts, and when you open your eyes to meet his gaze, he’s practically pouting. Your cheeks burn at how desperate he’s making you sound, but your hips twitch of their own accord, sending a zing of pleasure up your spine and you whimper quietly again, giving yourself away even further.

“Y-yes, Mr. Miller…”

“Keep on doin’ your little dance, pretty girl, jus’ right there,” Joel urges you, a hand finding the small of your back, the other locked onto your hip as you start to rock forward, then back again. Relief instantly floods you as your clit brushes against the ripples in the hard denim, making you move harder against him, mouth popped open in fresh ecstasy.

“Close that mouth before I shove somethin’ in it, you fuckin’ tease,” Joel grits out, his eyes burning wildly, finally giving you a glimpse at how affected he is as he keeps his stare on your face, starting to sheen with sweat. Your mouth snaps shut, a stifled moan pulling from your throat and behind your closed lips, threatening to burst out of you.

“This ain’t against the rules? Havin’ a pretty girl ride my thigh?” he asks in cruel teasing, flickering eyes glancing down to where your hips are shamelessly rocking on him.

“I- I don’t - know-“ you choke out, your legs starting to tremble as the pleasure slowly, steadily builds deep inside of you. “I d-don’t care…”

“Riiight, she’s on her rebellious streak now, ain’t she?” Joel mutters facetiously, smiling a devious grin as he watches your face screw up in concentration. You truly don’t care, you can’t care anymore when whatever the hell is going on feels so good. Damn this job, damn Joel’s games, you’re going to get what you need out of this right now, too. Your head is thrown back as your whines and moans escalate, showing Joel just how close you’re getting.

“That’s it, god you’re beggin’ for it, ain’t you? So dirty…” Joel’s hands grip tighter along your hips, starting to drag you inwards, towards his aching, clothed bulge. “Beggin’ for your daddy’s friend's cock while you make a mess all over his thigh, aren’t you? Who would’ve thought a good girl like you’d be wantin’ to get fucked by an old man?”

His words make you clench around nothing, the harsh tone making your insides twist in pleasure as you roll your hips a little faster. “F-fuck… I - I need to - Mr. Miller -” you plead aimlessly, feeling your core tightening, the obscene wetness driving you to full on madness as your pussy aches, cries out for Joel.

Your leg is being dragged over top of him, forcing you to fully straddle his lap, thighs stretched wide and burning at how wide you’re going to accommodate his huge frame. You’re in disbelief at the rough, needy noise Joel makes as soon as your cunt is pulled down onto him, Joel’s hands forcing your hips to start thrusting against him. You nearly lose your balance, wrapping your arms around his neck to hang on as he looks at you with determination. Hands planted firmly on your ass, squeezing hard as he relishes in the feel of finally having you like this, feeling your warm heat seeping through his denim right to where he’s desperate to have you most.

“Joel,” he corrects in his haze, stunting your hips to press down hard on his cock, sending a gasp flying out of your mouth at the sheer size of what’s to come. Your mouth is practically watering, so close to what your body craves now, what it needs. When your fingers graze the button of his jeans, he stiffens, seeming to snap out his lustful fog as he swats your hand away.

“Fuck… later,” Joel says suddenly, using every bit of self restraint to push you back, moving your heat from his bulge, the instantaneous lack of you devastating him to the core.

Your brows quickly knit in confusion at the sudden change in course. “W-why…?” you whisper breathlessly, bringing your lips near his neck, kissing the rough skin, working your way up to his patchy, gray flecked beard. His hand is at the back of your head, yanking you backwards by the hair, tearing your lips off of him in a brutal rush. He holds you there, the pull on your scalp starting to prickle harder as you sit staring at him like a tamed animal being held up by its scruff.

“Can’t fuck you properly in here. Too many fuckin’… people. Prying eyes wantin’ to see what all the fuss is about.”

“I-I can be quiet,” you retort, hating just how much it sounds like begging but the hold he has on you right now is so intense, so inexplicable that you’d say anything, you think.

Joel huffs, a tiny, incredulous snort coming out of his nose. “No, you can’t. Not if I’m doin’ what I plan on doin’ to you. We can’t have anyone come snoopin’, can we?”

You shake your head, suddenly wondering if he’s about to drag you out of here, take you home to his bed, or your bed, you think with a shudder. You feel a pull inside your belly, thinking you just might let him if you don’t get your head back on straight soon.

“An’ you still gotta work the rest of your shift, make your money, don’t you babydoll?” Joel says with a smirk growing, making your face fall completely into a deep frown. “Call it a little punishment for bein’ such a bad, naughty girl, yeah? Then you can finish up givin’ me my piece of the pie.”

You find yourself gaping at him for the umpteenth time tonight in disbelief. He wasn’t going to just leave you… like this? Was he? You can feel your clit pulsing against your panties, your body tense and wound up, on the precipice of coming so hard you saw stars only a few moments ago.

“Up, now,” Joel says, shifting his legs so that you’re forced to move, scrambling up onto your shaky legs, feeling like a newborn fawn getting your footing again.

“W-wait… I already - didn’t I… give you what you want?” you ask, suddenly feeling yourself snapping out of the heady, lust filled haze Joel had you in. This was insane, right? You can’t fuck him, you shouldn’t. It wasn’t right for either of you, and you’d been crazy to have just been this close to letting him stuff you full.

Joel’s head tilts, watching your slightly messy hair and smudged makeup for a few beats with a discerning gaze. “Nah, darlin’, you just gave me what I paid for. This is what I want.”

Your heart and stomach sink to new depths. “N-no. Joel! You said… if I gave you the lap dance you wouldn’t tell my dad. And I gave you a hell of a lot more than that -” Joel stands, interrupting you, coming forward and crowding your space, his hulking mass like a tower next to you, shadowing you with his commanding energy.

“Watch your mouth,” he snips, a hand gripping onto your wrist. “I’m the one callin’ the shots here, an’ I changed my mind once I saw just how pretty that sweet little pussy of yours can be. So here’s what’s gonna happen…” Joel’s fingers come up to ghost along your cheek, trailing down your neck, along the swells of your breasts as he speaks. You can’t help but shudder at the attention, how good it feels on your sensitive, needy skin.

“You go on out there, tell ‘em what a great job you did in here, work the rest of your shift like a good girl, thinkin’ about just how fuckin’ wet you got these pretty panties, how bad she needs a little help from Mr. Miller.”

Your breath is caught in your throat at his words, hitching further as his touch skates further down, sending your hips twitching forward.

“An’ I’ll be waitin’ for you after, darlin’, for what I’m owed.”

Your heart pounds as you slip out the side door and into the alleyway, pausing to let the cool night air wash over you as you gather your thoughts. Your mind is at war with itself, one half of you knowing this is a terrible idea, setting you up for complete disaster in the future. How could you ever face Joel again if you two took it that far? Then again, you weren’t sure how you’d be able to face him in the daylight already, anyways, without your cheeks burning so hot they caught fire. The other half of you was winning, had been winning as you worked the rest of your shift in a complete daze, hardly recognizing your own movements as your body burned hot and needy, mind completely scrambled by the conundrum of your father’s closest friend coming onto you and more.

You spent the rest of your shift coming to terms with the fact that you do want to fuck him. So badly. Even if it’s wrong, a complete mistake in every single way. You also know your mind isn’t to be trusted right now, running on pure horniness and desperation, never having been fucked in the way you know Joel could. His experience, his power, the way his lustful eyes had drank you in like the sweetest balm - it was all too hard to turn down. You turn, looking the opposite way down the alleyway from your car, starting to think you might be able to sneak around the block and get in your car and drive off without him noticing, wondering exactly where he’s waiting for you. You don’t see a soul, hear anyone else in this alley apart from the distant music from inside and chatter from along the main street which is a far cry from where the employee exit to Oasis dropped you.

You take the risk, heart thrumming wildly as you start down the alley, saying a silent apology to Joel in your head, and then yourself for letting this secret come out, knowing Joel was definitely not bluffing if you didn’t follow through on your end of the deal. Better to face punishment from your father than have to deal with the consequences of fucking his best friend and facing the feelings that would come after. You’re only halfway down the alleyway before a warm, rough hand is slapped against your mouth and an arm is draped around your middle and tugging you backwards. A wall of muscle meets you and you whimper loudly behind the hand, starting to yell.

“Shh, shh, no screamin’,” the voice coos, distinctly recognizable. Shit.

“Tryna sneak off on me, huh, pretty girl?” Joel says next to your ear, his neck craning down to breathe you in, groaning. It’s so feminine, so light and soft, the faded scent of your perfume and body wash makes him instantly mad with need for you. His hand slips down, giving your lips some room to answer now that you’ve stopped fighting him, leaning back into his hold a little more.

“N-no,” you choke out, lying. “S-swear.”

“Didn’t change your mind? Want me to send those pretty pictures to your daddy?” Joel coos, starting to walk you towards the brick wall of the building, pushing your body forwards until you’re pressed against the cool, scratchy surface. You hold back a moan when his body leans into you fully, completely dominating you as you’re at his mercy against the wall.

“I j-just d-don’t think we should -” you utter half heartedly, feeling heat rush to your cheeks, fearing what might come next after your suggestion.

“Why’s that?” he asks, dripping with condescension. “Seemed you couldn’t wait to get stuffed full of me not too long ago, yeah?”

“I-it’ll be weird after, w-won’t it? How can we… be around my dad? How can you?” You finally find your voice, your bravery, to ask him the question you’d been thinking the entire night.

A small chuckle blows past the side of your head from where Joel’s mouth sits against your head. “Think we both learned tonight I’m willin’ to keep a secret,” he says, his voice getting more harsh, a needy coarseness to it that sends goosebumps along your skin. Joel feels a frenzy overcoming him when he notices your thighs clenching, how shallow and wanting your breaths are becoming now. He can’t wait much longer… can’t stand the torture he’s endured at your sweet teasing for a second longer.

“I-I want it…” you finally say in a harsh whisper, your resolve faded within seconds. Your ass ruts back into his hardness, an ache that hadn’t subsided in the least in the last hours as he waited for you. Patiently. Like he had already been all of these months.

“You know I’m gonna ruin anyone else f’you, darlin’, don’t you?” he asks as his lips trace along your shoulder, now clad in a tank top that you’d changed back into. The bits of bare skin he touches taste like heaven, feel almost unbearably soft and inviting against his plush lips. He couldn’t possibly deserve any of this, but he couldn’t help but take it, anyhow. He could pay for his sins later. Your neck is next on his list, another supple spot of heaven to taste as he mutters the words again. “Don’t you?”

You just nod at first, dumbstruck by the feel of his lips, turning your head to try to meet them. “Yes,” you tell him softly, knowing it’s the truth, and there isn’t a turning back from this moment anymore. His lips are suddenly all there is, devouring your own whole as he takes in bounds, your tongues and teeth and mouths in a desperate clash, panting into one another as Joel starts to tug at your jeans, fingers flying desperately to tear them down.

You let him.

The second he’s pushing into you, you see bright white flash across your vision - that pulse of pain shooting through the very fabric of your being, your nerves lit up and screaming out from deep inside of you. Joel’s groan is barely audible through the ringing in your ears as he doesn’t stop, finding solace in your tight heat when he pushes himself into you in full. It’s heaven incarnate, you are heaven incarnate, he thinks, practically panting out the words as he feels your wet tightness pulling him in, walls pulsing as you adjust to the sheer volume that is Joel. Your cheek is crushed against the brick, mouth propped open in shock, the rough scrape on your face the only thing keeping you grounded as you whine out a long, wanton sound, something completely foreign to you.

“So… fuckin’... dumb on this cock,” Joel utters as he starts to move, a slow drag of his cock out and back in before he makes good on his promise to ruin anyone else for you, to never have a comparison to the blinding pleasure you feel rocking your entire universe as he quickly ruts into you. “Fuckin’ heaven.”

“J- fuck -” you stutter out, completely speechless. When one arm wraps around you, finding your clit, needy and puffy from hours of torturous edging, everything else melts away. The dark alley, the fact that you could be seen at any moment, the way you weren’t even sure you trusted Joel to keep your secret despite you following through on your end - none of it fucking mattered anymore.

“W-wanted this so bad, y’don’t know what you do to a man, sweetheart… Jesus fuck,” Joel says, uncharacteristically soft as his hips roll, sending your own bouncing onto his hurried fingers swirling along your clit. Desperation clings to the both of you now, hot and heavy air, hurried movements like this could be torn away from the two of you any second.

“Joel… I’m fu- I’m close, so close, please…” you rush out, feeling a pull of warmth at your center, his cock brushing along just the right spot to send you to that edge. You start to moan louder, the noise echoing in the open space around the two of you, your hand hurriedly slapping over your mouth to muffle it as the high starts to rock through you. His name screams from behind your hand, the sound still clear enough to send Joel to a state of crazed fervor, thrusting into you at an impossible pace, sending you bouncing harder against the wall. You twitch and shake, your eyes rolling back as you come harder than you have in months, maybe ever. Just like he’d promised, the absolute bastard.

“Fuckin’ creamin’ on this cock, shit, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” Joel marvels breathlessly as the obscene squelching of your bodies meeting only gets louder. “Oh, good girl, such a pretty, messy slut for a dirty old man, aren’t you?”

“G-god, yes, fuck… I am…” you whimper out with flustered nods, completely spent as you come down from your high, letting Joel use your cunt to chase his own now. You twitch at the overstimulation, your body still tingling pleasantly as he turns you into his own personal fuck toy, your body his for the taking.

“Pretty as a picture, all fucked out like this,” he says slyly one hand planted on the wall next to you now, the other playing lazily with your aching clit. “Never gonna be able to give me up now, are you?”

You shake your head, lost in the moment with your answers as you feel another orgasm washing over you, less intense but still pleasant waves of pleasure rolling through while you gasp for breath, completely full of Joel each time he thrusts heartily into you, stealing away your air.

“Please… c-can’t…” you mumble through your climax, hardly able to take the stimulation anymore but knowing the sick little part of your brain is happy to do it for him, let him use you until he’s completely spent himself.

You don’t have to wait much longer for your wish, hearing Joel grunting, almost whimpering when he’s suddenly gone from you with a wet, slick pop, leaving you cavernous empty. He barely makes it out of you before his hand grips his cock, twitching in his palm as he comes towards the ground right in between your legs, ropes of cum coating your pulled down jeans and underwear, the brick wall, the pavement below you. His forehead is pressed to your back, sticky and hot as he catches his breath for a silent beat.

You’ve never felt anything like this, this satisfaction, this pure unadulterated filthiness and pleasure. The addiction already grips you, your poor, sore cunt already anticipating the next time he could ruin you.

But then it hits you like a train, pulling you out of your reverent little bubble - this can’t happen again. It’s out of your system, out of his, and now you both have a secret to keep. You start to pull your pants up, the movement seeming to bring Joel to his senses, reaching down along with you.

“Sh-shit, here, let me,” he says in a rasp, tugging your jeans up, the immediate feeling of wetness sticking to your body and making you cringe. “Little souvenir for ya,” he comments cockily, knowing his cum is now sticking to your skin, knowing that thought will sustain him for at least the next few hours. But that’s wishful thinking, he realizes, knowing that he could find himself buried in you the entire night, over and over again, considering hauling you away to do just that when you interrupt his thinking.

“I- I’m sorry…” you mutter, not even fully sure of why you even say it. For some reason, you are sorry that you put the two of you in this position, even if it ended in something so incredible that you have a hard time even putting it into words.

Joel spins you to face him, thumbing your chin and pinching it, bringing your face to look him in the eyes. They look a little softer than they had inside the club, more like the neighbor you’ve come to know. So charming and disarming when he wants to be.

“Don’t be,” he says, leaning down to kiss you more gently than he had before, something tender and sweet that you find yourself immediately falling for, body melting into his as you hang your arms around his neck, wondering when along the way you started feeling so comfortable with this.

“Besides,” Joel adds, a devious smirk pulling his lips upwards. “Your daddy ain’t home for a few more days. Think we can find a few more ways to convince me to keep your little secret.”

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #x reader

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wachinyeya · 2 days ago

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Brush-tailed bettongs (also known as woylies) once inhabited more than 60% of mainland Australia. However, the European colonization of the country brought with it predatory feral cats and foxes, and the destruction of much of the animal’s native grassland and woodland habitats.

Between 1999 and 2010, the species’ population size declined by 90% – a drastic drop that some research suggests may have resulted from the spread of blood parasites, alongside other factors. Today, the brush-tailed bettong is limited to just a few islands and isolated mainland pockets in Southwestern Australia: a mere 1% of its former range.

Marna Banggara

“We are on a mission, if you like, to bring back some of these native species that have gone missing in our landscape since European colonization,” says Derek Sandow, project manager of Marna Banggara, an initiative dedicated to restoring some of the Yorke Peninsula’s historic ecological diversity.

Formerly known as the “Great Southern Ark,” the project, which was launched in 2019 by the Northern and Yorke Landscape Board, was renamed to honor the region’s native Narungga people, who are heavily involved with the initiative.

“Marna in our language means good, prosperous, healthy, and Banggara means country,” says Garry Goldsmith, a member of the Narungga community who works on the project.

The team initially erected a 25-kilometer predator-control fence across the narrow part of the Yorke Peninsula to create a 150,000-hectare safe haven for the first species to be brought back: the brush-tailed bettong, known as yalgiri to the Narungga people. “We’ve reduced fox and cat impacts to a level that’s low enough for these yalgiri to be reintroduced and for them to actually find refuges, find food, and to survive themselves,” says Sandow.

Between 2021 and 2023, the team introduced almost 200 brush-tailed bettongs to the protected area. Sourcing these individuals from various remaining populations across Western Australia helped to “increase the genetic pool,” says Goldsmith.

EcoSystem Engineers

Brush-tailed bettongs feed on bulbs, seeds and insects, but their primary food source is fungi growing underground; to find it, they must dig. “They’re nature’s little gardeners,” says Sandow, “a single yalgiri can turn over two to six tons of soil per year.”

That’s why they’re the first species being reintroduced to the region, he says. All this digging aerates the soil, improves water filtration and helps seedlings germinate – benefitting other animals that rely on the ecosystem.

#australia #decolonisation #woylies #brush-tailed bettong #bettongs #environmentalism #good news #science #environment #nature #animals #conservation #yalgiri #animal welfare #animal conservation #rewilding

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exhaled-spirals · 1 year ago

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« To mention the global loss of biodiversity, that is to say, the disappearance of life on our planet, as one of our problems, along with air pollution or ocean acidification, is absurd—like a doctor listing the death of his patient as one symptom among others.

The ecological catastrophe cannot be reduced to the climate crisis. We must think about the disappearance of life in a global way. About two-thirds of insects, wild mammals and trees disappeared in a few years, a few decades and a few millennia, respectively. This mass extinction is not mainly caused by rising temperatures, but by the devastation of natural habitats.

Suppose we managed to invent clean and unlimited energy. This technological feat would be feted by the vast majority of scientists, synonymous in their eyes with a drastic reduction in CO2 emissions. In my opinion, it would lead to an even worse disaster. I am deeply convinced that, given the current state of our appetites and values, this energy would be used to intensify our gigantic project of systemic destruction of planetary life. Isn't that what we've set out to do—replace forests with supermarket parking lots, turn the planet into a landfill? What if, to cap it all, energy was free?

[...C]limate change has emerged as our most important ecological battle [...] because it is one that can perpetuate the delusional idea that we are faced with an engineering problem, in need of technological solutions. At the heart of current political and economic thought lies the idea that an ideal world would be a world in which we could continue to live in the same way, with fewer negative externalities. This is insane on several levels. Firstly because it is impossible. We can't have infinite growth in a finite world. We won't. But also, and more importantly, it is not desirable. Even if it were sustainable, the reality we construct is hell. [...]

It is often said that our Western world is desacralised. In reality, our civilisation treats the technosphere with almost devout reverence. And that's worse. We perceive the totality of reality through the prism of a hegemonic science, convinced that it “says” the only truth.

The problem is that technology is based on a very strange principle, so deeply ingrained in us that it remains unexpressed: no brakes are acceptable, what can be done must be done. We don't even bother to seriously and collectively debate the advisability of such "advances". We are under a spell. And we are avoiding the essential question: is this world in the making, standardised and computed, overbuilt and predictable, stripped of stars and birds, desirable?

To confine science to the search for "solutions" so we can continue down the same path is to lack both imagination and ambition. Because the “problem” we face doesn't seem to me, at this point, to be understood. No hope is possible if we don't start by questioning our assumptions, our values, our appetites, our symbols... [...] Let's stop pretending that the numerous and diverse human societies that have populated this planet did not exist. Certainly, some of them have taken the wrong route. But ours is the first to forge ahead towards guaranteed failure. »

— Aurélien Barrau, particle physicist and philosopher, in an interview in Télérama about his book L'Hypothèse K

#quote #article #aurélien barrau #ecology #science #english #translation mine

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reasonsforhope · 1 year ago

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"Discarded shells from restaurants and hotels are being used to restore damaged oyster ecosystems, promote biodiversity and lower pollution in the city’s bays...

Nestled in between the South China Sea and the Pearl River Delta, Hong Kong has been seen historically as an oyster hotspot. “They have been supporting our livelihood since ancient times,” says Anniqa Law Chung-kiu, a project manager at the Nature Conservancy (TNC) in Hong Kong. “Both oysters and their shells are treasures to humans.”

Over the past five decades, however, the city’s sprawling urban development, water pollution, as well as the over-harvesting and frequent seafloor dredging by the lime industry – which uses the crushed shells to make construction material – have destroyed Hong Kong’s oyster habitats and made the waters less hospitable for biodiversity.

The more oyster colonies falter, the worse the problem gets: oysters are filter feeders and purify water by gobbling up impurities. Just one Hong Kong oyster can filter up to 200 litres of water a day, more than any other known oyster species. But decades of rapid industrialisation have largely halted their water-purifying services.

The depletion of Hong Kong’s natural oyster reefs also affects the ability of local farmers to sustainably cultivate their oysters in a healthy environment, denting the reputation of the city’s 700-year oyster farming tradition, designated by Unesco as an “intangible cultural heritage”.

Inhabitants of the coast feel abandoned, says Ken Cheng Wai-kwan, the community leader of Ha Pak Nai on Hong Kong’s Deep Bay, facing the commercial city of Shenzhen in China. “This place is forgotten,” Cheng says. “Oysters have been rooted here for over 400 years. I ask the question: do we want to lose it, or not?”

A group of activists and scientists are taking up the challenge by collecting discarded oyster shells and recycling them to rebuild some of the reefs that have been destroyed and forgotten in the hope the oysters may make a comeback. They’ve selected locations around the island where data they’ve collected suggests ecosystems still have the potential to be rebooted, and there are still enough oyster larvae to recolonise and repopulate reefs. Ideally, this will have a positive effect on local biodiversity as a whole, and farming communities.

Farmers from Ha Pak Nai were among the first to hand over their discarded shells to the TNC team for recycling. Law’s team works with eight oyster farmers from Deep Bay to recycle up to 10 tonnes of shells every year [over 22,000 pounds]. They collect an average of 870kg every week [over 1,900 pounds] from 12 hotels, supermarkets, clubhouses and seafood restaurants in the city, including some of its most fashionable establishments. About 80 tonnes of shells [over 176,000 pounds] have been recycled since the project began in 2020.

Restaurants will soon be further incentivised to recycle the shells when Hong Kong introduces a new fee for waste removal – something that is routine in many countries, but only became law in Hong Kong in July and remains controversial...

Preliminary data shows some of the restored reefs have started to increase the levels of biodiversity, but more research is needed to determine to what extent they are contributing to the filtering of the water, says Law.

Scientists from the City University of Hong Kong are also looking to use oyster shells to increase biodiversity on the city’s concrete seawalls. They hope to provide tiny, wet shelter spots around the seawall in which organisms can find refuge during low tide.

“It’s a form of soft engineering, like a nature-based solution,” says Charlene Lai, a research assistant on the team."

-via The Guardian, December 22, 2023

#oyster #oyster farming #sea shells #seafood #hong kong #ecosystem restoration #biodiversity #ecosystem #water pollution #clean water #cultural heritage #marine life #marine animals #marine science #good news #hope

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sparrowlucero · 5 months ago

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So what do we think Beebe's fish were then? I heard tell that the sailfin might have been a squid and that the angelfish was probably a comb jelly, but what about the giant dragonfish or the rainbow gar?

For those not in the know, in the 1930s, biologist William Beebe (who you (read: I) might know as the guy who predicted microraptor) and engineer Otis Barton (hollywood actor?? and designer of fucked up submarines and "jungle spaceships", ok otis) got into a fucked up submarine and went to the bottom of the ocean off the coast of bermuda (in what, iirc, was the first study of deep sea fish in their natural habitat), where he described several fish unknown to science. None of these fish have been identified since. (Side Note: to continue off of "audubon was unfamiliar with the bald eagle" in my last post, this one also has a theory I find a bit silly in "perhaps they just hallucinated fake fish from oxygen deprivation" despite both witnessing the same fish and a lot of his scary book about the dive that you can read here including many lucid observations of known species. It wasn't like he got down there and only saw weird fish and nothing else) The fish in order: Three-starred anglerfish, Abyssal Rainbow Gar, Pallid sailfin, Five-lined Constellation Fish

and yeah I do see why people think these might have been invertebrates mistakenly identified as fish. In his book, Beebe holds off on describing unfamiliar fish if he didn't see them well, but, you know, those little gars really do look like squid. I personally think the most likely one to be a real fish is the angler, since he saw it closely and was able to note several physiological differences in jaw structure that distinguished it from other angler fish.

The most notable one is the "Untouchable Bathysphere Fish", a giant 6 foot long dragonfish (largest known dragonfish is about 2 feet long):

Several minutes later, at 2100 feet, I had the most exciting experience of the whole dive. Two fish went very slowly by, not more than six or eight feet away, each of which was at least six feet in length. They were of the general shape of large barracudas, but with shorter jaws which were kept wide open all the time I watched them. A single line of strong lights, pale bluish, was strung down the body. The usual second line was quite absent. The eyes were very large, even for the great length of the fish. The undershot jaw was armed with numerous fangs which were illumined either by mucus or indirect internal lights. Vertical fins well back were one of the characters which placed it among the sea-dragons, Melanostomiatids, and were clearly seen when the fish passed through the beam. There were two long tentacles, hanging down from the body, each tipped with a pair of separate, luminous bodies, the upper reddish, the lower one blue. These twitched and jerked along beneath the fish, one undoubtedly arising from the chin, and the other far back near the tail. I could see neither the stem of the tentacles nor any paired fins, although both were certainly present. This is the fish I subsequently named Bathysphera intacta, the Untouchable Bathysphere Fish.

I believe this solely because it's really cool Though I want posit a theory I've never heard before: it's almost never remarked upon that he discovered these weird fish over a live (now lost media that no one is searching for, get on that) NBC radio broadcast. Maybe he just made up some cool sea monsters with a big climactic sea serpent for said broadcast, both because I would totally do that if it were me and also so he had a good excuse to sign off and get the fuck out of this situation:

#i looked through so many write ups about these fish and like none of them mentioned the live broadcast aspect #unless I'm totally misunderstanding his book it seems that they were live when he saw the fish

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kezdispenser · 2 months ago

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Breaking Character pt3/?

Summary: You are the new cast member of 'The Boys' and you play Butcher's cousin and Soldier Boy's new love interest 'Solene'. You're introduced to the cast by the director at a dinner and you're seated next to Karl and Jensen to "bond".

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Warnings: FLUFF, Language, Maybe Smut

A/N: Absolutely no hate to anybody irl, its all love, i personally love Danneel. So, no hate at all. tpwk.

The night of the gig, you stood in front of your closet, trying to figure out what the hell to wear. You weren’t sure why you were overthinking it—Jensen seemed like the kind of guy who wouldn’t give a damn what you showed up in. But something about the way he’d looked at you last night, the weight of his words, made you want to put in a little effort. Not too much, though.

Finally, you settled on a pair of black skinny jeans that hugged your curves just right, paired with a cropped band tee and a leather jacket. Casual, cool, and just a touch of edge. You added a silver chain necklace and boots with a slight heel for some extra confidence, then ran a brush through your hair, leaving it loose and slightly messy.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, debating whether or not to go heavier on the eyeliner. “It’s just a bar,” you muttered, rolling your eyes at your own nerves. Still, you swiped on a little more mascara and grabbed your bag before heading out the door.

When Jensen pulled up outside, the rumble of his truck’s engine sent a flutter of anticipation through you. He leaned out the driver’s side window as you approached, his grin widening when he saw you.

“Damn,” he drawled, his eyes scanning you quickly before meeting yours. “Didn’t know I was picking up a rockstar tonight.”

You smirked, walking up to the passenger door. “Just trying to fit the vibe. Don’t get used to it.”

He laughed, hopping out to open the door for you. “Noted. But I gotta say, you nailed it.”

You climbed into the cab, the faint scent of leather and his cologne surrounding you. As he slid back into the driver’s seat, he shot you a sideways glance. “Nervous?”

“About what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“About seeing me in my natural habitat,” he teased, his tone light but his gaze steady.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “I think I’ll survive.”

The drive to the bar was filled with easy conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. Jensen had this way of putting you at ease, like you’d known him for years instead of just a few days.

When you arrived, the bar was already buzzing with energy, the warm glow of string lights and the hum of conversation setting the mood. Jensen placed a hand on your lower back as he guided you through the crowd, a gesture that felt natural but sent a ripple of awareness through you.

“Stay here,” he said once you reached the edge of the stage. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Before you could respond, he was gone, disappearing backstage. You found yourself a spot near the front, sipping your drink and trying to ignore the way your pulse raced.

When Jensen took the stage, the crowd erupted in cheers, and you couldn’t help but smile. He owned the space, his voice rich and rough, pulling you in from the first note. Watching him up there—completely in his element��was something else entirely.

By the end of the set, you were thoroughly impressed. He hopped off the stage, sweaty and grinning, and made his way straight to you.

“Well?” he asked, grabbing a beer from the bar and leaning casually against it. “Am I officially off the hook?”

You gave him a slow once-over, pretending to consider it. “Not bad, Ackles. You might actually be good at this.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re a tough crowd, y/n.”

“Gotta keep you humble,” you shot back, smirking.

His grin softened, and he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. “Something tells me you’ve got a way of doing that.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that, so you just smiled, raising your glass. “Here’s to exceeding expectations.”

Jensen clinked his beer against your glass, his eyes never leaving yours. “Cheers to that.”

The bar was quieter now, with most of the crowd having filtered out. Jensen nursed a beer at the corner of the counter, his head turned slightly as he watched you sip your whiskey. The weight of the night, the energy of the music, and the warmth of his presence created a strange sort of stillness between you—charged, unspoken, but not unpleasant.

“Didn’t peg you for a whiskey drinker,” he said finally, his voice low but carrying in the near-empty bar.

You looked up at him, swirling the amber liquid in your glass. “Didn’t peg you for a singer.”

His lips twitched, not quite a smile but close. “Touché.”

You took another sip, letting the silence settle again. It wasn’t uncomfortable; if anything, it was oddly grounding. Still, you could feel him watching you, his gaze steady, like he was deciding whether to say whatever was on his mind.

“You ever get the feeling,” he said eventually, his voice quieter now, “that no matter what you do, there’s this piece of you still stuck somewhere else? Like you’ve moved on, but a part of you hasn’t caught up yet?”

The question caught you off guard, the weight of it unexpected. You set your glass down, meeting his gaze. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I think everyone feels that way, sometimes. What’s keeping you stuck?”

He hesitated, his fingers tapping against the neck of his beer bottle. “My kids,” he said finally, his voice rougher now. “And… my divorce.”

You blinked, the confession hitting harder than you expected. “You’re divorced?”

“Yeah,” he said, his laugh humorless. “Surprised you didn’t know. Feels like half the world’s got a damn opinion about it.”

You shook your head. “I didn’t. I guess I just assumed…” You trailed off, not wanting to sound intrusive.

“That I had it all figured out?” he offered, his lips twitching into a bitter smile. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s fine,” he interrupted gently. “It’s what everyone thinks. Jensen Ackles, family man, happy life. And I tried, you know? I really fucking tried.”

His voice cracked just slightly, and you felt a pang in your chest, unsure what to say.

“I have three kids,” he continued, staring down at his beer. “JJ, Zeppelin, and Arrow. They’re my world. Everything I do, it’s for them. But somewhere along the way… me and their mom, we just stopped being us. We became co-parents. Roommates. Whatever you want to call it. And it wasn’t enough anymore.”

You swallowed hard, the vulnerability in his voice cutting through you. “That sounds… incredibly hard.”

“It is,” he admitted, looking up at you again. “But what’s harder is knowing I hurt them. That no matter how much I try to explain it, they don’t understand why their parents aren’t together anymore.”

You nodded slowly, searching for the right words. “It sounds like you’re doing the best you can. And maybe… maybe that’s enough.”

He studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “You’re good at this,” he said finally, his tone softer now.

“At what?”

“Listening,” he said simply. “Not a lot of people do that anymore.”

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Not a lot of people talk like you just did. That takes guts.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the conversation hanging between you. Then Jensen cleared his throat, his fingers drumming against the counter.

“I don’t usually unload on people like this,” he said, almost sheepish.

“I don’t mind,” you replied, meaning it.

He looked at you then, really looked, and you felt something shift in the air between you. It wasn’t romantic, exactly—at least not yet. It was something deeper, an unspoken understanding that neither of you had asked for but somehow shared.

“Thanks,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“For what?”

“For not making me feel like a damn idiot for saying all that.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “You’re not an idiot, Jensen. You’re just human.”

He laughed softly, the sound carrying a hint of relief. “Human. That’s a nice way of putting it.”

As the bartender started cleaning up for the night, Jensen glanced at his watch, then back at you. “I should probably get you home,” he said, though there was no urgency in his voice.

“Yeah,” you said, though a part of you wasn’t quite ready for the night to end.

He stood and offered you a hand, his touch warm and steady as he helped you down from the stool. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

The drive back was quiet, the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled. When he pulled up in front of your place, he turned to you, his expression softer now.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” he said, his voice low.

“Thanks for inviting me, and hey, I'd love to meet your kids sometime” you replied, your smile genuine.

Jensen blinked, visibly surprised by the offer. His lips parted slightly like he was searching for the right words, but none came right away. Instead, he tilted his head, studying you with an expression you couldn’t quite read—somewhere between curiosity and cautious hope.

“You’d want to meet my kids?” he asked finally, his voice careful, almost hesitant.

You shrugged lightly, feeling the sudden weight of your words. “Not like that,” you clarified quickly, holding up a hand. “I mean, if you ever bring them around set or something, it’d be cool to say hi. Nothing… bigger than that.”

Relief flickered across his face, and his shoulders relaxed as a small smile curved his lips. “They’d like you,” he said softly. “JJ especially. She’s sharp—probably sharper than me most days. You’d get along.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the way his face softened when he talked about her. “She sounds like a handful”

“She is,” he said, his grin widening. “But in the best way.”

For a moment, the two of you fell quiet, the hum of the truck’s engine filling the space. Then Jensen shook his head slightly, like he was shaking off a thought. “You know,” he said, his voice lighter now, “I wasn’t expecting you to say that.”

“To say what?”

“That you’d want to meet them.” He glanced at you, his expression open but vulnerable in a way that made your chest tighten. “It’s not something most people say when they find out about my kids. Usually, it’s… I don’t know. Complicated.”

“Well,” you said, leaning back against the seat, “I don’t see why it has to be. You’ve got kids. That’s just… part of who you are.”

Jensen’s gaze lingered on you a moment longer before he looked away, his grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel. “You’re full of surprises, y/n.”

You smiled faintly, turning to look out the window. “Guess you’ll just have to stick around long enough to figure me out.”

His low chuckle filled the cab, and when you glanced back at him, his grin was softer now, more genuine. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Guess I will.”

The following week on set was bustling as usual, with crew members darting between trailers and the low hum of equipment buzzing in the background. You were sitting in your chair, flipping through the next day’s script, when you spotted Jensen walking toward you.

He was dressed down in a flannel and jeans, a trucker hat pulled low over his messy hair. His character wasn’t in the day’s shoot, so seeing him here caught you off guard.

“Hey,” he said, stopping a few feet away. His voice was warm, but there was an edge of hesitation, like he wasn’t entirely sure he should be there.

“Hey yourself,” you replied, setting the script down. “Didn’t think you were filming today.”

“I’m not,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “Had a few things to take care of nearby, thought I’d swing by and—” He hesitated, his eyes flicking over your shoulder before coming back to yours. “Well, JJ wanted to meet you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the name, and when you followed his gaze, you saw a small blonde girl peeking around the corner of a trailer. Her curious eyes darted between you and her dad, and she held a stuffed animal tightly against her chest.

“JJ, come on,” Jensen said gently, motioning for her to join him.

The little girl hesitated for a moment longer before walking over, her steps slow but confident. When she reached Jensen’s side, she tilted her head up at you, her expression suspicious but not unkind.

“You’re the one who works with my dad?” she asked, her voice sharp and inquisitive.

“Guilty,” you replied with a small smile. “And you must be JJ.”

She nodded, clutching her stuffed animal a little tighter. “Dad said you’re pretty cool.”

“Did he?” you asked, glancing up at Jensen, who looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. “Well, I hope I don’t disappoint.”

JJ studied you for a long moment before her lips twitched into a faint smile. “You don’t look disappointing.”

“High praise,” Jensen muttered, his ears turning pink.

“Very high praise,” you agreed, grinning.

For a while, the three of you talked—well, mostly JJ, who quickly warmed up and launched into a detailed explanation of her stuffed animal’s adventures. Jensen mostly stood back, watching with a quiet kind of pride that made your chest ache.

When JJ finally ran off to explore the craft services table, Jensen stepped closer, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“She’s a little firecracker, huh?” you said, your tone light but genuine.

“She is,” he agreed, his eyes still following her. “Takes after her mom that way.”

You hesitated, sensing the weight of his words. “What was she like? Your ex-wife, I mean,” you asked carefully. “If that’s okay to ask.”

Jensen’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he looked down, his hat shielding his face for a moment. “She’s… she’s a good mom,” he said finally, his voice quiet but steady. “We just… grew apart. Things got complicated. It’s a story for another time.”

You nodded, not wanting to push, but your curiosity lingered. Before you could respond, Jensen’s tone shifted, lighter now as he glanced back up at you. “Speaking of stories for another time,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “how about dinner? Just you and me. No kids, no set, no distractions.”

Your brows lifted in surprise, and his grin widened, the hint of nervousness beneath it only making him more endearing.

“Is this your way of changing the subject?” you teased, though your heart was already racing.

“Maybe,” he admitted, his voice low and warm. “Is it working?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “Alright, Ackles. Dinner it is. But I’m holding you to that story someday.”

“Deal,” he said, his grin softening into something more genuine.

JJ came bouncing back then, holding two cookies and insisting you take one, and the moment shifted back to something lighter. But as the day wore on, you couldn’t shake the weight of what he’d said—or the anticipation of what might come next.

The next evening, as you finished getting ready, you couldn’t help but replay the moment Jensen asked you out in your mind. You’d exchanged numbers the first night you met—he insisted it was “just in case you get lost on set” with a teasing grin—but the texts that followed were anything but formal. He’d sent a few casual check-ins, a couple of jokes, and even a photo of JJ’s latest drawing with the caption: Future Picasso, right?

Still, this was different. Tonight wasn’t just a casual moment on set or a chance meeting. Tonight, he was picking you up for an actual date.

You kept brushing your hair and making sure your little black dress was perfect, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in your stomach as you heard the sound of his truck pulling up outside. A few seconds later, there was a knock on your door.

When you opened it, Jensen stood there, his hands shoved into his jeans pockets, his flannel swapped out for a fitted black button-up that made him look effortlessly put together. His smile was immediate, and a little crooked, like he was trying not to look too eager.

“You clean up nice,” he said, his voice warm and teasing.

“So do you,” you replied, grabbing your bag.

As you stepped outside, he held the door open for you, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze lingered, like he was taking you in for the first time.

The drive to the restaurant was easy, filled with laughter and light conversation. He told you a funny story about JJ’s attempt to negotiate for a later bedtime, and you shared a tale about a childhood mishap that left you both in stitches.

When you arrived at the small, tucked-away Italian place he’d picked, the cozy, intimate atmosphere immediately put you at ease. You were just getting settled at your table when you heard a familiar laugh from across the room.

“Jensen Ackles, as I live and breathe!”

You turned toward the voice to see Jared Padalecki striding over, his wife, Genevieve, trailing behind him with a knowing smile.

“Great,” Jensen muttered under his breath, though the grin spreading across his face betrayed him.

Jared clapped a hand on Jensen’s shoulder before pulling him into a quick hug. “Didn’t know you were bringing a date,” he said, glancing at you with a friendly, curious smile.

“Well, now you know,” Jensen said, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Hi,” you said, offering your hand to Jared. “I’m—”

“I know who you are,” Jared interrupted, shaking your hand enthusiastically. “Jensen never stops talking about you.”

“Jared,” Jensen said, his voice laced with warning, though there was a hint of embarrassment in his tone.

“What? It’s true!” Jared teased before turning to Genevieve. “See? I told you this guy’s all grown up, finally asking someone out.”

Genevieve rolled her eyes affectionately before extending her hand to you. “Ignore him,” she said. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You too,” you replied, feeling a little overwhelmed by the sudden attention but charmed nonetheless.

After a few more minutes of banter—most of it at Jensen’s expense—Jared finally relented. “Alright, we’ll let you two enjoy your night. But don’t be a stranger, Ackles.”

As they walked away, Jensen let out a long breath, shaking his head. “That’s Jared for you. Subtle as a freight train.”

“I can see why you two are close,” you said with a grin.

“He’s family,” Jensen said simply, his tone warm. “Has been for years. We’ve been through a lot together.”

The way he spoke about Jared reminded you of how he talked about his kids—with an unshakable loyalty that made your chest tighten.

“I like them,” you said honestly.

“They like you too,” Jensen replied, his smile softening as he leaned back in his chair. “But I’m pretty sure I like you more.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile back. “Guess we’ll see about that,” you teased, taking a sip of your wine.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of conversation and laughter, each moment drawing you closer. And as Jensen drove you home later, the comfortable silence between you felt like a promise—one neither of you needed to say out loud just yet.

After Jared and Genevieve returned to their table, Jensen shook his head, a low chuckle escaping him. “You okay? Surviving the Padalecki tornado?”

“Barely,” you replied, still laughing. “Though I can’t believe he called you out like that.”

“He lives for it,” Jensen said, leaning back in his chair. “Gets off on embarrassing me.” His eyes flicked to yours, a glint of something more than humor in them now. “But I can take it. Just means I owe him one later.”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” you teased, swirling the wine in your glass.

“Always do,” he said, his tone low, his gaze holding yours for just a beat too long.

The rest of the meal passed with ease, though the air between you had shifted. The teasing banter still came, but there was a weight beneath it now, an unspoken tension that grew with every subtle brush of his fingers against yours when he passed you the breadbasket or refilled your water.

By the time the check came, your cheeks were flushed—not from the wine, but from the way his eyes lingered on you, like he was trying to memorize every detail.

The drive back to your place was quiet at first, the silence thick with anticipation. Jensen kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the console, his thumb tapping in time with the faint music playing through the speakers.

When he pulled up outside your building, he cut the engine and turned to you, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, with a small, almost nervous smile, he said, “I had a good time tonight.”

“So did I,” you replied, your voice softer than you intended.

He hesitated, his fingers brushing against the keys in the ignition before he looked back at you. “You gonna invite me up, or do I have to sit here and hope you text me?”

The boldness of the question caught you off guard, but you didn’t miss the way his voice dipped, or how his eyes dropped briefly to your lips before darting back up to meet yours.

Your breath hitched, and before you could second-guess yourself, you said, “Come up.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a slow, knowing grin. “Didn’t think you’d say no,” he murmured, climbing out of the truck and following you to your door.

Inside, the air felt heavier, quieter. You barely had the chance to kick off your shoes before Jensen was there, standing closer than he had all night. His fingers brushed against yours, a light, teasing touch that sent electricity racing up your arm.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his voice low.

Your reply was barely a whisper, but the way his eyes darkened told you he’d heard every word. “I wouldn’t have invited you up if I wasn’t.”

That was all it took. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as his lips claimed yours in a kiss that was slow but insistent, like he’d been waiting all night for this. You both smiled against each others lips. And when you finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, the look in his eyes promised that this was only the beginning.

A/N: im glad this is getting so much love, and please let me know if i add 'solene' instead of y/n anywhere.

@justwhisperingfantasies @impala67rollingthroughtown @deansimpalababy @jackles010378 @winchesterwild78 @sexyvixen7

lmk if u wanna be added to the tag list.

#jensen fucking ackles #jensen x reader #jensen ackles #spn cast #jackles #jensen ackles fanfiction #jared padalecki #genevieve padalecki

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rhobi · 1 year ago

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The Audi

Homeplanet: Aodilea (Frontier) Habitat: Temperate Coastal Lifespan: ??? Diet: Mesocarnivore (50-70% meat consumption)

Evolving from ancient oceanic odontocetes off the northwestern coastline of the Frontier supercontinent, the Audi are gentle giants and reknowned for their pride, curiosity, and hospitality. Audi have exceptional hearing and tactile awareness to offset their incredibly poor eyesight that gets worse the older (and larger) they get. They also sport a handsome melon to assist in their own form of echolocation, a frequency too low for the human ear to parse. Species with more delicate hearing have often complained of Audi cities being the one of the most audibly overstimulating experiences due to this rumble being incessantly present.

Audi lack any form of dymorphism, as every individual has the capabilities to become pregnant and induce pregnancy.

More about the Audi life cycle under the cut.

The Audi are (assumedly) the longest-living species of sentient lifeforms in the Laurelai Galaxy. It is difficult to pinpoint age in any Audi due to their complete lack of any calendar system; Audi view time as constantly moving forward instead of cyclically repeating, and age records were never anything of value.

Because of their lack of birth dates, Audi categorize their lives into phases. Their first official phase is childhood, with their lack of an 'infant' category caused by the species having two fetal incubation periods: the first organic and the second synthetic. Audi give birth incredibly prematurely due to their narrow pelvic gap, and, to prevent damage and even death to the parent, birth is induced within a two-to-three month time period. Full fetal growth is achieved at ten to eleven months, with the second incubation period done with the asisstance of advanced medical technology that simulates a natural womb. Due to this technology, Audi's infant mortality rate went from 80% down to 25% with three out of four Audi infants reaching childhood.

The second phase is adulthood. What criteria needs to be met for this phase is up to speculation, as Audi seem keen on keeping that information private. What can be assumed is that it's personal for every Audi, and every Audi reaches adulthood at different times. Height ranges anywhere from 6'8" (203cm) to 9'11" (302cm) on average, with older individuals being on the taller end due to Audi constantly (albeit slowly) growing their entire lives.

The final phase is She, a coveted example of Audi excellence and potential. Reaching the phase of She takes an impossible amount of time and physical growth. Every She, of which there are currently six, has a leadership role, ranging from cultural preservation and the arts to science and engineering, with each She taking a 'mastery' of one of these core values of Audi society. An interesting note is that every She is referred to as 'She', making it difficult for outsiders to deduce which of the six She is being referenced. She cap out the Audi height range at an even 10' (304cm), though why this is considered maximum height or how they suppress growth past this point is still being studied.

#art #speculative biology #laurelai audi #<-a tag to use for every species that exists in this galaxy i've made #they do have clothes of some sort this is just the barbie doll version #and every vague thing in this writing is on purpose i promise there's a reason for all of it

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melyzard · 10 months ago

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The World is Amazing, Actually (Part 11 or 12, I lost count)

It's been awhile since I made a post about how fucking rad the world actually is, and amidst all the pandemics and climate change and economic troubles, I felt the need.

So:

Today’s Wild Place (The Earth is An Alien Planet):

The Danakil Depression, Ethiopia:

The Danakil Depression is probably the closest you'll ever be able to come to standing on the surface of Venus (without the crushing atmosphere, of course). Choking sulphuric acid and chlorine gases fill the air, while acid ponds and geysers pepper the landscape.

- Daisy Dobrijevic, published July 4, 2022

(BTW scientists recently discovered microbes capable of surviving in this toxic, extremely hot environment, which means...well, even if we kick the bucket, life will continue. There's something comforting in knowing that no matter how bad we screw up...life will go on.)

Today’s Incredible Feat of Engineering (look! at what! we made!):

Ouarzazate Solar Power Station in Morocco, which has gone solar in a big way.

(Which means they are making a huge contribution to helping fight toxic pollution, noise pollution, water use, land destruction, and carbon emissions. No really, there are charts. Reducing carbon emissions charts. Reducing irresponsible land use charts. Charts! Graphs! Data samples!)

Today’s Cool Life Form (the rare, the weird, the beautiful):

The Hispaniolan Solenodon.

A very rare, nocturnal, shrew-like creature that is one of the few mammals able to produce venom. Look at him! Look at his snout! He's just a little guy! He will bite you and run away on his back legs! He's rare, and endangered, but not gone! Not gone yet, bitches!

(Bonus: 10 Fun Facts About the Solenodon)

Today’s Bizarre Mystery (no, seriously, wtf?):

The Great Unconformity.

Hey, remember the Grand Canyon? Remember how we can see the passage of time through each layer, going back hundreds of thousands of years?

Did you know that apparently, on this massive record of earth's geological history, there's a chunk of time missing? Science has some hypotheses about how and why this happens (and yes, it's been found in more than one place), but they are really only hypotheses, and no one's really sure what happened to, oh, 1.6 billion years, give or take.

Today’s Act of Humanity (yes, we are worth the effort):

After fleeing a war, Ukrainians rush to help Mississippi tornado victims.

"They made the 16-hour drive south to donate bottled water and volunteer with aid workers, buoyed by the idea that they could help a community facing a similar struggle to theirs.

“We had to leave our home,” Pavliuk told The Washington Post in Ukrainian, in an interview interpreted by Hrebenyk. “And they don’t have a place to go back, either.”"

NEW CATEGORY:

Today's Good News About The Future (No, It's Not Too Late and Anyone Who Says Otherwise is Selling Something):

The Saiga Antelope, a species critical to the continued survival of huge swathes of grassland, that in 2003 was down to 6% of it's population and already extinct in it's natural habitat of China and Ukraine, has rebounded back to almost 2 million strong thanks to conservation efforts.

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amethystarachnid · 2 months ago

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Hi, how are you doing? ☺️

I’m here to make a little request for Tony Stark/Female Reader, please.

Prompt: Secret Santa

Background: Tony all cute and happy trying to find the best gift for her (maybe something handmade that reminds them of their relationship, I’m not the best person to think about those things, but I’m sure you will find something amazing) and Reader immediately knows what she’ll give to him, a box either a positive pregnancy test, some ultrasound pictures, a cute little iron man onesie with “Iron Baby” written and some other cute little things.

Thank you in advance! 💜

SECRET SANTA

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.6k

ᯓ★ Summary: While Tony is trying desperately to find the perfect gift for you you already have the perfect one hidden from him. Whose gift will be the best?

ᯓ★ TW(s): pregnancy

ᯓ★ To adapt the them to the request it isn't a secret santa so it'll be just a exchanging gifts kind of things

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Snow falls gently outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Stark Tower penthouse, each flake sparkling like tiny diamonds against the glow of New York City’s Christmas lights. Inside, the hum of J.A.R.V.I.S.’s automated systems and the faint strains of a holiday playlist create a cozy atmosphere. You’re lounging on the oversized couch, nestled under a throw blanket with a mug of peppermint hot chocolate warming your hands, your gaze occasionally drifting to the man who seems to embody the Christmas spirit this year.

Tony Stark is a whirlwind in the kitchen, entirely out of his natural habitat but utterly determined. He’s wearing a Santa hat that’s slightly askew, paired with an old, grease-stained AC/DC t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. His expression is one of laser focus as he uses an intricate set of tools — not culinary ones, mind you, but Stark-grade gadgets — to try and assemble what looks like a cookie cutter. The sight is simultaneously adorable and ridiculous, and you can’t help but smile as he mutters something under his breath about structural integrity and the optimal dough thickness.

“You know,” you tease, setting your mug down on the coffee table, “most people just buy cookie cutters. They don’t invent them.”

Tony looks up from his project, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yeah, well, most people aren’t me, are they? If I’m going to make Christmas cookies for my amazing girlfriend, I’m going to do it right.”

You laugh, the sound echoing warmly through the room. “Cookies? Is that what you’re calling this… whatever this is?”

“This,” Tony says, holding up a vaguely star-shaped cutter with an air of triumph, “is engineering at its finest. And you, Ms. Skeptical, are going to eat the best Christmas cookies of your life.”

Your heart swells, the playful banter a familiar rhythm in your relationship. He’s been like this for weeks — uncharacteristically domestic and brimming with holiday cheer. You suspect it has something to do with the Christmas gift he’s been hinting at. Every time he tries to subtly ask you about what you might want, you see that telltale Stark gleam in his eye, the one that means he’s up to something.

Meanwhile, you’ve already decided on your gift for him. It’s sitting in a little box, tucked away in your closet, and every time you think about giving it to him, a wave of nervous excitement washes over you. It’s perfect, you’re sure of it, but it’s also a bombshell — the kind of gift that changes everything.

Tony’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. “Hey, you good? You’re smiling like you’ve got some secret.”

You grin, trying to play it cool. “Just enjoying the show. You’re surprisingly cute when you’re playing mad scientist with cookie cutters.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your sass, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Careful, or I might make you wear the Santa hat and help me. Equal partnership, remember?”

“Nice try, Stark, but you’re on your own for this one.” You stretch lazily, enjoying the way his eyes flicker to you, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “I have my own holiday preparations to deal with.”

Tony narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Preparations, huh? Like what?”

“Like… wrapping your gift.”

His expression shifts instantly, from suspicion to unbridled curiosity. “You already got me something? Why didn’t you tell me? What is it? Is it a car? A private island? Oh my god, is it a pony?”

You burst out laughing, clutching your stomach. “Why would I get you a pony?”

“I don’t know!” Tony throws up his hands. “You’re unpredictable. That’s one of the things I love about you. You could totally be the kind of person who buys her billionaire boyfriend a pony just to mess with him.”

Shaking your head, you rise from the couch and walk over to him, slipping your arms around his waist. He smells like a mix of motor oil and peppermint, a strangely comforting combination. “You’ll just have to wait until Christmas morning like everyone else.”

He groans dramatically, leaning his forehead against yours. “But waiting is the worst.”

You laugh softly, your fingers playing with the hem of his t-shirt. “You’ll survive.”

Tony pulls back, giving you that crooked grin that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. “You’re lucky I’m crazy about you.”

“I know,” you say, kissing his cheek. “And for the record, I’m crazy about you too.”

The rest of the evening unfolds in a blur of laughter, cookie dough catastrophes, and a flour fight that leaves the kitchen looking like a snowstorm hit it. By the time you crawl into bed, Tony is already brainstorming ways to improve his cookie cutter design, his notebook balanced precariously on his lap.

As you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but think about how much your life has changed since Tony came into it. He’s still the same brilliant, unpredictable man you fell in love with, but there’s a softer side to him now, one that he only shows to you. It’s a side that makes you even more excited about the future — a future that’s about to become even more chaotic, and infinitely more wonderful.

The next morning, you wake up to the smell of coffee and the sound of Christmas music playing softly in the background. Tony is already up, standing at the counter with his back to you, tinkering with something that looks suspiciously like a robotic arm holding a whisk. You smile, shaking your head at his endless creativity.

“Morning,” you say, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind.

He turns his head to look at you, his face lighting up. “Morning, gorgeous. Coffee’s on the counter.”

You grab your mug and take a sip, savoring the warmth. “What’s on the agenda today?”

“Shopping,” he announces, spinning around to face you. “I’m on a mission to find the perfect gift for the perfect woman.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And who might that be?”

Tony smirks. “Funny. You might know her. Smart, beautiful, has an impeccable sense of humor. Bit of a troublemaker, though.”

You laugh, leaning against the counter. “Well, good luck with that. She sounds like she has pretty high standards.”

“Oh, she does,” Tony says, his expression softening. “But she’s worth it.”

Your heart melts a little, and you reach up to brush a strand of hair away from his face. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you,” he quips, grabbing his coat. “Now, come on. Let’s go spread some holiday cheer — Stark style.”

The day is a whirlwind of activity. Tony drags you to every shop in Manhattan, insisting that he needs your input for “research purposes.” You play along, knowing full well that he’s trying to throw you off the scent of whatever he’s planning. At one point, he buys an absurdly oversized stuffed reindeer and insists on carrying it around for the rest of the day, much to the amusement of passersby.

By the time you make it back to the penthouse, your feet are aching, but your spirits are high. Tony collapses onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, the reindeer perched proudly next to him.

“That,” he declares, “was a successful mission.”

“Did you actually buy my gift, or was this just an excuse to act like a Christmas lunatic?” you ask, flopping down beside him.

“Both,” he admits, pulling you into his arms. “But mostly the gift thing. You’ll love it, I promise.”

You rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “I’m sure I will.”

As you sit there together, surrounded by the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree and the quiet hum of the city below, you realize that this is what you love most about the holidays. It’s not the gifts or the decorations — it’s the simple, joyful moments with the man you love.

And if everything goes according to plan, this Christmas will be one you’ll both remember for the rest of your lives.

The Stark Tower is unusually lively this morning, the energy of Christmas buzzing through its futuristic halls. Tony is in a festive yet frantic state, pacing the penthouse like a man on a mission. His hair is slightly tousled, his signature goatee impeccably groomed, but there’s an unmistakable panic in his eyes. In one hand, he clutches a tablet loaded with potential gift ideas — all of which he’s already rejected.

“I’ve got nothing,” he mutters to himself, collapsing onto the plush sofa. “Nothing! Billionaire genius, and I can’t even come up with a gift for my girlfriend. Pathetic.”

J.A.R.V.I.S., ever the voice of reason, chimes in. “Perhaps if you focused on what Ms. Y/N truly enjoys, sir, instead of cross-referencing gift lists from obscure online influencers—”

“Don’t start, J,” Tony cuts in, running a hand through his hair. “She’s already got everything. I mean, I got her that custom jet last year. How do you top a jet? You can’t just show up with…I don’t know…a fruit basket.”

“Fruit baskets do have their appeal,” J.A.R.V.I.S. responds with what could almost be sarcasm. “But perhaps the Avengers could provide some inspiration?”

Tony freezes mid-panic spiral. That’s not a terrible idea. Sure, it’s risky — the team isn’t exactly known for their emotional intelligence — but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Fine,” he says, springing to his feet. “Avengers assemble… into my gift crisis.”

Tony’s first stop is the gym, where Steve Rogers is predictably punching a bag that looks like it’s seen better days. Captain America, always dependable. Surely he’ll have a wholesome, foolproof idea.

“Cap!” Tony calls out, striding into the room. “I need your help.”

Steve turns, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Help with what?”

“Gift ideas for Y/N,” Tony explains. “You’re all about romance, right? Flowers, dances, old-school charm?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s entirely accurate.”

“Come on,” Tony pleads. “What would you get Peggy?”

Steve hesitates, clearly caught off guard. “Well… something meaningful. Like… a locket. Or a handwritten letter.”

Tony blinks. “A letter? Seriously? What am I, a 1940s soldier? This is Y/N we’re talking about.”

Steve shrugs. “You asked for my opinion.”

“Yeah, and I’m returning it for store credit.” Tony claps him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Cap. I’ll try not to let your advice tank the relationship.”

Steve sighs, going back to his punching bag. “Good luck.”

Next up is Natasha, who’s in the middle of yoga in one of the quieter rooms. Tony approaches cautiously, aware that interrupting her zen could be hazardous to his health.

“Nat,” he begins, leaning against the doorway. “I need a favor.”

She doesn’t even open her eyes. “Is this about Y/N’s gift?”

Tony gapes. “How did you—?”

“Because you’ve been pacing around the tower like a maniac all morning,” she replies coolly, finally sitting up and fixing him with a knowing look. “What do you have so far?”

“Nothing. Nada. Zilch.”

Natasha smirks. “And you want me to tell you what to get her.”

“Exactly!” Tony points at her like she’s just cracked the code to cold fusion. “You’re sharp. Observant. What’s the perfect gift?”

Natasha considers for a moment, then says, “Something personal. Handmade, maybe. You’re good with your hands.”

Tony grins, but before he can make a suggestive comment, she cuts him off with a glare. “Not like that. I mean something that shows how much you care. Jewelry, maybe. Or art.”

“Jewelry… art…” Tony mutters, pulling out his tablet. “Great, now I just have to learn how to sculpt in two days. Thanks, Romanoff.”

“Happy to help,” she says dryly, already returning to her yoga pose.

From there, Tony tries Clint, who’s stringing up Christmas lights in one of the communal areas. Clint’s advice is as chaotic as expected.

“Easy,” Clint says, perching precariously on a ladder. “Just get her a puppy. Chicks love puppies.”

Tony stares at him. “I am not bringing a dog into this tower.”

“Why not? Dogs are great. They’re cute, cuddly, and they make up for any shortcomings in the gift department.”

Tony rubs his temples. “I’m not trying to distract her from my shortcomings, Barton. I’m trying to impress her.”

“Suit yourself,” Clint shrugs, hanging a lopsided string of lights. “But don’t come crying to me when she says she wanted a golden retriever.”

Bruce is in the lab, predictably surrounded by gadgets and scientific equipment. Tony hopes the two of them can put their combined genius to work on this problem, but Bruce is far less helpful than anticipated.

“Maybe you could write her a song,” Bruce suggests, pushing up his glasses.

Tony stares at him. “Do I look like Taylor Swift?”

“I’m just saying, it’s heartfelt. You could compose it digitally if you don’t want to sing.”

“Banner, I love you like a brother, but I’m not serenading Y/N.”

Bruce shrugs. “Your loss. I think she’d like it.”

“Noted.” Tony sighs. “Back to the drawing board.”

Even Happy gets dragged into the chaos. Tony finds him downstairs, supervising the unloading of holiday supplies.

“Happy,” Tony says, leaning against the doorframe. “You’ve known Y/N for years. What’s her ultimate Christmas gift?”

Happy looks at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “You want me to tell you what to get your girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re asking me, the guy who drives you around?”

“Exactly.”

Happy shakes his head. “You’re hopeless, boss.”

Tony groans, throwing his hands in the air. “You people are useless!”

By the end of the day, Tony is no closer to a solution. He’s tried everyone — Sam, Bucky, even Thor, whose advice (“Forge her a hammer!”) was predictably unhelpful. He slumps onto the couch in the penthouse, utterly defeated.

“What if she hates it?” he mutters aloud. “What if it’s not enough?”

“Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. interjects, “if I may offer a suggestion?”

Tony sighs. “What is it, J?”

“Perhaps the best gift you could give Ms. Y/N is a reflection of your relationship. Something that reminds her of the journey you’ve shared.”

Tony frowns, the gears in his mind turning. A reflection of their relationship… Suddenly, it clicks. His face lights up with realization, and he jumps to his feet.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., you’re a genius!” he exclaims. “Why didn’t I think of this sooner?”

“I am programmed to be helpful, sir.”

Tony grins, already pulling out his tools and materials. He’s got a lot of work to do, but for the first time all day, he’s confident. This Christmas, he’s going to give Y/N something truly unforgettable. And if all else fails, well, there’s always next year’s puppy.

The workshop hums with activity as Tony works furiously on his latest project. He’s elbow-deep in wires and microchips, his face illuminated by the glow of holographic schematics projected in the air around him. His Santa hat sits forgotten on the workbench, replaced by his trusty welding goggles, and the upbeat carols playing in the background do little to mask his occasional muttered curses.

This gift has to be perfect. After his disastrous attempts at getting advice from the Avengers, Tony finally landed on an idea that feels right. It’s not about flashy extravagance or grand gestures this time. It’s about them — their inside jokes, their adventures, the little moments that have defined their relationship. The project is both ambitious and surprisingly sentimental, and it’s consuming every ounce of his focus.

“Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. pipes up, “Ms. Y/N has just returned from her errands. Should I inform her of your whereabouts?”

“No!” Tony yelps, nearly dropping a soldering iron. “I mean, no. Don’t tell her I’m down here. And don’t let her come in. This is classified.”

“As you wish, sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replies. “Though I should point out that she may grow suspicious of your… absence.”

Tony pauses, chewing his lip. “Good point. I’ll head up for a bit. Cover for me if she asks anything.”

“As always, sir.”

Tony wipes his hands on a nearby cloth, tugs off his goggles, and makes his way upstairs. As the elevator doors slide open, the familiar scent of pine and cinnamon fills the air, and he spots you in the kitchen, arranging a tray of cookies with a focused determination that rivals his own.

“Hey, Peppermint,” he greets, leaning casually against the doorframe. “What’s cookin’?”

You glance up, a playful smile curving your lips. “Cookies, obviously. You planning to swoop in and steal half of them before they cool?”

“Steal? Never.” He steps closer, the grin on his face equal parts mischief and charm. “I’m just here to, uh, supervise.”

“Uh-huh,” you reply, clearly not buying it. “What’s the catch, Stark?”

He slides an arm around your waist, planting a kiss on your cheek. “No catch. Just missed you.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, setting the tray aside and turning to face him. “And this has nothing to do with trying to figure out what I got you for Christmas?”

Tony’s feigned innocence is laughable. “What? Me? No. I’m just an affectionate boyfriend who loves his girl and—”

“Tony.” Your tone is firm but amused. “You’re not getting it out of me.”

He groans dramatically, letting his head fall against your shoulder. “Come on, just give me a hint. A tiny clue. Like… does it have wheels? Or a remote control?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not a chance.”

Tony leans back, his hands coming up to cradle your face as his eyes search yours. “Okay, what if I said you’re the most brilliant, stunning, wonderful person in the universe?”

“Flattery won’t work.”

“Bribery?”

“Nope.”

“Kisses?” He leans in, brushing his lips against yours in a way that’s almost enough to make you forget what he’s after.

Almost.

You pull back, grinning. “Still no.”

Tony lets out an exaggerated sigh of defeat, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re cruel, you know that?”

“Consider it payback for all the times you’ve teased me with surprises.” You poke him lightly in the chest. “Now go find something else to obsess over.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, though his eyes sparkle with affection. “But this isn’t over.”

It’s definitely not over.

The next day, Tony launches a full-scale investigation. If you won’t spill the beans, maybe someone else will.

Thor is his first target. The Asgardian is lounging on the couch, a giant mug of hot chocolate in hand, as he admires the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. He looks every bit the picture of holiday contentment — until Tony plops down next to him with an unnerving grin.

“Hey, Big Guy,” Tony begins, his tone overly casual. “Enjoying the cocoa?”

Thor nods, his expression serene. “Indeed, Stark. This Midgardian drink is most delightful.”

“Great, great.” Tony leans in slightly. “So, uh… you’re pretty close with Y/N, right?”

Thor raises an eyebrow, clearly sensing an ulterior motive. “She is my dearest friend. Why do you ask?”

Tony shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Oh, no reason. Just curious if she’s mentioned anything about, you know, Christmas gifts. Specifically mine.”

Thor chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound. “You wish to uncover her secret.”

“Exactly!” Tony’s eyes light up with hope. “So spill. What did she get me?”

But Thor shakes his head, his amusement evident. “I swore an oath of silence, Stark. Y/N entrusted me with this knowledge, and I shall not betray her.”

Tony groans, flopping back against the couch. “Come on, Thor. Just a hint. A riddle. Morse code, even.”

“I cannot,” Thor replies firmly. “But take heart, my friend. I am certain you will be most pleased with her gift.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony mutters. “Thanks for nothing, Thunderlord.”

Undeterred, Tony moves on to Sam and Bucky, who are bickering over whether or not Die Hard counts as a Christmas movie.

“Guys,” Tony interrupts, sliding into the seat between them. “Serious question: What did Y/N get me for Christmas?”

Sam snorts. “You think she told us?”

“Please,” Bucky adds, not even looking up from the screen. “Y/N knows we’re terrible at keeping secrets.”

“Exactly,” Tony says. “So if she did tell you, you’d crack by now. Which means she didn’t. Which means you’re useless to me.”

“Glad we cleared that up,” Sam deadpans.

Even Bruce, who’s usually patient enough to entertain Tony’s antics, is less than helpful.

“She didn’t tell me,” Bruce insists, adjusting his glasses. “And even if she did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Tony sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do none of you understand the concept of loyalty?”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Tony, if anyone here has loyalty to Y/N, it’s you. Why don’t you trust her gift will be amazing?”

Tony opens his mouth, then closes it. Bruce has a point. But that doesn’t mean he’s any less curious.

Back in his workshop that evening, Tony tinkers with his own project, trying to push thoughts of your gift from his mind. He’s almost finished now — just a few more adjustments, and it’ll be ready. As he assembles the final pieces, he thinks about all the moments that led up to this Christmas: your first date, the time you stayed up all night helping him debug a faulty suit, the way you make him laugh even on his worst days.

This gift isn’t just a present. It’s a thank you, a promise, and a celebration of everything you’ve built together.

And even though you’re driving him crazy with your secrecy, he knows one thing for certain: Whatever you’ve got planned, it’s going to be unforgettable.

With that thought, Tony sets down his tools, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. He doesn’t need to know what your gift is — not yet. For now, he’s happy just knowing he has you.

Christmas morning in the Stark Tower is a scene straight out of a holiday movie. The enormous tree in the living room is aglow with lights, its base surrounded by neatly wrapped presents. Snow falls gently outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, a soft white backdrop for the festive chaos unfolding inside.

You’re curled up on the couch in your favorite pajamas, a mug of hot cocoa in hand. Tony, ever the big kid at heart, has already passed out Santa hats to everyone present, including himself. He wears his tilted at a jaunty angle as he lounges beside you, an arm slung around your shoulders.

“All right, folks!” he announces, clapping his hands together. “It’s showtime. Let’s get to the main event: gifts.”

The Avengers have gathered around the tree, a motley crew of holiday cheer (and mild bickering). Thor booms with laughter as he rips open a package containing a novelty hammer-shaped mug. Natasha smirks as she unwraps a sleek new set of throwing knives from Clint. Even Bruce looks delighted by his custom-designed science gadget from Sam.

But you and Tony? You’ve been waiting for this moment all morning, both of you teasingly delaying the exchange of your gifts.

“You first,” you say, nudging him with your elbow. “I want to see what you’ve been hiding in that workshop of yours.”

Tony’s grin spreads wide, a mix of excitement and nerves. “Oh, trust me, sweetheart, this one’s worth the wait.”

He reaches under the tree and pulls out a medium-sized box wrapped in shiny silver paper. Handing it to you with a flourish, he leans back to watch your reaction, his eyes sparkling like a kid on Christmas morning.

You tear into the wrapping paper eagerly, revealing a sleek wooden box with a brass clasp. Inside, nestled in velvet, is a handcrafted piece of art—a delicate, intricate snow globe. The base is engraved with your initials intertwined with his, and the scene inside is unmistakably Stark: a miniature version of you and Tony, standing arm in arm next to a scaled-down Iron Man suit, all framed by a sparkling winter wonderland.

Your breath catches. “Tony… this is…”

“There’s more,” he interrupts, leaning forward eagerly. “Shake it.”

You do, and as the snow swirls around, holographic lights within the globe flicker to life. Tiny projections play out in the air—a montage of your most cherished memories together, from your first date to lazy mornings in the penthouse, all culminating in a tiny glowing heart, just like the one in Tony’s arc reactor.

Tears well in your eyes, and you look up at him, overwhelmed. “Tony, this is… it’s perfect. It’s us.”

He smirks, brushing it off, but you can see the pride in his eyes. “I figured I’d go for something understated this year.”

You laugh, setting the globe carefully on the coffee table before launching yourself into his arms. “Thank you. I love it. I love you.”

“I know,” he quips, pulling you into a kiss that’s soft and sweet. “Merry Christmas, Peppermint.”

The rest of the room groans at the display, but neither of you notice.

“Okay,” Tony says after a moment, clearly eager now. “Your turn. Let’s see what my genius, gorgeous girlfriend came up with.”

You grin, your nerves suddenly kicking in as you grab the box you’ve been hiding behind the tree. It’s wrapped in festive red paper, topped with a glittery bow.

“Here,” you say, handing it to him. “Be careful. It’s… uh… delicate.”

Tony narrows his eyes playfully. “Delicate? What did you get me, a Fabergé egg?”

“Just open it,” you reply, your heart pounding.

He takes his time unwrapping it, deliberately dragging out the suspense until you swat his arm. Finally, he pulls off the lid, revealing a soft, tiny onesie folded neatly on top. It’s bright red and gold, designed to mimic his Iron Man suit, with “Iron Baby” written across the front in bold letters.

Tony stares at it for a beat, then looks up at you, brow furrowed. “Uh… is this for… like, a doll? Or are you suggesting I start a baby clothing line?”

You can’t help but laugh nervously. “Keep going,” you urge, gesturing toward the box.

Still confused, Tony sets the onesie aside and peeks beneath it. There, tucked beneath a layer of tissue paper, are the ultrasound pictures.

He picks up the first one, his eyes narrowing as he examines it. The confusion melts away in stages—first to realization, then to shock, and finally to an overwhelming wave of emotion. He freezes, his hand trembling slightly as he holds the image.

“Wait,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Is this… are you…?”

You nod, tears brimming in your eyes. “Merry Christmas, Tony.”

For a moment, he’s completely speechless. His mouth opens and closes as he looks from you to the pictures and back again. When the tears come, he tries to hide them by rubbing his eyes, but there’s no stopping the emotion that floods his face.

“Oh, my God,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “You’re pregnant?”

You nod again, smiling through your own tears. “Surprise.”

Tony lets out a choked laugh, setting the pictures carefully back in the box before pulling you into his arms. He holds you so tightly it’s as if he’s afraid you might disappear.

“You made my gift look miserable,” he mumbles against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t compete with this. This is… this is everything.”

“You don’t have to compete,” you whisper back, your arms wrapped around his neck. “This is our everything.”

When he finally pulls back, his face is lit up with a joy you’ve never seen before. He looks at the pictures again, then at you, then back at the onesie, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” he says, more to himself than anyone else. “Holy—wow. This might be the best day of my life.”

You laugh, wiping at your tears. “You think you’re ready for this?”

Tony grins, his trademark cockiness shining through even as his voice trembles. “Are you kidding? I’m Iron Man. I was born ready.”

He pauses, then adds, “Although, uh, maybe I should baby-proof the workshop.”

The two of you laugh, and when Tony pulls you in for another kiss, the rest of the world fades away. It’s just you, him, and the tiny new adventure waiting for you both.

“Merry Christmas, Peppermint,” he whispers against your lips.

“Merry Christmas, Tony.”

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