#my first big post! Jesus !!

[kittykat-pikachu]

i watched sonic 3!! it will take days to emotionally recover from this

[themyscirah]

LET HER REST PLEASEEEEEEEE

Can she not stay in prison for FIVE minutes????

I'm not strong enough for this......

[djsangos]

//'wait if they're sitting on a couch in that picture where's the rest of the couch'

they're sitting on the arm because it makes them look taller and they also think it's cooler even if you can't fucking see the arm of the couch in the image lmao

[the0ther-side0f-dawn]

i think you can hate on taylor swift all you want but its maybe not right to hate on everyday people for enjoying her music

like sure 'jet fuel emissions' but also 100 other celebrities probably? is she really truly causing harm? more so than other big artists? is it wrong to actually enjoy her music? i think its okay for people to like her.

[intertexts]

listening 2 cork tree god i need to write some wards.

[absolutedestinyapocalypsse]

i love how as you read more into tlt, the ninth house seems more and more normal. Like if i'm at an immoral evil government competition, and i use human fat as soap and animate skeletons to do menial labor, i'm gonna LOSE if my competition is the third house, represented by ianthe "who HASN'T eaten human flesh and fucked a corpse" tridentarius. My weird skeleton thing seems normal, suddenly. Well-adjusted, even. It's recycling. They're using resources in a sustainable way. Normal and regular and productive for a post-climate change apocalypse universe.

People go on and on about how Muir drops you into gtn hearing from the person who knows the least about whats happening, and does not hand hold the reader through the crazy shit that occurs, and that's all true. It truly is a crazy writing decision to make your first pov character come from the universe's equivalent of amish fundamentalists. But the reader is actually done a huge favor being dropped into the ninth house first, because we already understand that space is cold and what catholic nuns are, and what goths look like, and what lesbians are. Very little time is wasted in the first chunk of gtn ripping hair out of your head wondering what the fuck is going on, because for all of its strangeness, the ninth house is already the most familiar thing we're gonna get.

Because THEN we learn that this whole universe's medieval chivalry system is designed to groom people from CHILDREN to not only be exploited and used as human batteries for necromancers, but to LIKE it. to wax poetic about it. to confuse it for love, to write fucking academic papers about it! Then we learn about planet flipping, an act so horrific and violent it turns the planet's soul into a massive vengeful monster capable of killing GOD. Like what do you MEAN the animals "change"? Is this why noodle has six legs? I would MUCH prefer to wear skeleton makeup and repent forever if the alternative was to witness my family dog grow TWO EXTRA LIMBS because the planet he lived on fucking died. Suddenly, living in the asscrack of a planet where no light gets in seems like a sweet deal when the whole solar system is lit by a sun that MAKES YOU GO CRAZY. The ninth house's WORST sin, killing 200 babies to make Harrow, a waste of resources and an act so terrible it haunts Harrow for the entire span of her life, is like a BLIP compared to the death count Jod's empire. God even hears about it and he's like, no big deal! The cohort probably kills that amount of people in a DAY.

And its ALSO tragic because you realize that all of this trauma and abuse that Gideon goes through is not really because of the ninth house at all. It's really just an individual skill issue that she wasn't treated with compassion. Nobody hated her because she's jesus or a bomb, nobody even KNOWS she's a bomb. It's just Priamhark and Pelleamena being deeply guilty and scared people that motivates her treatment, and absolutely nothing else.

They did something bad, and they know it, and Gideon survived it, and they can't kill her to cover it up, and that's IT. They killed themselves for pride, because they were afraid of the consequences of their actions (both the baby killing and Harrow opening the tomb) coming back to bite them. You can argue this is the catholicism of it all, and I wouldn't say you're wrong, but compared to the cavalier system, where exploitation is in the very lining of the house's institutions, the ninth house is really removed from the space empire's blood factory. This is compared to the fourth house where they have tons of children to be CANNON FODDER to join the cohort at fucking 14, compared to the eight house uncle nephew fuckery, even the fifth house which actually does seems nice to live on but also seems to have the fourth house in some sort of fucked up political bear hug??? (maybe the fourth house has so many kids in order to fight the fifth's battles? which is EXACTLY what jod's whole empire is about; politely stirring your tea and acting nice while you destroy everything) compared to ALL OF THAT, the cruelty that Gideon faces is really more a bug of the ninth's system than a feature.

There's nothing baked into the culture and everyday life of the ninth house that necessitated that cruelty; in fact, for such a pragmatic and resource-scarce place, it's WEIRD that a strong able-bodied young person was treated like a waste of space and resources. It could just have easily not happened, if Harrow's parents had been different people. Maybe they were products of their environment, but so was Harrow, and she values Gideon's life SO MUCH that she'd literally rather carve out parts of her own brain than exploit her. Gideon grows up knowing really NOTHING about cavaliers, so remote from the horrors of the empire that she develops an idea of what the cohort is from porn magazines. And in a lot of ways, that upbringing was desolate and terrible, and in a lot of other ways it literally DID NOT HAVE TO BE.

Gideon's MAIN THING is that she wants to be useful, to be needed, to be loved and it SUCKS that she couldn't even get it in the one place where she was actually an invaluable resource, where the death empire had the weakest reach. Gideon can't even blame her lack of love on the fucked up chivalry system like everyone else can because it JUST WASNT REALLY RELEVENT!?!?! This is like if i rolled up to the trauma competition and everyone else was raised in a nuclear warzone by wolves or something and i grew up in like, the suburbs and was raised by teachers and i somehow STILL WON. truly what the fuck guys.

[demonic0angel]

People always do how Danny is related to Bruce. Could you please do one where they’re related to Babs instead. Maddie is Gordon’s ex. Babs chose to stay with her dad when they divorced and eventually Maddie moves to Amity/loses touch. It’s actually Babs that Danny and Jazz are related to. Babs is shocked to find out she’s a big sister (twice over) when a girl who looks near identical to her younger self comes to check out some psych books for classes at Gotham U.

(For a minute, I was absolutely horrified to get this ask bc I thought it was Maddie x Babs and I was like ???!?? but then I reread and gave a sigh of relief bc it’s actually the Commissioner x Maddie)

Part 2

Barbara was fervently typing on her computer, pulling up records and social media accounts and old posts. She was typing so fast and hacking into so many databases that everyone who was invading her Tower and her space stopped and stared at her with worry in their eyes.

Jason, as he was bothering Stephanie to go help him on a case, paused and stared at the screen.

“Damn. Who’s that hottie?” He asked, pointing at a picture of a girl with long red hair.

Barbara slapped his hand away and hissed. “Don’t you dare! If you even touch her, look at her, or even breathe the same air as her, I’m posting your blackmail online! And I’m sending Bruce all of the stuff I’ve kept hidden for you!”

“Jesus H. Christ!” Jason shrieked, recoiling with his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay! Touchy! Sheesh!”

Stephanie asked, “Wait, O, who is this? And who’s that boy too?”

Cassandra leaned closer. “Cute.”

Barbara whirled around to glare at her. With the glow of her computer behind her, she looked a little crazy, but no one was going to say it to her face.

Cassandra took a step back with her hands up in the air. She eyed Barbara like she was about to pounce.

“Don’t worry about it,” Barbara took a deep breath and then grumbled. “I’m just figuring something out.”

She muttered something and then continued to type, scrolling and finding more information. At some point, she was pulling up photos and school records from elementary school websites too. There were papers that showed grades from even pre-kindergarten.

Jason, Cassandra, and Stephanie all shared a look. Then they all quietly slipped out of the Tower, leaving Barbara in her information gathering frenzy.

“… so that was weird, right?” Jason said. Stephanie nodded quickly.

Cassandra said, “She was protective over them. She knows them. Or doesn’t, but is trying to.”

“Overcompensation, mayhaps?” Jason hummed. “You think we can find out who they are before she can approach them first?”

Stephanie and Cassandra looked at each other and then nodded at Jason. “I’ll do it only because I’m curious.” Stephanie paused and then looked at Jason and Cassandra with narrowed eyes. “Wait a minute, are you two just interested because the two people she was looking at were cute?”

Jason smiled, batting his eyes innocently. “No?”

Cassandra made a zipping motion between her lips.

Jason grinned and then said, “Well, it’s not like you can stop us, right? We’re in this together. If Babs is going to spread my embarrassing moments online, I’m taking you all down with me, because if we get caught, I’m going to be a snitch. So let’s go!”

Then he took out his grappling hook and then shot it, swinging off of the Tower. Cassandra also quickly followed without any hesitation.

Stephanie sighed loudly, her head hanging. “I’m so going to regret this.”

From a Gotham City apartment, two siblings sneezed in unison. They blinked and then looked at each other oddly before moving on.

It sure was windy tonight.

[rowdydevs]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟: 𝔾𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝

𝙷𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚢!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙶𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: dom!rafe, possessive!rafe, softbf!rafe, pet names, swearing, dirty talk, icky “boy talk” at the beginning (not by rafe), protective rafe, boys tease the reader when she's not there, they see a picture of her in lingerie, they start a video of rafe and the reader having sex but rafe takes it from them, ownership kink, kissing, unprotected public p in v, butt plug, praise, cum tasting, wet and messy, squirting, cockwarming

All of my asks got deleted 💕😭 so I'm not sure who requested this, but thank you! After a few drinks at a hockey party, Rafe gets teased about what a good girl you are, but Rafe knows the truth 💋

Reader's POV:

The basement of the hockey house is alive, post-game with a rowdy crowd. Cheap keg beer spills from red SOLO cups, the packed basement wall to wall with a mix of jerseys and ugly sweaters.

Rafe kicks his feet up, relaxing on the oversized couch with the boys, half-watching some hockey game as they shoot the shit. “Damn,” Alex groans, his wicked smirk glowing in the light of his phone. He zooms in on the screen, smiles, and tosses his head back.

“Jesus Christ,” Kemper hums as he looks at the message Alex got, lifting his phone to “snap” a picture of his—just givin’ Alex hell. “Get outta here,” he shoves him away with a laugh.

“She looks better in that jersey than you,” Kemper shoots back.

“No shit,” Alex pulls it up again, adjusting himself a second later. “She stole my jersey yesterday… Sent me that pic as a congratulations, I guess,” he smiles proudly.

“Where’s Max?” Kemper asks, eyes scanning your group before looking over the back of the couch into the crowd.

“Left about five minutes ago with Lexi,” Rafe adds. “He’s gone for the night.”

“Lucky bitch,” Kemper mumbles against the lip of his can before draining his beer.

“You that desperate, Kemp?” Rafe taunts, lifting an eyebrow in his direction, half-hiding his smirk with his drink.

“Fuck you, Cameron,” he clips as he crumples up his can, tossing the empty drink at JJ. “It’s his fuckin’ fault,” he gestures to Maybank, giving him the finger. “He stole her.”

“Stole her my ass. She wanted me. Not my fault either. You're a goalie, man. Maybe you could switch positions and get pussy from time to time-”

“I get pussy!” Kemper cuts JJ off, cracking another beer open.

“Sure you do,” Rafe taunts, just stoking the fire. Attention naturally falls back to him, the boys ramping up to knock him down a peg. He stretches his big arms along the back of the couch, just waiting for the shit-talking to start.

“Yo, Rafe,” Alex calls out, and Rafe snorts out a laugh, rolling his eyes at the predictability.

“Yeah, man. Get on with it,” Rafe chuckles between sips of beer.

“What about your girl? How long has it been… three, four, five months?” Alex slurs.

“Since what, bud?”

“Since what?” He barbs, mocking Rafe like he knows the first thing about you. “Since you got your dick wet. What do you mean, ‘since what’?

The group erupts in laughter, Rafe's lips curling into an amused smile. He doesn't bat an eye— not hurrying to respond, either.

"She's perfect; that's all you need to know," he replies smoothly. He takes off his cap and runs his fingers through his hair before turning it to the back.

"Come on, man," another chimes in, clearly not letting it go. "That’s it… That’s all we’re gettin’? Is it that fuckin’ bad?”

“M’sorry, Rafey,” Kemper chuckles, shooting him a crooked look.

The teasing continues, but Rafe just leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stares them down, the picture of calm confidence. “You guys have no clue what you’re talkin’ about,” he speaks, his voice calm and smug.

“Sure we don’t,” Kemper laughs. “You tuck her in after the game or what?”

“She’s around here somewhere,” Rafe smiles, glancing at his phone again before setting it on the counter. He smiles to himself, recalling how you sucked his dick on the car ride home from the game; the man fucking you five inches from your life in the shower when you got back.

As much as you loved the side he showed you when no one was watching—soft and sweet. He loved the side of you that no one else got to see as well… filthy and insatiable, your sex drive giving Rafe a run for his money. Rafe didn't need to defend you—or himself. He knows the truth.

“What are you thinkin’ about, Cameron?” JJ asks, catching Rafe smilin—your boyfriend shrugging before he takes a swig of beer.

“None of your fuckin’ business, Maybank,” Rafe laughs.

The conversation drifts back to the topic of conquests, JJ bragging about the girl he snuck on the bus on the last away game, the two fuckin’ in the backseat all the way home.

Rafe’s phone lights up, buzzing on the coffee table. The screen with your name plastered on the front of it shines like a beacon.

"Uh oh,” Kemper pipes, “lover boy's got a text?”

Rafe unlocks the screen and smiles, spreading a little wider. “What the fuck?” He clips as Alex picks the phone out of his hand.

"Let's see what kind of cute little texts your girl sends, huh?” His voice trails away as he looks at the screen, wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open as he catches you in nothing but black lace.

"What?" The others clamor, pushing towards Alex to get a better look.

”C’mon,” Alex whines as JJ plucks the phone off his hands, taking it for himself.

“Goddamn,” Maybank groans as he zooms in.

“Enough, man. What the fuck,” Rafe scoffs as he reaches for it. JJ quickly slides his finger across Rafe’s screen, skimming through the camera roll to find more.

Before Rafe can grab it, JJ lofts it to the next boy, slightly out of Rafe’s reach. Kemper flicks his fingers as well, his eyes doubling when he finds something new.

"Fuckkk, there's a video!" He responds excitedly, one hand gripping the phone, the other extended, fighting Rafe off as he tries to get the device back.

Your sweet moan rips through the phone’s speakers, sending the boys into a frenzy. Rafe's easygoing expression changes in an instant. His smile remains in place, but a razor-sharp edge of possession colors his movements as he stands up, snatching the phone back before they could play any more than a few seconds.

“You like that?” You breathe—your soft, sultry voice echoing faintly through the device before Rafe locks his phone.

The group falls silent, eating their words, struck dumb and speechless as they see a side of you they didn’t imagine existed.

"Like I said," Rafe drawls as he pops another beer, "you've got no idea what you're talkin’ about."

Before the boys can recover, a voice breaks through the haze. “Hey, baby,” you hum. All eyes shifting to you.

The group turns together, watching you step toward the party; your beautiful eyes lock on Rafe’s. He shifts slightly, extending a hand, quickly pulling you onto his lap with a smile. You drape your arm around his neck, Rafe’s arms dressing around your waist, his eyes matching yours, making your stomach flutter.

"Ready to go, baby?" You ask playfully, your intentions for the rest of the night clear in your tone.

“Always,” Rafe smiles as he wets his lip, leaning in for a kiss.

He doesn't hesitate, following you through the crowded hallway, his hand resting on the small of your back to keep you close. The two of you climb the stairs, ducking under tacky Christmas decorations and weaving around people playing beer games at the kitchen table.

Rafe grabs two Coors, popping open one for you and one for him. He sets it down and grabs you by your waist, lifting you onto the counter, moving between your thighs, tilting closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re perfect, sweetheart. You know that?” He asks, his voice low and sweet.

“So are you, baby.” You lean in, pressing a tender kiss against his lips.

“Would you kill me if I told you they saw that picture you sent me?” He asks.

“Rafey…” You laugh gently against his lips, pecking at them again. “You’re givin’ away all my secrets, baby.”

“M’sorry-”

“ I don’t care,” you smile, gently brushing your lips against his. “Let ‘em know what a slut I am for you…”

“You are, aren’t you, princess?”

“Mhmm,” you hum against his lips before sucking off the bottom, making him groan against your lips.

“… You still wearin’ it, baby?” He drawls.

“You told me to be a good girl and keep it in... What do you think?” You flirt.

“Fuckin’ love you,” he hums.

Rafe wraps his arm around you, lifting you off the counter, pulling you through the packed living room: bodies upon bodies, wall to wall, the air thick with heat and booze—music blares from the speakers, pulsing in your chest.

Rafe crashes down on his favorite chair, the two of you snuggling up in the dark corner. His big hands slide up your thighs immediately, gripping your hips as your lips meet.

“I’m the luckiest man here,” he hums as his hands shift your ass, squeezing tight. One of his hands falls lower before rising again, drifting under your skirt.

Rafe rubs his fingers over your pussy, teasing your entrance over your lace panties, soaking them thoroughly. His rough hands trace up your ass, pressing against the plug, making you whimper against his lips.

“Mmm… Good girl,” he breathes. Rafe draws back enough to meet your gaze, making chills run down your spine. "You got no clue what you do to me,” he hums.

Your fingers scratch into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Maybe you should show me.”

His eyes fall to your lips—his lusty smile spreading, matching your own. Rafe moves closer, burying himself in your neck, kissing higher and higher. His heavy breathing hits your ear, making your pussy throb. “Right here…” Rafe mumbles. “Let me put my cock in, princess.”

“You’re gonna fuck me right here?” You giggle dizzily, making him chuckle as well, pulling you in tighter.

“You gonna let me?”

“You know I will…” You coo.

“Thought so… Fuckin’ though? Maybe that's a little risky, even for us. You're just gonna keep me warm for a while…” He lies.

“That’s it?” You ask teasingly as you slip your hand between the two of you, cupping his stiff bulge, making him moan in your ear.

“What—you want more?” He taunts, giving it right back to you.

“I always want more,” you whisper. You slip out of his lap, turning around, facing the crowd, the lot lost in their own worlds. Rafe grabs your chin and turns your face, claiming your lips as he adjusts, pulling his pants down enough to release his aching cock.

His thick dick slaps against his shirt. You reach behind your back, wrapping your hand around him, stroking slowly. Rafe throws his head back on the chair, letting you work him in your fist, thumb skimming over his fat tip. You look over your shoulder, meeting his gaze as you put it between your plump lips, sucking it clean.

Rafe lifts your skirt slightly, pushing your panties to the side. You rise slightly as Rafe seizes his dick in his big hand, swirling around your soaked hole. You claw at the armrests, listening to Rafe hiss out a breath as you sink on his long cock inch by inch.

“Shit,” you whimper as you release your hands, fully sat, adjusting your skirt, feeling Rafe throb inside you.

He moves closer, wrapping strong his arms around your body, tucking himself in your neck. “Pussy’s just made for me, baby,” he breathes, hot against your neck.

You look out into the crowd, but no one is the wiser. Rafe turns your face again, pushing his lips against yours. Your clench around his cock, and he moans against your lips. His hands shift along your body, brushing over your tits, moving down your stomach, slipping just under your shirt.

He presses down on your stomach, making your thigh draw in. “M’so fuckin’ deep,” he whispers as he pushes again, making you gasp against his lips as he feels his own cock.

Rafe’s other hand moves lower, his two long fingers finding your clit over your clothes. Your eyes scan the crowd; the two of you are still in the clear as Rafe starts spiraling his fingers on your sex.

You know you should stay still, not wanting to give yourselves away, but you can help but circle your hips ever so slightly, grinding your wet cunt on Rafe’s lap with his cock buried so deep.

Rafe grabs your hips, his biceps, and forearms, flexing as he pulls you down as hard as he can, making your nails drive into his skin to keep from crying out as he splits you apart. Your head falls forward from the pressure between your thighs.

Your wetness drools from your tight hole, wetting the place between the two of you, making you both a sticky mess. He lifts your hips slightly, fucking up into your slick center, making your eyes roll back.

Rafe belts his arms around your waist, pulling you into him again as you feel your pleasure about to erupt; pussy tightening around him.

“Me too, baby. Me too,” he pants. “Do that thing you were doin’, huh? Grind f’me. Make a fuckin’ mess,” he mumbles. You roll your hips into him, panting against his lips, not caring who sees at this point, more concerned with your pleasure and his.

Your movements start to get sloppy as you lose control. Rafe grabs your hips, coaxing you to the edge. You gush around his cock, creaming and cumming with him, swallowing each other's moans between deep kisses.

The two of you breathe rapidly against each other's lips, little whimpers falling from yours in sensitivity as you feel his pulsing cock move deep in your guts, his cum and the plug making you feel incredibly full.

Rafe pulls you back on his chest, the two of you exchanging sweet kisses as you come down from your bliss. You giggle against his lips, and he smiles against yours at what the two of you just did. You’re shameless display of affection doing nothing but bringing you closer.

He helps you off his cock, buttoning up his pants before guiding you to stand. Before you can step away, he binds his arm around you, pulling you in, lips finding your neck. A sharp gasp and a throaty moan leave your mouth as you feel a loss.

“Why don’t we say goodnight to the boys and head to bed, yeah?” He asks as he tucks the butt plug in his back pocket. You feel the sensation of his warm cum slipping out of your puffy hole and your ass, dripping down your inner thigh. “I wanna be leakin’ out of you when we do, princess.”

[be4chywritez]

trophy boyfriend | quinn hughes

quinn hughes x actress!reader

rec: can you PLEASE do like a actress!reader x quinn hughes and like hes just a dork around her

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

The hum of soft jazz plays in the hotel suite as your glam team moves around you like a well-oiled machine. A makeup artist dabs at the corner of your lips, a stylist adjusts the sparkling hem of your designer gown, and a hairstylist puts the final touches on your updo.

Across the room, Quinn is struggling with his cufflinks.

You glance at him through the mirror, watching as he frowns down at the small buttons, his fingers fumbling slightly. It’s adorable, really—the way this man can maneuver a puck at lightning speed but is absolutely defeated by formalwear.

With an amused sigh, you wave off your team.

“Okay, okay, I got it from here,” you say, standing up and making your way over.

Quinn lets out a breath of relief. “Thank god.”

You shake your head, taking his wrist in your hands. “You are an Olympic athlete,” you tease, carefully fastening the cufflink. “You have literal hand-eye coordination of steel. But this? This is what beats you?”

He huffs. “These things are impossible.”

You smirk, moving onto the next one. “They’re not impossible, babe.”

Quinn just watches you, his expression softening. The way your fingers move with ease, the way you’re so gentle with him, the way you look so stupidly beautiful up close.

And then, before he can stop himself—

“Jesus,” he breathes, low and awed. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Your fingers pause.

The words hit you straight in the chest, so raw, so genuine that it makes you blink up at him.

A slow smile tugs at your lips. “Yeah?”

Quinn nods, completely transfixed. His hands settle on your waist, thumbs rubbing over the fabric of your dress. “Like—so beautiful. I don’t even—” He exhales, shaking his head, almost in disbelief. “—I don’t even have words for it.”

You bite back a grin. “You just said a whole sentence, love.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple. “You know what I mean.”

You do. And the warmth in your chest tells you it’s mutual.

The luxury black SUV glides through the streets of Los Angeles, the distant flashes of cameras already visible as you near the venue.

Quinn shifts slightly beside you, adjusting the cuffs you helped him with earlier. He looks perfect—classic black tux, tousled hair, sharp jawline that’s gonna make Twitter implode in approximately thirty minutes.

But you can tell he’s a little on edge.

“You okay?” you ask, placing a hand on his knee.

Quinn glances at you, then lets out a small huff. “I just—” He rubs a hand over his face. “I feel like I don’t belong here.”

You tilt your head, squeezing his knee. “Why?”

He gestures vaguely. “I mean, look at me. I play hockey. My idea of a big night is, like… eating pasta before a game and going to bed by ten.”

You smile. “Sounds like a riveting lifestyle.”

“I’m serious,” he mutters, but there’s a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

You soften, lacing your fingers with his. “Quinn, you do belong here. I wanted you here, with me. No one else. Just you.”

He glances at you then—really looks at you. The sincerity in your voice, the way you’re still holding his hand even when the cameras outside are waiting to catch every move.

And maybe… maybe he does belong here.

Or at the very least—he belongs with you.

The second your car door opens, the lights and noise explode.

You step out first, flashing an effortless smile, moving through the flashing cameras like second nature.

Quinn follows.

And immediately freezes.

The sheer volume of photographers, the shouted questions, the flashes—it’s all so different from the controlled environment of a post-game media scrum.

His expression doesn’t change, his posture stays stiff. He doesn’t react.

Except—when he looks at you.

You turn back, reaching for his hand. The second he takes it, his fingers curling around yours, something shifts. His shoulders drop slightly, his face loses the blank tightness.

The cameras eat it up—Quinn Hughes, usually stoic, softening the moment you touch him.

But the second you turn away to answer a question, he’s back to looking completely out of place.

The interviewers try.

“So, Quinn! How does it feel being at the Oscars with Y/N tonight?”

He blinks. “Uh… it’s cool?”

A beat of silence.

The interviewer laughs politely. You don’t even try to hide your smirk.

Quinn, to his credit, doesn’t crumble. But you can sense it—the way his hand tightens slightly in yours, the way his jaw tenses.

He’s not freaking out, but he’s not loving it either.

You make a quick decision.

Instead of lingering for more interviews, you squeeze his hand and lean in. “Let’s go inside.”

Quinn doesn’t hesitate.

As you lead him through the last waves of flashing cameras and into the safety of the venue, you feel it—his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

Like a silent thank you.

And when you glance up at him, finally out of the public eye, he gives you a small, private smile.

It’s the first real one of the night.

The theater is breathtaking—warm lights reflecting off golden décor, a hum of energy rolling through the crowd, the biggest names in Hollywood all gathered in one place.

At your table, Quinn sits beside you, his hand resting casually on your knee under the table. His touch is warm, grounding, everything you need to keep yourself from overthinking.

The show moves on, category after category, but as the night stretches on, so do your nerves.

And then—

“And now, the nominees for Actress in a Leading Role…”

Your name flashes across the massive screen, the camera cutting to you at the exact moment your heart slams against your ribs.

You don’t move.

You’re hyper-aware of the way your breathing slows, of how the applause fades into a quiet hum in your ears.

Then—Quinn’s hand tightens around yours.

You glance over.

His thumb sweeps over your knuckles—soft, steady, like he’s reminding you that no matter what happens, he’s right there.

"You got this," he murmurs. So sure.

Your pulse steadies. You squeeze his hand back.

The presenter opens the envelope.

“And the Oscar goes to…”

The pause stretches.

Your stomach flips.

And then—

They say your name.

For a moment, the world stops.

Your mind blanks, heart hammering, ears ringing. You barely register the way the crowd erupts, the way your co-stars cheer.

But Quinn?

Quinn is already on his feet.

He’s not over-the-top, but he’s clapping immediately, beaming. It’s pure instinct—his entire face lit up, dimples deep, eyes wide with pride, awe, love.

You push your chair back, standing on shaky legs, but before you go anywhere—before you even think about stepping onto that stage—you turn to him.

You throw your arms around his neck, holding onto him first.

His arms wrap around your waist without hesitation, his grip strong, his warmth grounding you.

And just as you pull away, you press a quick, breathless kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Then you’re moving—up the stairs, onto the stage, into the blinding lights, the golden statue placed in your hands.

You thank your director, your cast, your team. You keep it short, simple, heartfelt.

And then, just before you finish, your eyes drift back to where Quinn is still standing.

He’s still clapping, still smiling. Like you just hung the stars.

“And, of course,” you add, a small smile pulling at your lips, “to the person who reminded me every day that I could do this. Who never let me believe otherwise. Thank you, Quinn.”

The second you step behind the curtain, Oscar clutched in your hand, your heart still pounding, your eyes immediately scan for him.

It doesn’t take long.

Quinn is waiting just a few feet away, standing with his hands in his pockets, his smile so big it’s practically blinding.

And before he can say anything—before he can even move—

You run straight into him.

He barely has time to react before you throw your arms around his neck, jumping up slightly as his arms come around you.

He catches you with ease, his laugh warm against your ear.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your hands cradling his face. His skin is warm, his smile softer now, his hands still holding you tight like he’s not quite ready to let go.

“You did it,” he murmurs, voice full of something so deep, so real. “I knew you would.”

Your fingers brush over his cheek. “You sure?” you tease. “Because I seem to remember some panicked, middle-of-the-night doubts.”

Quinn huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah, and I seem to remember talking you down from every single one.”

You grin, pressing your forehead to his. “I guess I should start listening to you more often, huh?”

He smirks. “You definitely should.”

A photographer calls your name softly, reminding you where you are, but neither of you move just yet.

You look at Quinn. He looks at you.

And then—

You kiss him. Soft, sure, just enough.

And when you pull back, he just grins, shaking his head like he still can’t believe you’re real.

Before you can say anything else, a stage manager ushers you onto a small carpet where reporters and interviewers lined up.

"How are you celebrating tonight?" the reporter asks, microphone extended toward you.

You barely hesitate. "Probably get In-N-Out with my boyfriend."

The press room bursts into laughter.

Quinn, just a few feet away, shakes his head but can’t hide his smile.

-

The smell of fresh burgers fills the car, the golden statue sitting between you in the backseat.

Quinn takes a sip of his drink, glancing over at you. "So, this is how an Oscar-winner celebrates?"

You tear open a packet of fries. "This is how I celebrate."

Before he can respond, your phone starts buzzing.

Jack.

You roll your eyes and answer, putting it on speaker.

Jack’s voice immediately fills the car. "HOLY SHIT."

Luke’s right behind him. "SHE ACTUALLY WON."

You laugh, reaching for your burger. "You guys stayed up to watch?"

"Duh," Jack says. "Quinn, dude, how the hell did you pull this off?"

Quinn groans. "Good to hear from you too, Jack."

Luke is still processing. "I mean, we always joke about you being the most unexpected couple ever, but like… you really went and did it."

Quinn just shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

And you?

You just squeeze his hand, because you wouldn’t want to be celebrating with anyone else.

You’re back home, fresh out of the shower, warm and sleepy as you crawl into bed next to Quinn.

The Oscar sits on the dresser.

Quinn rolls onto his side, watching you as you settle against the pillows. His hand drifts across your hip, his touch absentminded, lazy.

You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. “You tired?”

He hums. “Not as tired as you.”

You yawn—completely proving his point.

Quinn laughs, tucking you closer, his warmth melting into yours.

“Night, Oscar-winner,” he murmurs against your hair.

You smile against his collarbone. "Night, Hughes."

[damneddamsy]

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

Summary: It's a day out on the town, and Jackson has much more to offer than just a home and traded goods. Perspective, comfort, and a nice helping of lovesickness—all of which catch Joel's eye.

a/n: did you know you can only mention fifty people in a post? that's just plain boring. and no more than five people in a comment? RUDE. and did anyone else see that SNL episode with Pedro and his hip thrusts, and just fucking die? yeah, me too. also - i had so much FUN writing this chapter, the feels, the angst, the yearning, the loooove. thank you all so much, and I hope you like this long ass chapter!

Joel didn’t like looking in the mirror for too long.

It wasn’t vanity—never had been—but it showed too much. Told the truth in ways he didn’t much care for. The deep lines, the greying scruff, the years stacked on top of each other like weathered wood, each one heftier than the last. He preferred the delusion, the easy forgetfulness that came with living day to day, not thinking too hard about the good ol' days or how much he wished time hadn't gotten his hands on him. But today?

Well, today he damn near felt good in his own skin.

The clothes, that Leela generously offered, helped. Goddamn, they smelled amazing. Fresh. Worn but not ragged. The denim was sturdy but soft, the fleece underlayer warm and snug. The shearling jacket fit like something out of another life—one where he had more time, where he cared about how he looked. Even his boots, though a little tight, made him feel like he was standing taller. He couldn't even pronounce the brand of the damn thing—French apostrophes, all that fancy bullshit—but whatever it was, it smelled nice, felt nice.

Oh, for sure: Ellie was bound to give him shit. Tommy even more so.

But really... he couldn't give a flying fuck. Today he felt like he was Joel from Texas again. Like he wasn’t some worn-down relic with a bad knee and a worse past.

On the note of Leela, the big, white house across the street was officially back in order. Finally functional after hours of wrestling with the complex fucking wiring, one of the few cons of such a massive home. Not that it had been much of a fight after the resident brainiac showed up—Leela had already pinpointed the problem in minutes and quietly rattled it off like it was second nature. All he had to do was be her muscle, follow along and weld it. It was more attractive than any love or sex this world had to offer.

Catching his reflection again in the front mirror of Leela's home, Joel ruffled the front of his hair, combing down the longer strands at the back, brushing at his jaw, at the scruff that had grown heavier these days, adjusting the collar, smoothing out the sleeve.

He hadn’t meant to get this caught up in it, hadn’t meant to feel this—what, good? Yeah, good. Christ, what a joke.

He’d just turned to grab Maya's baby blanket off the couch, the breathy voice from the stairs made him stiffen.

“Jesus, Joel.”

He looked up.

Leela was halfway down the staircase, cradling Maya against her chest. She wasn’t wearing the usual loose nightgowns or sweats she’d holed herself up in for months. No, this time, she was in clean, fitted jeans, and a long-sleeved shirt in that same soft blue he liked on her. Her hair was brushed smooth down her back, tucked behind her ears, not tangled and loose like usual.

For the first time, he really saw her. Not just the soft, exhausted mother. Not just the lonely woman who never let anyone too close. Her. Tall and breathtaking. Arch calves, thighs, the swell of her hips, the softness at her love handles that hadn’t quite gone away after childbirth.

And because life had a twisted sense of humour, because the moment was already damn near suffocating from seeing her, she had to go and hit him with—

“I thought you were my dad from the back.”

Joel took that one like a sucker punch straight to the gut. He had to fight the instinct to wince, to let it show. At least she didn’t say granddad, he reasoned, trying to patch up what little was left of his dignity. Small mercies.

He exhaled, fixing his fist into the coat pockets, forcing himself to smirk. “Yeah? He must’ve been one hell of a good-lookin’ guy.”

Leela huffed out a laugh, resting the baby’s cheek against her shoulder. “He loved suede. A huge show-off.”

“Well,” he drawled, tugging at the sleeve, “that's where we disagree. At least the man had taste.”

“He also loved polka-dots,” she pointed out.

He clicked his tongue. “I take the fifth, thanks.”

That earned him another laugh, light and easy, like he’d actually said something funny. He didn’t think too hard about how that was probably all he was to her—just some seasoned guy lending a hand. A reliable acquaintance. Nothing more, nothing less.

But then, feeling excluded, Maya let out a breathless little giggle—one of those soft, airy sounds she always seemed to save just for him—and he feared for whatever was left of his soul, crushing.

Maya was grinning up at him, tiny fists wriggling in her mittens, legs kicking against Leela’s side, looking like a baby worth a thousand pictures in a camera. Bundled up in a white cotton onesie, all warm and snug, her beanie perched on her head with those stupid little ears sticking up like a baby bear. Everything was a size too big like she was still growing into the world.

Joel clutched at his chest, mock-staggering back. “You’re breakin’ my goddamned heart, doll,” he murmured, unable to resist a toothy grin, as he held out his arms for her. “Look at you. C’mere, beautiful girl. G'morning.”

Maya squirmed excitedly, tiny mitten-clad hands grasping the air, and as Joel habitually pressed a warm kiss into her cheek, tempted to steal four more, he caught a glimpse of the gold ‘L’ embroidered on the chest of the onesie. Leela’s old hand-me-down that had survived the test of time.

“Lost an eardrum trying to get her into that,” Leela admitted.

She shook her head but passed Maya over, cracking her knuckles absently as she stretched out her arms, unease becoming her. He adjusted Maya against his side, settling her little weight against him. That was her seat for the rest of the day today.

Then, as if debating something, she asked, “Do you really think it’s fine? Bringing her outside? I'm worried she'll fall sick or...”

Joel arched a brow. “I told you. You’re not goin’ there without me, and Maya’s not goin’ anywhere without either of us.”

Leela chewed on that, still unsure.

Maria had been insistent about her showing up, about giving her insight into the lightning harvester with workers—the innovation she’d designed, the one they were planning to station right outside the dam. The whole quadrant was already in progress, groundwork was being laid, and people getting involved. The biggest project Jackson had taken on in a long while.

Even after Joel had warned Maria that Leela was banged up and still on the mend, she'd cherry-picked the argument and cornered him by labelling him an 'overbearing son of a bitch who was getting on her last nerve'. He'd essentially shut up after that since Maria still scared him witless.

"Look, I've got the kid. You do your thing," Joel said, adjusting Maya as she wriggled against him. "I'll just hang back at the square with Tommy and the rest, stay close by. I'll check up on you after."

Leela pressed her lips together, clearly thinking it over.

Joel tried his hand at persuasion. “Y'know, you've been holed up here for three months.”

Leela blinked. Like she was only just realizing it. Her brows furrowed, fingers lifting as she counted—one, two, three. Each number dropped a new rock in Joel’s stomach.

“More, actually.” Her voice was distant like she was doing the math in real time. “I delivered Maya at home. Nearly... eight months now.”

Eight months. Eight months since she’d stepped beyond these walls, since she’d breathed fresh air, and been around people.

He hadn’t let himself think about it before—hadn’t wanted to—but now the image was there, unshakable. Leela, alone. Covered in sweat, spasming in pain. Bloody, weak, feeling like she was dying, like the walls were closing in, like no one in the world could help her. The raw struggle of it.

His stomach turned. No—Maria would’ve made sure she had someone. She had to have. Someone must've heard her.

Joel was aware of what that kind of loneliness did to a person. How it made you shrink, made you start believing that was all there was—that the world outside didn’t need you anymore. And she’d stayed in here. For eight goddamn months. That wasn’t living.

He cleared his throat, forcing the thought away. No use stewing in it.

“Well,” he muttered, his hand reaching for the door handle, “’nuff said. Let’s get this show on the road.”

X

People in Jackson knew Joel Miller.

Same as Maria. Same as Tommy. They knew him for his angry brow, the way his mouth rarely broke from that grim, set line. They knew the sharpness in his eyes, the way he cut through a room without saying a word. They knew he was a hardass bastard. He didn’t make small talk. Didn’t go out of his way to be liked. He knew he scared off plenty of folks just by standing there, arms crossed, expression set like granite. And that suited him just fine. People left him be.

So seeing him now—walking through town cradling a baby instead of a rifle, with a woman most thought was a ghost at his side—that was gonna be the topic of the damn day.

He could feel the looks, hear the murmurs, the way conversations stuttered as he passed. And he did not give a shit. Let ‘em talk. Let ‘em wonder.

It wasn’t like he was breaking news—his neighbours saw him come and go from her big white house as he pleased. Enough times that people could put two and two together. But this? Out in broad daylight, baby in tow? Now what the hell was going on?

Joel wasn’t the kind of man people expected to be carrying a baby. Much less one that looked at him like he hung the damn moon. And yet, here was Maya, snug against his chest, her tiny fingers curled into his fleece collar, drooling on his coat like it belonged to her.

And Leela—well. She was another matter entirely. She wasn’t just quiet. She was tense. She kept close, but not close enough to touch. Her shoulders were drawn up, her hands flexing and unflexing like she was trying to shake off the feeling of being watched.

And it wasn’t hard to guess why.

People hadn’t seen her in months. Half of Jackson had probably forgotten she even existed. The other half had started whispering about why. Joel had heard it in passing, plenty of rumours. Theories. That she was still sick. That she was holed up with her baby because she was too ashamed to be seen alone. That she was broken, not quite right in the head.

He knew better. He knew she was just trying to get by. Trying to put herself together while holding onto a child that didn’t feel quite like hers yet. And this? Being out here? This was the most out of her comfort zone she’d been in a long time.

Joel kept a steady pace, letting Leela take in what she hadn’t seen in months. He pointed things out as they walked—the grocery store with the fresh carrots now, thanks to the greenhouse. The bar with the good music. The repair shop he visited often. The little barbecue place that always smelled so mouthwatering it was damn near criminal.

He did it all for her. To keep her focused on something else—something that wasn’t the way people watched her. Wasn’t the way she was already winding herself up, bracing for something bad that wasn’t coming.

Joel kept a close eye on her, shifting Maya in his arms, pretending not to notice the way her breathing went uneven. The way she stiffened every time someone got too close. The way she gripped Joel’s elbow a little tighter like she had to remind herself he was still there.

Then, like it was nothing, like this was any other day, he muttered, “Y’ever had barbecue before?”

Leela blinked, like the question startled her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah?” He echoed with a smirk, shifting Maya higher in his arms who was listening to his voice drum in his chest. “That didn’t sound real confident.”

She let out a breath, still gripping his jacket tight. “I have, just… not in a very long time.”

“Well,” he drawled, eyes on the path ahead like this was already settled, “when you’re done with work, I’m takin’ you out. Get you a nice smoked brisket. A big slice of pecan pie with cream. How 'bout it?”

Leela glanced at him, agape. “I don’t... you don’t have to—”

“I know,” he cut in. “I want to.”

She didn’t say anything. A moment later, he felt her hand slip lower, brushing against his wrist. Just a light touch, nothing much. But Joel knew what it meant. The world around her was too much, too fast, too loud. Drowning in the noise of it all.

So, soft and low, he asked, “D’you wanna head inside for a bit?”

Leela barely hesitated. Just nodded once, fast, reaching for Maya like she needed something to anchor herself.

But Maya wasn't having it at all. She whined a stubborn noise, little hands grasping at Joel’s coat, face burrowing into the material, refusing to be handed off when she had just gotten cosy.

And maybe Joel imagined it—but he thought he saw something in Leela’s eyes splinter, that little rejection cutting deeper than it should’ve. A flicker in her dark eyes she buried quick. It looked a hell of a lot like hurt.

But she didn’t say anything. Didn’t react. Just let her hands fall, face blank and turned for the closest door.

Joel followed without a word, close enough, an arm outstretched around her, never touching, his presence simply a buffer between her and the rest of the world.

Inside, it was quiet. The clothing store, he quickly realized. The shelves were full but mismatched, stocked with whatever could be traded, salvaged, or repurposed. Nothing had price tags—Jackson ran on barter. Jackets, boots, canned food, and old records. Everything was up for negotiation. You talked it out with the shopkeep and settled on a fair deal.

Leela didn’t say a word. Just let out a slow, shuddering breath, stepping into a corner aisle, hidden away, and pressing her slick palms against the wooden shelf.

Joel watched her quietly, stroking Maya's back. Eight months locked up in that house, barely speaking to a soul. Now, she is back in the thick of it, remembering how to breathe in open air. No wonder, she looked like she was trying to find her footing. It made sense; people forgot how to be around people.

It was something he'd seen before. The way a person stepped out of the dark after too long, how the world suddenly felt like it could swallow them whole. Some folks got jumpy. Some shut down. Leela was somewhere in between—standing still, silent, stiff as a board, like she was trying to keep herself from bolting.

He’d seen that before, too.

Her fingers curled into the edge of the shelf at her back, grip tightening, knuckles white. She shut her eyes, breathing slow, deliberate—like she was trying to disappear inside herself. Trying to access some space within herself where the world wasn’t pressing in on her.

Yeah. He knew that look all too well now. She was trying not to cry.

Joel shifted his weight, glancing down at Maya, who was blissfully unaware, busy gumming the edge of a scarf she’d pulled off the shelf.

He cleared his throat. “Hey.”

Leela flinched—not much, just a little twitch of her shoulders—but it was enough to tell him that, for a second, she’d forgotten where she was. She blinked, pulling back from wherever she’d gone in her head, and looked at him.

Joel didn’t do the whole let's-address-this-nonsense, so he reached for the first thing that might pull her back. He grabbed an old record from the shelf and held it up. “Wanna put that fancy record player to use?”

Her expression softened instantly. She reached for the record, fingers tracing the edges like she was handling something precious. He eventually noticed the label—The Beach Boys, Wild Honey. What was with him, her and the sixties music?

“I have this one,” she mumbled.

An unsurprising turn of events. “’Course you do.” Joel sighed, sliding it back onto the shelf. "Hard to spoil a rich girl.”

She huffed out a laugh, tired, but at least it was real. She picked up a cloudy snow globe next, giving it a shake, eyes tracking the upending snow inside. “Don’t care for money anymore.”

Joel watched her, watched the way her fingers moved over the glass, trying to wipe away the dust. The way her shoulders had started to relax, just a little. He figured now was a good time for a distraction.

He tipped his chin at her. “You’re sittin’ on a gold mine, darlin'. You got salt. Basil or whatever.”

Her head tilted. "Seasoning makes me rich?"

"You ever eaten twenty years’ worth of QZ ration packs?" He scoffed, thumbing through the record covers. "Tryin’ to remember what real food tastes like while chewing expired crap they call 'dehydrated bolognese'?"

She actually laughed at that—not a breathy little huff, but a real laugh, short and amused. Then her eyes picked up that spark, a sharpness brightening her. “I make my own salt, actually. It’s a chemical reaction. It's fascinating, the sedimentation from caustic soda and—”

Joel lifted a hand to interrupt her, making a 'whoosh' motion over his head. “Alright, you lost me at ‘chemical.’ But if you got some to spare, I'd love to start saltin' my eggs in the morning.”

Her grin widened, but before she could respond, the door clattered open.

Maria swept in like a windstorm, hardly stepping inside, just enough to hold the door open. Clipboard in hand, she scanned the shelves, eyes flicking from one thing to the next, already onto whatever task she had next.

When she finally spotted Leela, she barely paused. “C’mon, kid, people are waiting for you. Let’s go.”

Leela stiffened, a shallow breath catching in her throat.

Joel caught the way her fingers tightened around the snow globe. The way her gaze flickered toward the door, then away just as fast—like she couldn’t look at it too long like it was something too bright, too overwhelming. She had just started breathing again.

He was about to say something—tell Maria to give her a damn minute, at least—but Leela nodded at her before he could get a word out. “I’ll be right there.”

But he saw the way her throat worked, how her hands wouldn’t quite let go of the shelf behind her. Then, she glanced back at him. A flicker. Hesitation. Like she was searching for something—a push, a reason to stall.

Joel had no goddamn clue what to do with that. Flash her a thumbs-up? Offer some dopey, generic shit like, “You got this”? None of it seemed right.

Maya—still happily oblivious, still gnawing on that damp, probably filthy scarf—grinned up at her mother with a gurgle, all gums and trouble. Her small hand finally reached out to her mama like her own little vote of confidence.

Leela’s expression softened, melting at that. She pressed a kiss to Maya's mitten, cupped her cheeks, and pressed another kiss to her head, lingering for a moment, breathing her in. “Don’t miss me too much, baby girl.”

And Joel—who was just holding the kid, who had nothing to do with that kiss—felt it all the way to his goddamn toes, until he curled them tight.

His throat closed when Leela straightened, and before he could react, she reached out, squeezing his shoulder. A quick thing, warm, shocking and grounding, there and gone.

“Take care of her, Joel,” she murmured.

She didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t hesitate this time. Just turned and walked toward the door, already steeling herself for whatever was waiting outside. Maria scarcely gave Joel a second glance as she hooked an arm around Leela’s shoulder, guiding her down the street, toward the dam.

Joel let out a slow breath through his nose, shifting Maya in his arms. Take care of her. Like that was even a question.

X

So, this was it. Joel hadn’t done something like this in a long time.

Running errands. Moving through town without it being about work, about survival, about making sure no one was about to freeze or starve. Just walking, going slow, letting himself ease into the rhythm of a day.

It was stupid how much he liked it. Maybe it was Maya in her room that was his arms, the warmth of her little body tucked up against him, the soft sighs and quiet sounds she made as she drifted in and out of sleep on his chest. Maybe it was the feeling of just being—going from place to place with no rush, no urgency, no reason to keep his hand near a weapon. It had been a while since he felt this liberated.

And yet, for all that, it was also the most uncomfortable he’d ever been. Because everywhere he went, people noticed him.

Or more specifically, they noticed her.

Maya was the newest baby in town, and in a place like Jackson—where everyone kept track of every fucking thing—that meant she was an instant celebrity.

It started at the main square. Joel had barely stepped inside before an older woman behind the counter lit up, clasping her hands together. “Oh, well, would you look at that.” She leaned forward, peering at Maya like she was a new puppy. “Aren’t you just the prettiest little thing?”

Joel braced. He was never good at shit like this—casual conversation, polite interactions. But he was prepared to nod, maybe mutter something noncommittal. Didn’t get the chance.

Before he could step away, the woman moved in.

“Can I see her?” She was already reaching like she might touch her, and instinct had Joel stepping back, moving Maya’s weight against his chest, his free hand flexing at his side.

The handsy woman noticed, laughing lightly. “Don’t worry, hon, I won’t take her from you.” But then she looked up, past Maya and her face dropped like a corpse wearing boots. “Oh. Joel.”

Yeah. Exactly. People never approached him. They let him pass, they let him do what he needed to do, and they didn’t ask for more than what was necessary. But now? Now he had her snug to his chest, and people suddenly thought they could get in his space, that they could smile at him like he was one of them.

“Right,” Joel muttered, clearing his throat. He took a step back, putting more space between them. “Gotta—uh. Got things to do.”

And he left before she could say anything else.

But it kept happening. Like having a baby made you instantly likeable. Erased everything that people deemed you unlikeable for.

A pair of young women on the street whispered to each other behind their hands. The Miller baby. Even some guy he didn’t know—a carpenter or a repairman or something—told over his shoulder to his friend while passing him, “Is that the little Miller baby?”

He didn’t answer. It wasn’t. But he hated how the words stuck to his skin, how they lingered. Feeding him false truths.

Maya, for her part, handled the attention in the same way she handled everything. She stared, wide-eyed, for a few seconds before burying her face in his chest, hiding against him.

Which—fair. Joel had the same damn instinct.

After a while, he just stopped slowing down, stopped making eye contact, and stopped acknowledging the people trying to grab his attention. By the time he hit the shop that traded in home goods, his patience was running thin.

He bartered for his coffee first. Priorities. He was low on supply, and he didn’t feel right starting a morning without it. Then, a stop at the shelf where he found some candles. The kind that a hifalutin name, like lavender or some other flower he couldn’t name. He wasn’t proud of what he’d had to trade to get them, but if they helped Leela sleep, he figured it was worth it.

Then, while shifting the baby bag on his shoulder, he saw it—some worn-down, wooden playthings on one of the shelves, a sad little collection of toys no one had much use for.

The kid had nothing. Leela didn’t seem to know enough to engage her in play. Honestly, Maya’s biggest laughs came from him, from just seeing him come in through the door and the way he bounced her when no one was looking. She didn’t have a stuffed animal to chew on, a rattle to shake, nothing. That sat wrong with him.

He reached out, fingers brushing over a carved horse with rounded edges. But before he could test it in his palms, Maya twisted in his arms, a tiny frown forming on her face.

The warning signs.

Joel sighed. “Ah, shit. Really, sweetheart?”

The fussing started slow—grunts, little unhappy noises, fidgeting with her mittens. It was hunger, he knew that much, and he hadn’t exactly planned on stopping somewhere good for it.

He glanced around, eyes landing on the worst place he could think of to feed a baby. He looked up to the sky instead, hoping for some cosmic assistance. Test him, test him, and test him again.

The fucking bar.

Well, then. It should be empty at this time of day. He'll take what is given.

Joel stepped in, scanning the dimly lit space for judgmental stares, the door swinging shut behind him. No one. It smelled like old wood and stale beer, the kind of place that felt settled into itself, like it had been standing for a hundred years and would stand for a hundred more. Even Tommy was behind the counter, rummaging through shelves, looking for something that clearly wasn’t there.

Joel exhaled sharply and shook his head. “Caught you at the right time.”

Tommy barely glanced up. “Look who it is. Papa Joel.” Then he did look, properly this time, and his smirk widened. “And look at you. Hell, you wearin’ cologne?”

Joel grunted, shifting Maya higher in his arms. “Shut up.”

“Not my fault you look—” Tommy gestured vaguely at all of him, “—like you popped outta Sears catalogue.”

Joel scowled. The swanky clothes. Right. But leave it to Tommy to make a damn thing of it.

Instead of answering, he settled onto a stool, already halfway to getting Maya’s bottle ready. She'd gone quiet, watching him move, which was never a good sign. Not for long, anyway.

Joel gently adjusted her in the crook of his arm, tucking the bottle against her lips, and that was it. The instant it was him feeding her, the second she got comfortable, her hands started roaming. She did this thing every single time. Feeling. Grabbing. Claiming.

And today, like always, they landed on the scar on his wrist. That big, pale line that ran jagged up his wrist into his forearm, from a blade that had nearly done more than nick him. A raider that he'd shivved in less than two seconds once the bleeding started.

In cruel irony, Maya was obsessed with it. She smoothed her tiny mitten over it, again and again, like she was trying to figure it out, her hand bare speck against the scar. Then she started digging her little hand into it, gripping it like she could peel it off him like it was something separate from his skin.

If Joel took his arm away when she got her claws in, her hands floated after it, waiting. A small whine, and she even gave up on the bottle.

“What?” he asked her, a single brow arched. “Aren't you hungry?”

She moved her head when he tried to push the sipper against her lips. Little smartass. A small, give-it-back-coo, brows furrowed, fists still waiting within her mittens. He missed seeing those little fingers already.

“Yeah, yeah. I ain’t goin’ anywhere, baby girl,” he sighed, letting her have his hand again. His voice was barely above a rasp, more to himself than anything. Not like she could understand, anyway. But talking to her—talking at her—had become something natural. Like breathing.

Immediately, she latched onto it again, tiny fingers curling around the scar like it belonged to her. Just let it happen. Couldn’t do a damn thing with her around. She had all his attention.

The silence between them stretched, like something Joel could settle into. Maya kept her hold on him, even as she finished eating, even as her round eyelids drooped with sleep.

His free hand, the one that had been absently nursing the cold whiskey glass, came up to trace down her nose. That tiny little twitching nose. She scrunched it at the sensation, gave the smallest little sigh—then she was out. Just like that.

Ahead, Tommy took a sip of his drink, still watching. Not saying anything. Not yet.

Then, after a beat, he sighed. “So, you’re really gonna do this?”

Joel blinked, caught mid-motion, his fingers coming up against the cool glass of his drink. He knew what Tommy's 'this' implied, he didn't even have to point it out. Joel hadn’t thought about it, not in words. Not in the way Tommy was asking. But the question hung there between them, waiting to be acknowledged.

His first instinct was to scoff. Shake his head. Deflect. Like he always did.

But instead, he just sat there.

Maya was still curled against him, warm and impossibly small. Her fingers had loosened in sleep, no longer gripping his wrist so fiercely, but every now and then, she’d twitch, like she was reaching for him even in dreams. Like she knew exactly where she belonged, in the arms that were always ready to catch her.

Joel swallowed, jaw working, eyes fixed on the grain of the counter. He could feel Tommy watching him, waiting.

Then came the shrug. That half-assed, useless shrug. A non-answer, because he wasn’t ready to say it out loud.

Tommy snorted, shaking his head. “Bullshit.”

“Ain’t that simple. You know how it is with her mom.” The words came out rougher than Joel intended like he was trying to shove them between himself and whatever his shitty brother was about to say next.

Tommy, of course, wasn’t buying it. He leaned against the bar, arms folded, giving Joel that look—the one that said he was already ten steps ahead, already seeing straight through the seven layers of crap. Joel hated that damn look.

“It’s already simple,” Tommy said, voice even. “You just don’t wanna admit it.”

Joel scowled, shifting Maya higher in his arms, adjusting her like it was nothing. Like she wasn’t the thing anchoring him in place.

“The hell does that mean?”

Tommy huffed a laugh, shaking his head. Then he just gestured—a lazy flick of his fingers toward Maya, toward the way she was curled into Joel’s chest, tiny and warm and completely at home.

It made Joel pause. The way Tommy was looking at him. The way he didn’t say what he meant, just let the silence speak for itself.

Joel swallowed, jaw tightening.

“It means you already decided,” Tommy finally said. “You’re just waitin’ on someone else to say it first, you pussy.”

Joel’s fingers curled tighter around his drink. A muscle jumped in his jaw. Because Tommy wasn’t wrong. He fucking hated that Tommy wasn’t wrong.

This was what he did. This was how it always went. With Ellie. With Sarah. He didn’t decide—he just let it happen. Let them carve out their space in his life, let them claim him before he ever had the guts to admit it. Because once you said it—really said it—that was it. No taking it back. No pretending you could walk away.

And Maya… she was already there. Already in. And fuck. Tommy must’ve caught the shift in his expression, because his posture eased, his voice dropping into something quieter, something real.

“Y’know,” he said, softer this time. “I’ve missed seein’ you like this.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose. “Like what?”

Tommy tilted his head, studying him. “Like you still give a damn.”

Joel scoffed. “That’s real cute, Tommy.”

“I’m serious.”

And Joel knew he was. Could hear it in the way Tommy’s voice had lost its usual sharpness, in the way he wasn’t teasing anymore.

Tommy wasn’t just looking at him now—he was seeing him.

The way Joel had melted into this. How he hadn’t put her down, hadn’t even tried. How his hand, scarred and mangled, still rested against the small of Maya’s back, gently rubbing circles as if he needed to make sure she was still there.

Joel looked away. Something crawled up his spine, sharp and unnameable. He didn’t like being seen. Not like this. Not even by Tommy. So he went for the easiest thing—the simplest way to cut the tension.

A half-hearted mutter. A low, unconvincing, “Yeah, well.”

Tommy’s smirk returned, slow and knowing. “Poetic,” he drawled.

Joel shook his head, finally taking a drink. “You talk too damn much.”

Tommy chuckled, tapping his fingers against his glass. “Yeah, well,” he mimicked before his voice softened again. “You don’t gotta say it, Joel.” He gestured toward Maya, still curled against his chest, safe, home. “You’re already doin’ it. Even if you got fuckin’ old.”

“Guess I had to, didn’t I?” he muttered, adjusting Maya against his chest, making sure her head rested easy against his chest.

Tommy didn’t argue. Didn’t need to. They both knew the truth of it.

Joel had aged in ways Tommy never would, in ways no one who hadn’t lived what he lived could understand. His life had been gunpowder, dirt and blood. But still—there was something about this, about sitting here, not rushing anywhere, not killing anything, not surviving, just existing.

Something about her. She had her little hands on his shirt, curled tight in sleep, and he knew without a doubt that when she woke up, she'd reach for him again.

Yeah, this was what getting old was.

X

It wasn’t so abnormal anymore, Joel thought, being here like this. A weekend evening, in nice clothes, at a restaurant, beer in hand, sitting around a table with family. Nothing left to rock the boat.

For a long time, this kind of thing had felt impossible. Something for other people. Other lives. Even in Jackson, even after all these years, he still sometimes caught himself expecting the old rhythm—always waiting for something to go wrong.

But here he was. Sitting in a booth at the barbecue joint, letting the warmth of the moment settle in. Maria was talking a mile a minute, Tommy was stretched out beside her, looking half in disbelief, and across from him—Leela cradling Maya, quiet as ever.

Joel took a slow sip of his beer, tearing his eyes off her, half-listening as Maria went off, excitement lighting up her face.

“—seriously, I’ve never seen anything like it,” she was saying, gesturing so wildly she nearly knocked over Tommy’s drink. “Fixed the whole irrigation backup in minutes, Joel! Got the system running smoother than it ever has, and on top of that—this little Einstein somehow managed to work out a whole fucking ration adjustment in the same damn hour.”

Leela’s face went warm. She waved a hand, dismissing it. “It wasn’t that complicated. The whole system just needed a pressure bypass to reduce cavitation in the main feed lines. And the rationing—honestly, it was just a matter of optimizing caloric allotments based on intake efficiency per household.”

A stunned hush.

Tommy blinked. Joel just stared in amazement. Maria narrowed her eyes like she was trying to do the math in her head.

“Right,” Tommy finally muttered, dragging his drink closer to safety. “I totally knew what all that meant.”

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head. And a little proud of her. “Christ.”

Leela frowned, looking between them. “It's all just calibration.”

Maria snorted, nudging Tommy. “I think that just proved her point.”

She was surpassing expectations with Maria fuckin' Miller. That had got to count for something. It was rare, too, to watch her this spirited, this excited. Even rarer that Tommy wasn’t the loudest one at the table.

"Well," Tommy said, smirking as he raised his glass. "Guess it's good to have a genius in your corner sometimes."

Joel smirked too, but his gaze flickered sideways again, back to Leela. He couldn't help himself to another look, and another, and another. Total headcase conduct.

But she wasn’t looking at any of them. She sat beside him, holding Maya close, not engaging much, just keeping her eyes down, drifting between the door and Maya in her bouncing lap. Every now and then, she’d offer a thin, polite smile—one of those distant ones, not real, not reaching her eyes. Present, but not fully there.

Joel noticed it all. The way she sat just a little too stiff, the way her fingers fidgeted lightly against Maya’s back. The way her shoulders didn’t fully relax, even though she was surrounded by people she trusted. She was clearly still agitated with something. Maybe the attention? The restaurant? The smell of the food? Perhaps Maya? Or was it himself?

Joel sipped his beer and let his eyes linger on her for a second longer, about to change the subject, before Tommy—that big-mouthed bastard—broke the moment.

“Leela’s birthday’s comin’ up in a few days, right?” he said, nodding toward Joel like he expected him to confirm. “You two got plans?”

Joel damn near choked. He shot Tommy a glare so sharp it could’ve gutted a man. Wanted to kick him square in the balls. What was this little shit implying? And her birthday? He didn’t even know. Then again, he wasn't big on celebrations anyway.

Leela, to his relief, didn’t seem to care much. She just shook her head. “No plans.”

Maria, of course, had other ideas. Plans. To put that unused, exquisite dining room in her home to good use.

“Dinner, then,” she announced, already scheming, her face bright with it. “Your place. You don't have to lift a finger, the menu’s on me.”

Leela hesitated. “Um...”

Joel was ready to witness Maria take a licking for the first time ever. He could see the wheels turning in Leela's head, the way her fingers curled into Maya’s blanket. She looked down at the baby, who was happily slapping her little hands against the table, amusing herself, laughing that hiccuping laugh, at the sound.

Joel couldn’t help but smile. He reached out, brushing his knuckles over Maya’s chin, and she let out a delighted squeal, and tried to catch his hand before he returned it to his glass.

Leela exhaled, barely a smile on her lips, blindsiding him with: "I think that'd be nice. I could make something, too. With seasoning." And she flashed a knowing grin at Joel.

He bit his smile into the rim of his beer glass, meeting her eye. "Amen."

“Sweet,” Tommy grinned. “I’ll let Ellie know.”

When the food arrived in a leering waitress's arms, Joel didn’t touch his plate right away. He was too busy looking at Tommy’s. A full rack of ribs, juicy, glistening with sauce, looking like the best damn thing on the table. Regret burned in his gut.

Tommy, the smug shithead, was already smirking, rolling back his sleeves. “Something wrong, big brother?”

Joel grunted, reaching for his beer instead of dignifying that with an answer. His brother had no one to impress, Maria was well-versed in Tommy-isms. Joel had played it safe. Ribs were messy. Hands-on. Fucking delicious. If he were alone, or if it was just Tommy, he’d be going to town on them.

But with Maya switching from his lap to Leela's lap half the time? With Leela, this smart, stunning girl, sitting beside him, barely eating, her shoulder brushing his every now and then? He’d gone for the safe, decent option. A nice slab of brisket. Neater. Quieter. Civil. Less of a goddamn spectacle.

Across from him, Maria was already chatting about something—town expansion, hydroponics for the greenhouse, that kind of thing. Leela was listening, but not really. Not engaging entirely. Her gaze stayed down, distracted.

And then there was Maya. For all her adorableness, she was being an absolute menace. Squirming. Reaching. Grabbing. Her big eyes were all stubborn, yet curious. Joel felt her shifting in Leela’s lap, wiggling against her arm, determined to smack her little hands onto her mother's plate.

“Maya, please,” Leela whispered, exasperated, nudging her hands away. Even positioning her farther on her lap.

Of course, it didn’t work. Maya let out a loud, insistent whine—real dramatic-like. Another scream of objection, fists squeezed like she was throwing a fit, and smacking for the plate again.

Maria chuckled. “Kid’s got some lungs on her.”

Leela huffed a small, tired laugh, but Joel could see her struggle even if it was hilarious. Trying to keep handsy Maya at bay while attempting to cut her steak one-handed. She wasn’t doing a great job of it. Fork in one hand, knife awkwardly angled in the other, barely making progress.

Joel didn’t think about it. Didn’t need to.

He just reached over and swapped their plates. Simple. Quiet. Didn’t make a thing of it. Just slid his brisket—already cut—toward her, nudging it a little farther from Maya’s reach.

Leela stilled. And glanced up at him, astonished.

Joel kept his eyes on his own plate, reaching for his knife. Shrugged, like it was nothing. “Go on,” he urged. “The best thing you'll put in your mouth.”

Tommy cleared his throat, catching onto the innuendo. Joel imagined sticking his knife into his eye.

Leela hesitated. Then, after a beat, he heard the soft clink of her fork against the plate as she speared a piece. A grateful smile came alive on her face while she chewed, a genuine one. He'd learned to tell the difference now.

“Thank you, Joel,” she nodded.

Joel nodded back, a tight smile stretching on his lips. Took a bite from his plate. There was nothing else to be said. The message was clear: I've got you.

Oh, Joel didn’t miss the looks either. Maria’s subtle smirk behind her glass. Tommy’s full-blown, shit-eating grin. The two of them watched like they were studying a goddamn exhibit every time Joel so much as glanced at Leela or reached out for Maya.

Fuck them. He ignored it all, chewing through another bite of steak, keeping his focus where it needed to be. Maya was calm now. Full belly, busy little hands—playing with his own hand now, like it was her favourite toy in the world. Leela, finally eating without interruption, though still too quiet.

Joel didn’t say a damn word about any of it. Even when Maria started up again.

“What I'm saying is, that the town’s growing,” she said, wiping her mouth. “More people settling in every month. It’s getting to the point where we’re running low on homes.”

That got Joel’s attention. His chewing slowed, a sliver of suspicion creeping in. Tommy wasn’t looking at him. That was the first red flag that he'd learned from one of the more recent dinners in the Miller household.

“Couple of new families coming in next week,” Maria continued. “One’s got three kids. You believe that? Haven’t had that many young ones in Jackson in a long time.”

Joel grunted. More people. More mouths to feed. Meant the town was growing, sure—but also meant more risk. Running this place with a tight ship was already starting to show. And Maria wasn’t done.

“Thing is, if we keep expanding at this rate, we’ll have to start repurposing old homes.”

There it was. Joel was halfway through his beer when he heard more of this.

“You know, Joel,” Tommy started his tone too goddamn casual to be anything but questionable. “If push comes to shove, we could always put your place up for new tenants.”

Joel’s grip tightened on his glass. He didn’t blink. Didn’t look at Tommy right away. Just kept chewing slow, steady, like he hadn’t heard a thing.

Because he knew what this was. He knew Tommy and that arrogant little edge in his voice, the way Maria was staying too quiet, swirling her drink like she wasn’t waiting for impact.

It was a set-up. Fishing. Looking for a reaction. Confirming some inside hunches. And Maria took the shot before he could load his own.

“We’d put you up at ours, sure enough,” she said, breezy, easy.

“No kidding. You're family, can't just chuck you on the street as much as I want to,” Tommy added, mockingly, grinning like a jackass.

Joel set his drink down with a little too much pressure, the sound a noisy thud. Finally, finally, he levelled a look at Tommy. He didn't need to say a damn thing. Because whatever was on his face? It was enough.

Tommy coughed, glancing away as if he felt the heat of it. He knew what would follow if he spoke another word. Maria, to her credit, held his stare, only raising an eyebrow.

Joel’s jaw flexed, real slow. The urge to tell them both to go straight to hell was right there, burning at the back of his throat. And he would have. Would’ve shut the whole damn thing down, hard. But before he could, Leela beat him to it with—

“I have spare rooms in my place,” she said, casually. Like she was discussing the weather. “If that happens, Joel could take one. Stay as long as he wants.” She used Maya's arm to motion a wave. “Maya would love that, too.”

More silence. She was just full of surprises today, wasn't she?

Tommy, who had been bracing for impact, looked like he’d tripped over his own damn feet. Maria, mid-drink, paused. Chewed on her cheeks. Like she was recalibrating the entire situation.

And Joel? He didn't even know what to do with that. For a second, all he could do was stare at Leela, completely gobsmacked. What she'd suggested was to take it to the next level, in the most casual way. Yeah, just stay with me and my kid, forever, I guess. Doesn't matter.

Leela didn’t look up. Didn’t seem to notice what she’d said. She just kept wiping at Maya's mouth and hands who'd started to entertain herself by blowing raspberries, and bouncing her gently like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Joel exhaled through his nose. A slow, heavy thing. “It's all a big 'if',” he muttered, edged with finality.

Maria recovered first. Pulled a face that said she was perfectly fine with it. “Yep.”

Tommy, still catching up, pressed his lips together. “Just wanted to make sure of something,” he muttered. “Pretty sure now.”

Joel didn’t ask what. Just picked up his beer again, and took a slow, measured sip. His glare at Tommy, though? Firmly in place.

They left the restaurant together, in cackles of laughter that was at the expense of Joel's face, making their way up the same street where their homes resided, boots crunching against the frozen dirt road. The air was sharp, biting, but Joel barely felt it.

Maya had run herself ragged. After all her theatrics inside—her constant wriggling, the battle for the damn steak, the way she’d made herself known to the entire damn restaurant—she’d finally given in.

“You feelin' cold, baby?” he murmured.

She was in his arms now, bundled up and warm, her bunny-ear beanie snug over her head. Her tiny nose was red from the cold, her cheek pressed against the fabric of his jacket, picking at a loose lint on his sweater. He tucked closer, safer, pressing a warming kiss into her sleepy head.

Joel caught up with Maria before she could reach Tommy and Leela ahead. His breath came out in slow, even puffs, but inside, he felt a little less steady. Hadn’t planned on asking. Hadn’t even realized it was sitting there, coiled tight in his chest, until the words were already forming.

"Hey," he said lowly, his voice carrying that weighted kind of hesitation. "Can we talk?"

Maria arched a brow before smirking. "If you’re about to chew me out, it was Tommy’s idea. You know we haven’t had new people settle in for months."

Joel barely registered it. Just shook his head. Not about that.

His gaze flicked toward Leela’s back—small, quiet steps beside Tommy’s like she wasn’t all the way there. His jaw tightened before he spoke. Carefully.

"At the dam today." He paused, feeling the words thick on his tongue. "Did she seem… alright to you? Seem a little off?"

That smirk faded. Maria exhaled, her face shifting into something more careful. "Wouldn’t stay in the room with all the workers," she admitted. "Spooked her out. After that, I just let her stick by my side in the office."

Joel frowned.

"Must’ve been a trigger," Maria added, quieter now.

He only nodded. He didn't need to say what they both already knew.

He watched Leela a little longer, the way her hands stayed tucked inside her coat sleeves, the way she wasn’t engaging much with Tommy’s easy conversation. There was something… too still about her.

"She’s been quiet all night," he muttered, mostly to himself.

Maria nudged him lightly. "She’ll be fine, Joel. Baby steps."

Joel pressed his lips together. He wasn't a believer in the process of baby steps. Either you healed or you rotted in the filth of guilt or devastation for the rest of your life.

Maria gave him a sideways glance, one of those knowing looks. "You look good together."

Joel let out a breath. Not quite a scoff. Not quite anything. "Thought lawyers didn’t bullshit," he muttered.

Maria shrugged easily. "I don't. Sure, you’re," she cleared her throat, shooting him a look. "Let’s say ‘well into your prime’—and she’s… not. But I can tell she trusts you absolutely."

Joel said nothing. Only bit down the small grin that broke through his lips, staring at his boots. Coming from Maria, point-blank like that, it meant a lot.

Up ahead, Tommy was acting like he hadn’t just pulled that shit back in the restaurant, talking easy, hands in his pockets, like he was the picture of innocence.

Joel narrowed his eyes. Yeah, alright. That jagoff needed to be put in his place.

He picked up his pace, stepping just ahead of Tommy, and without breaking stride, swept his leg out.

Tommy didn’t even get a chance to balance before he was airborne—arms flailing, momentum carrying him forward—a sad, "What the fuck!"—then crashing face-first into the snow with a solid thud.

Maria burst out laughing. Full-on, bent-over, hands-on-her-knees laughing. Leela, though—she gasped, her eyes going wide, clearly more horrified than she needed to be.

Joel just kept walking, adjusting Maya, who let out a startled little giggle like she understood the exact kind of justice that had just been served.

"Fuckin' deserved it," he grumbled.

X

Maya was bawling at the big white house’s door, tiny fists clutching his shirt like letting go might break her little heart. And maybe it would—maybe that’s why Joel hesitated, his hands hovering at her back, torn between unwinding her grip and holding her tighter. Damn it, he didn’t want to go, either.

If he peeled her off him and stepped away, she’d do the sweetest thing that always got him—cover her eyes with her hands like she’d seen her mother do, weeping like his leaving was the greatest tragedy of her small world.

“He’ll come back tomorrow, Maya,” Leela tried, rubbing absently at her belly. “He has to sleep, too.”

Maya wasn’t convinced. She wriggled in her mother’s hold, stretching her arms out toward Joel, demanding, no—pleading—to be held. Then she wailed, loud and unrestrained, the kind of cry that could bring a whole street to a standstill.

Joel exhaled, a smile creeping onto his face despite himself. God, this girl was breaking his heart.

Leela shifted Maya against her chest and patted her back. “Do you want to stay a while?” Her voice was softer now. “Until she falls asleep?”

Joel didn’t even pretend to hesitate. His arms were already reaching for Maya, lifting her effortlessly out of Leela’s hold. The moment she settled against his chest, her tiny hands fisting into his shirt, her cries turned to hiccups, then sniffles.

“Gonna be a handful when she gets older,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to her damp cheek.

Leela rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her palm, stifling a yawn. “Gosh, please don’t remind me.” She nodded toward the stairs. “I’m gonna get changed. Help yourself to anything.”

Joel watched her retreat up the steps, back hunched with exhaustion. At the landing, she disappeared into the hallway, and he found himself standing there a moment longer than necessary, listening to the creak of the floorboards as she moved through the house. He liked that about her—the way she kept reminding him to make himself at home like she knew he hadn’t quite figured out how to.

Maya was still sniffling, the last remnants of her earlier tears damp against Joel’s shirt. She stirred against him, adjusting in his arms like she was making herself right at home. Safe. Where she belonged.

Joel smoothed his palm over her back and felt the way she breaths puffed against his collar, her little chest rising and falling in a slower rhythm now. She was alright. He did that.

"You missed me already?" he murmured, rubbing a thumb under her damp eye.

She didn’t answer, just breathed out a soft, shuddering coo.

Yeah. That was about what he thought.

He bounced her gently as he moved through the living room, shifting his weight as he glanced around, looking for something to keep her mind off whatever had gotten her so worked up in the first place. His eyes caught on something up on the shelf, half-forgotten.

That record player he'd been gawking at for weeks. Not just any old thing, either. Glass case. Dark mahogany. Expensive. Fancy, like the rest of Leela’s place.

There was already a record inside. Percy Sledge. Gold, fucking gold. The glossy cover sat neatly on the side like someone had meant to come back to it and never did.

Joel exhaled, dusting off the lid before flipping it open. “Haven’t heard this in a long time,” he muttered, mostly to himself. Then, glancing down at Maya, "You wanna hear some music, baby girl?"

Maya blinked up at him, her earlier tears forgotten, and let out that breathless little panting laugh she did when she was excited. Her small hands clapped together in that uncoordinated, barbed motion that made her look like she was still figuring out how her own fingers worked.

Joel grinned. “Yeah, me too.”

He brushed away the dust, set the needle down, and let the music cut through the quiet.

The room filled with the low, honeyed croon of Percy Sledge, velvet-smooth, drifting through the air like something out of a different time.

Joel felt her still in his arms, eyes going wide as she stared at the record player, completely awestruck. Like she was trying to make sense of where the sound was coming from.

He poked a finger into her squishy thigh. “Never heard real music before? You like it?”

Maya was so curious, watching the record spin, producing music, head tilting in that goddamned adorable way of hers, like she was putting all her baby brainpower into figuring it out.

Joel’s chest ached. It was a deep, familiar thing, the kind of ache that came from having too much and knowing it was, perhaps now, all his to keep.

He shifted Maya in his arms, kissing the top of her bunny-eared beanie. She smelled like warm blankets, like home, even though he’d never had a home quite like this before.

"You wanna dance with me, darlin’?"

She gasped, her whole body jerking in excitement, arms flailing like she couldn’t believe her luck. Then came that breathless, hitching laugh—the one that made her whole face crinkle, her tiny chest heaving like she could barely keep up with herself.

He’d never heard her laugh like this before. Was that the first?

So he lifted her high into the air, listening to the way she squealed, legs kicking like she was soaring. That same laugh again—bright, bubbling over, pure sunshine—rang through the room as he pulled her back into his chest, then did it again. Twice. Thrice. Oh, his back was going to pay the piper, but for that laugh, it was fucking worth it.

She was weightless, and for a moment, so was he. The world didn’t feel so heavy when he had her in his arms like this.

His eyes caught on something in the doorway.

Leela. She was watching.

She had changed into that same white nightdress, the one with the pearl buttons he liked more than he should. Loose fabric brushing just above her ankles, a sleeve slipping off her shoulders. She was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, fingers touching her lips like she was trying to trap the smile already there.

Joel didn’t stop moving, just slowed a little, swaying Maya in his arms, pretending like his chest didn’t feel too goddamn tight at the look on Leela’s face. If he stopped, the moment might end, and he wasn’t ready for that.

Leela wasn’t looking at him, not exactly. Her eyes were on Maya, wondering, at the way she was still laughing, still catching her breath, little fingers clinging to the fabric of Joel’s shirt like her whole world was nothing but him and the feeling of flying.

He'd never had anything like this. Something whole, real, his. Could this moment get any more perfect? And then he had the thought—

He wanted to dance with Leela.

It settled deep in his chest, curling between the cracks. Maybe he’d wanted that for a while now. Maybe that was why his hands always hoped to reach for her when it was without Maya, why his pulse kicked up when she got too close, why he always noticed when she was around—soft, careful, like someone who didn’t want to take up too much space.

He huffed, dipping his head down to whisper against Maya’s temple, his voice all low and warm—"Gotta give your mama a turn, huh?"

He lowered Maya onto the couch, kissing her nose, making sure she was snug, and safe between the sunken cushions. She was already grabbing for her baby blanket, nibbling on the edge of it, still watching him with that shining little grin. That was enough confidence to power him up.

Joel knew better than to ask Leela. Knew better than to want. She’d probably turn him down. Politely. And somehow, that would hurt worse. Brushing him off like a stranger.

But he asked anyway.

He turned around and didn’t say a word—just held out his hands, just a little. Not a grand gesture, nothing obvious, just enough. Just enough that she’d see it, that she’d know. He wants her close.

Leela’s gaze flickered, something changing. Her lips parted, just barely, and for a moment—a long, slow, aching moment—he thought she might step forward, might meet him where he stood. A silly pipedream.

Joel was too goddamn old for his heart to be pounding like this. Like some stupid kid, all restless hands and reckless hope, hoping the girl he liked would share that feeling with him. It had been a long time since someone made him feel like this. Hell, he wasn’t sure he ever had—not like this. Not with something this soft, this easy, this whole.

He blamed that when she looked away, the moment unravelling.

Blamed the gap, the years that stretched between them, the life he’d already lived, the losses already burned into his bones. The grey in his hair, the angry brow, the lines on his face. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not for him. Not anymore. But then—why did he still want? Why, after all these years, after everything, did he still feel this?

The way his chest clenched when she hesitated. The way his palms itched, waiting, wanting. The way he caught himself hoping—hoping—like some love-struck fool that she might actually step forward.

He exhaled slowly, telling himself it was fine. Telling himself he was being ridiculous. She didn’t owe him anything. He should’ve known better, should’ve kept his hands where they belonged... anyways, what else could he offer her?

And then she did. She moved a little. Leaned off the doorway. A few slow, quiet steps forward. Hands knotted behind her back, shoulders tense, reluctant to give in.

His breath caught in his throat.

She wasn’t looking at him—not at first. Her eyes dipped downward to the boots on his feet, flickering uncertainly, almost like she was working up the nerve to do something.

And then she glimpsed his hands. The callouses. The mangled skin. The years of work, of war, of violence. Of a life that had been anything but easy. The way his fingers curled just slightly like he wasn’t sure if he should be offering them in the first place.

For a moment, she hesitated. And he thought, yeah, that’s about right.

And then—slowly, so slowly—she slipped her hands into his. Her fingers were slender against his, swallowed within his own, cool and soft where his were rough, ruined. It had been so long since anyone had reached for him first.

He didn’t move right away. Just felt it. The way she fit there, the shape of her hands in his, like it wasn’t a mistake. Like she wasn’t regretting it.

All those lifetimes, chipping away parts of him, making space for her hands to be there. And fuck, if that didn’t scare him more than anything.

The scratchy record spun on, Percy Sledge’s voice melting into the room, velvet-smooth. What am I living for, he sang on, if not for you?

Joel swallowed thickly.

Slowly, he guided her hand to his bicep, barely pressing down. She was tense, wound tight like she’d bolt if he moved too fast. So he didn’t.

"You good?" he checked in.

She nodded, glancing up, baring a gentle smile.

His own hand skimmed her hip—ginger, careful—before settling there. He let her other hand hang from his grasp, mid-air, not forcing it, not demanding more than she was willing to give. Leela was stiff against him, like this was too much for her. Like it had been too long for her, too. Like she was afraid of him. Of this. My god, it burned.

So he eased. Dipped his head, rested his nose against her hairline, and just swayed. Joel couldn't cut a rug or shake his hips to save his damn life, but he could feel. And shit, he felt so good.

She was right there. Right where he wanted her, but not as close as he wanted, although he completely dwarfed her. He could feel the tension in her frame, that deep-rooted hesitance like she wasn’t sure she was allowed this.

Joel knew that feeling all too well. So he let her lead without leading. Let her find the pace. Even if it was fucking killing him.

Even though his body ached to pull her closer. Even though his fingers twitched where they rested against her hip, wanting to dig in, to hold, to keep. He wanted her warmth pressed tight to him, her weight resting against his chest. Wanted to feel her relax, not just in body but in heart.

He’d spent years running on instinct, on gut, making quick decisions with deadly precision. But he’d never been this meticulous about anything before.

And then—he felt it. The shift. It wasn’t big, not something he would've noticed a while ago. Now he did. The way her breath came just a little easier. The way her grip steadied, not quite clinging but not pulling away either. She was letting herself be here.

And for the first time in some time—Joel wanted to feel, too.

So he let himself move with her. Not well, not smooth, not anything he’d want anyone else to see. But with her.

She laughed like he'd cracked something open in her, when he pulled her in, twirling her under his arm, snaring her against his chest before she could stumble. She laughed again when he spun her out, her head tipping back, black hair spilling like a dark halo.

"Never been spun around, my ass," he muttered against her hair as he spun her back into him, arms curling around her waist, anchoring her to him. "You're a natural."

Leela laughed, breathless, cheeks flushed. "Practice. Mom and I used to spin around for hours when it got lonely."

Joel stilled for just a second. He could picture it then—little Leela, small hands clutching at her mother’s as she twirled, all giggles and untamed joy. A warm, glowing memory, but edged with something else. The kind of happiness you cling to when there’s nothing else.

He hummed low in his throat, muffling a smile. Leela’s fingers curled against his back.

"Joel?"

"Mhm?"

She hesitated, just a beat. "I think you look really handsome today."

He stopped moving altogether. A strange, sharp thing twisted behind his ribs—surprise, confusion, something too damn soft to name. Handsome. Not tired, not rude, not old. Joel was handsome to her. The prickling memory from that morning, her mistaking him for her father went up in smoke.

For a second, he considered brushing it off, making some dry remark, giving himself an out. He wasn’t careful about much. Wasn’t the kind of man who tiptoed around what he wanted. Life had burned that out of him long ago. But right now? Right now, he was careful.

So, Joel did what he could; he held her tighter. Not much. Just enough. Just enough that she’d know he’d heard her.

And when he finally spoke, it was quiet, low, a little rough around the edges. "Thank you, darlin'."

Leela smiled up at him. And Joel—God help him. He let himself smile back.

As Percy crooned about his love growing stronger and his lover becoming a habit, they actually danced. However slow it was, there was a wildness to the way she moved, arms outstretched, the hem of her nightdress catching air, cheeks catching the low lamplight. The sharp pivot of her foot against the floorboards, the way her body dipped and twisted, loose and natural. She looked so young, so different from the woman he’d met all those weeks ago, that quiet, anxious thing who always kept herself tucked away.

This was the Leela he was falling for.

And he was so fucked. But for the first time in a long time—he was glad he was.

Joel barely had time to react before she was in his arms, knocking the wind out of his chest. Not swaying anymore, not laughing—just holding.

Her arms locked tight around his waist, cheek pressed firm against his chest like she was bracing herself. Like something in her had finally tipped over, finally let go, and she needed something to catch her.

And Joel—goddamn it, Joel wasn’t sure what to do. How to process this. She didn’t do things like this. Not the Leela he’d come to know. She was careful, always. Kept her distance. Kept everything measured. Even when she let people in, it was guarded. Always one foot out the door, always ready to pull away.

But now?

Now, she was holding on. Holding onto him.

Joel hesitated, feeling all of her against all of him, the heat, the muscle, the softness, the realness.

Then, slow and steady, he let himself move. One arm curled around her waist, the other settled at the back of her head. His fingers slid into her hair, pressing her close—not just to comfort her, but to reassure himself. She was here. He was here. They were here.

She wasn’t trembling, but she was tense. Her grip on him was firm, almost desperate. Holding onto something bigger than just this moment, nails digging into his sweater, something that must’ve been clawing at her for God knows how long.

"I needed this a lot," she muttered, voice barely above a whisper, muffled against his chest.

Joel swallowed. Shifted just enough to angle his chin over the crown of her head. "Anytime."

That was all he could say. Because what else was there?

He didn’t know how to tell her that she could stay like this for as long as she wanted. All night, all day, That whatever had been weighing her down before—whatever had kept her small, kept her afraid—it wasn’t going to touch her here. Not while he was holding her.

Although he wished the song could last forever, reality came a-knocking, and they answered. There was nothing awkward left to pick up, just a dreaming baby girl on the couch cushions.

After placing Maya in her crib and squeezing three deep goodnight kisses into her head, Joel left to cross the street. He turned around to see Leela by the big oak door, watching him go, a meaningful smile alive on her face. She waved him goodnight.

The heat in his cabin hit him first as he entered, sighing. Thick and suffocating. The fire in the hearth had burned too hot again, filling the place with a sticky kind of warmth that made his skin prickle.

Joel shrugged off that expensive shearling jacket, tossed it somewhere, and rubbed a hand down his face. It was too damn quiet. No soft breaths ghosted across his skin. No little palms clung to the fabric of his shirt.

Just the crackle of fire. Empty arms. The twisted sheets on his bed. And himself.

Joel sat down at the edge of the mattress, forearms braced against his knees, head in his hands. A million hazy thoughts swirled, smouldering, yet all he could look upon clearly was wanting to close the gap and kiss that girl in her living room.

Was this what he wanted? Would he really go through with it? If it all went to shit—if he fucked it up, if they got hurt, if she regretted letting him in—there’d be no one else to blame, but him. He would have done this to himself, some sort of screwed-up self-sabotage he thought he earned. Someday, when he kicks the bucket, all he is going to leave to that family is grief. Or not even that? Was he worth the suffering? Would they spare him a thought?

His fingers unconsciously drifted down, brushing against the cracked leather of his watch strap. That old, broken dial. The last thing Sarah had ever given him, the last vestige of her memory, hanging off his defeated body.

The hands were still stuck in place—frozen, unmoving. Just like he’d been for all those years. Until now.

Joel exhaled, slow and heavy, dragging a hand down his face. He was already in too deep.

And maybe—maybe he didn’t want to climb back out.

X

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

[burstinn]

THE EVERY GAY MANS DREAM READER

TALL, BUFF, BIG BOOBS AND ASS everything

Can't find no good pic for this so..

This post includes:Ghost, Graves, Price, Soap, Nikto, Riptide, Krueger, Konig, Alejandro, Rudy, Gaz, Horangi, Makarov, Velikan, Keegan, Roach. In that order

Yes I wrote all those, yes because I haven't written in a while

Notes:

- NSFW and SFW (Bottom male and top male reader mentioned)

-since y'all like the big buff n' tall male reader, made him bigger and taller basically mixed everything I wrote about male reader, tall, big buff, big cake, big boobs it's like a package in one this will probably be the last of this type of reader since running out ideas. It was hard making original headcanons 💔💔.

-Omg I haven't written in a while so like this might get idk boring?

- Yes again headcanons,you're favs

- strictly MALE READER not Gn rn

- readers age is ambiguous but if you can't think and want an age for reader my thinking is somewhere near late 30s or early 40s

- Some of the HCS have where y'all ain't in a relationship some HCS have y'all r in a relationship

- these headcanons definitely are mischaracterized but let me pretend for a bit 💔💔

- Tiktok got to me now I have brainrot language, so Trigger warning wooohh braiinroot

- can't believe this post was long enough to make my phone lag just a lil bit

- When he first saw you of course he was 😦😧😮

GHOST

- Like okay overkill, like you're taller, buffer and probably have a huger cock??? (Something he can investigate.. For purposes..)

Like you also got smoobs?? A plumpy ass??

Like save some for the rest Jesus 😒😒

- Nonstop staring secretly ofc, You be like in a room then you feel someone staring just to see Ghost somewhere in the corner of the room. You can't tell if he's staring or not but being that you are in an empty room.. Yknow it's kind of obv--

- BUT if you are not in an empty room you will not shake off the staring I mean holy shit look at you like 😨😨🍑✋

- You can literally hear him breathing heavily under his mask like how can he control himself when HE a person who is supposed to be looked up to literally and figuratively now has to look up at YOU?? do you know what does to a person??

-That's right it makes them freaky..

-Probably jerks off to you too

- I mean who doesn't want to get railed by a 7 ft tall man? Especially ESPECIALLY when you've been the supposed dominant person your whole life??

- OMG immediately Cumming to the thought

- I mean he won't mind topping you it also drives his own ego seeing a dominant man get absolutely wrecked, imagine the begging and whining

- plus he won't mind being the person who feels protected not always doing the protecting like 💔💔 he wants to feel protected too 😞

GRAVES

- Immediate gay awakening

- thinks making his western accent more prominent would make you think he sounds more hot

- Will dress up as a cowboy and will will ask (beg) you to do it as well

- because you know.. Hat thing.. Riding.. Graves grabs your hat puts it on his head or Graves grabs his hat puts it on your head, either way one of you is riding something and it ain't a horse

- because of the amazing quote on who ever came up w/ that is "save a horse ride a cowboy"

- Graves is obviously the type of guy to look at your ass and whistle maybe slap it, nah definitely slap it

PRICE

- He thinks of you like a bear

- like You're soo- big and cuddly? Definitely intimidating

- I mean you're near the same age bracket so it's not bad to have some.. Thoughts right?

- You're definitely hairy underneath or not but pls be he wants pubes to tickle his nose

- if you don't have a beard for reader then he would KILL to see have a beard like aughh perfect bear look, if you have a beard immediately cumming(/j) or (not /j)

- Like imagine you and price who are basically like bears like parent bears and and you the other 141 boys are like your children 🥺🥺

SOAP

- DEFINITELY became more gayer

- errrmmm.. Like his eyes are BASICALLY near like chest height

- bumping into you and his face touches your chest like omgg.. Such an accident 💔💔

- Obviously flirting about going to pound town

- like imagine You and Him? In a relationship? Having the most feral sex??? Like it's obv jokes (it's not)

- He would also do anything to see a big man whimper like a little bicth slut, who wouldn't want to see a demon of a man roll his eyes back and whine like a wheoeororoe❤, I mean if he tops I'd imagine him saying "cmon you're a big boy ain't cha'? You can handle a few more inches". While you are also getting the malevolent backshots.

- He would also want a big strong arm to man handle him as he takes the most vigorous backshots known to man

- Have you ever thought or seen a very tall wall like 10 or 11 ft high and you being you, Soap asks (demands) for you to carry him on your shoulder because he wants to see what's over the wall

NIKTO

- intimidating guy and intimidating guy typa relationship but your not in a relationship.. Yet.

- watch him watch you

- shows off his knife collection to you, yes I think he has a knife collection and he will show it to people that he wants to impress (he wants to get freaky with you)

- I like to think if he strips off the gear he gives the most desperate kind of touchy hug, to those he feels close with of course which is you

- lucky you

RIPTIDE

- Offers to teach you how to swim yknow just in case

- there is none, he wants to see you wet

- tells you to wear a white shirt and shorts because its Essential for training, it's a lie he wants to see the water wet your clothes making it stick to your body.. Yknow the white shirt showing whats underneath and the shorts outlining what package you've been hiding even though you weren't really hiding it

- He gets too distracted, the others are too, he forgets how to teach you

KRUEGER

- indefinite eye contact while your doing it

- likes staring into them, if you get shy and look away he will grab your jaw and make you have eye contact with him

- angry fierce ahh eyes

- he's an emotional grumpy guy, rip off his mask and aggressively kiss his face

- He wants the after sex laying on the chest while the other is rubbing their head, goes both ways.

- trace his tattoos and compliment them the bedroom will be locked the whole day, trust 🙏

KÖNIG

- The same as Ghosts

- Imagine being the one to get carried instead of the one carrying

- König would definitely come up to you and ask to be carried while you kiss his face multiple times❤❤

- Imagine how hard he gets because you have to look down at him to talk like HNGRHRRGGGRGRRR

- Definitely likes giving you homemade arts and crafts gear because you know.. The headcanon where König makes his own gear and what if he does it for other people too as gifts💔

- likes seeing you wear his mask it makes him imagine what people see when they see König definitely a change of perspective. He can see how intimidating you are and he gets hard.

ALEJANDRO

- will definitely compliment you in Spanish when talking about you with other people even when you're in front or behind him.

- I mean you don't understand Spanish right?

- if you don't, you're oblivious and only just watch curiously on what he's talking about. Buuut but but if you do understand you don't tell him you undeestrand this thing literally feeds your ego like Alejandro thinks of you this way? 🥺🥺

- Thigh riding type of guy idc who thigh riding

RUDY

- everytime I look at him he looks like a soft vanilla type

- I know he's a strong guy but look at him

- He wants soft sex 😞😞

- He also likes being complimented if you whisper a praise to him when he's doing ANYTHING. Imagine the babies you'd both have together.

- He likes toddlers and babies and if you do too a plus for him,makes him fall even more 💯💯

GAZ

- One time he Got injured and was sitting on the floor and then He saw you running towards him he simultaneously screamed in fear and how hard he got

- Likes to style your clothes, If he was off the military right now he really really likes fashion and if he sees you.. You can't fashion and he sees you wearing.. That, He's appalled, horrified, mortified I'm over exaggerating. But he is now in charge of your fashion now, But if you do know how to style you both will share tips with eachother. You can share different tips too ❤❤

- drags you in his barracks and strips you of your clothes except shorts.. And he's telling you this because he wants to "style" you.

- We both know damn well that's an excuse to get the boombayah freaky on.. He's just to shy to tell you upfront or he thinks it's fun to tease you like that before you get freaky

HORANGI

- gets freaky..

- Like he understands the women who get all giggly and nervous when they see a big man who can destroy them (ignore König 💔)

- is definitely not above thigh crushing, boob crushing, face sitting he'd do all at as long as it's you

- Like one time he pretended he broke his leg and won't let anyone else carry him until you came, acting all princessy and shit as you carry him bridal style to the medics

- He felt like a prince omg

- will definitely get on you and treat your real life size anime men boobs as a squishy toy

- How long is it and will he be able to take it??? Who knows he will find out!! Basically searched how long can someone's cock be if they are built like a god and is 7ft tall in Google

- someone gotta tell me Horangi's height and basic Google searching ain't doing it for me I'm too lazy to search for one line of a spicy headcanon line mb

MAKAROV

- You're basically ascary dog he owns

- You're tall and intimidating

- You can get information out of people quickly

- And he's not above telling you to torture anyone with a strength and body like yours

- most of the time you get the info done and folded

- Makarov uses you for intimidation and strength buuttt if you ever THINK of betraying him he already has a plan to get rid of someone like you

- Can and will turn you into one of those supersoldiers

- Will make you murder people right in front of him for entertainment and will rewward you!

- you know what reward it will be, Because when he asked what reward you wanted you got a bit to freaky you thought you be dead rn but nah he agreed actually he seems to enjoy it more than you do..

VELIKAN

- He's the dog in this one have you heard his voice?? Rough as hell imagine hearing him grunt

- Sounds cocky as hieeeellll too

- Would definitely like showing off to you since he wants to look cool in front of you

- Like you seen velikans skins?? Definitely wears the best ones to show you he can not only be a trained assassin But can also dress cool as hell

- If you compliment him it like makes his day, will not stop thinking about it

- Like a cool person complimenting a cool person like him? Ego boost (It's him feeling gay)

- This guys definitely a smoker (headcanon!!) Because voice sounds like he smoked 100 packs in 1 day and doesn't drink an ounce of water /jk I love him he's so hot.

- So if you want a smoke he purposely hides the lighter saying.. 'Oh no I asked someone elses lighter.. I don't have mine right now' or like 'my lighter ran out of fuel ohh

- So you have to put the cigarette in your mouth as you touch it with his cigarette to light ur own that type of trope 💫💫

- If you're not a smoker he will try his best to not smoke in front of you will use fresh mints to hide his breath of smoke

- after sex he will want a smoke, outside he goes or you both share the one cigarette

KEEGAN

- is it wrong to want to be choked by a big buff meaty arm?

- yknow the tiktok thing where girls put a ribbon on their boyfriends arm and the girls just put their face in the middle as their faces get squished??

- Yeah he wants that but gay

- will try to compare dick sizes even though yours is OBVIOUSLY the superior one!!

- Heads or tails on who's bottoming tonight

- Would like to be wrapped around your arms if you are hugging or sleeping keeps him warm

- Especially when it's snowing will force you to hug with him. ESPECIALLY when your in a mission and your in the tents he will definitely force you to hug it out with him

ROACH

- remember the other tall HC where the reader wasn't taller than König

- yes roach does the same thing here.. He's crawling on you like a tree

- If he wants a kiss instead of asking he crawls up to you and kisses you

- definitely likes to sit on your shoulders as you walk around, he feels tall like that

- this is like a distance relationship 💔💔

- Likes it when you bend over to talk to him also when you bend over when youre doing sum since it's slappable opportunity

- because bent over = double D cake will be slapped

- How will it fit? By the power of friendship of course!!

- probably more of say gex desperation but you get it

- Obviously switch switch

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8 P9 P10 P11 P12 P13 P14 P15 P16

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: Mentions of drinking, drunk driving, dog penises, and more. 

A/N: FIRST CHAPTER OF A NEW SERIES HOES!!!

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P1: Dumb Dog Dicks

wc: 1100+

The screech of the tires scratching on the street sends a shiver down my spine, my clammy hands clenching together harder. 

“Assholes,” I mutter, dragging my dirty shoes along the cement. Even the laces are sticky, a bright, unnatural blue staring back at me as I watch the cracks in the sidewalk pass beneath each step. 

It was stupid. Tessa had invited me to the party. I had been excited to have fun, but it wasn’t fun. The vibrant stain on my shoes was definitely from some kind of jungle juice. I hate jungle juice. 

Well, I hate alcohol in general. But jungle juice? That's a different kind of hatred. The entire point of the drink is to mix it with so many add-ins that the alcohol is barely noticeable. Which is why so many people were throwing up at that damn party. 

My house isn’t far. It’s only a couple of streets away from the booze-infested mansion. But it’s far enough to be a different neighborhood. It wasn’t sketchy by any means, I enjoyed the suburbs. The neighbors were nice, but their dogs were even nicer. 

Especially this one. 

“Hi, girl!” I whisper-shout, crouching down to reach my hand through the metal cross-wired fence. A short laugh escapes through my lips as the small dog snorts, licking my hand enthusiastically. 

She’s adorable. I pass her every day on my morning walks. She’s always sunbathing, her eyes glowing like honey in the sunshine. And she’s just a sweetheart. This moment is exactly what I needed after tonight. 

The fence rattles as she tosses herself against it, desperate for more pets. The clatter echoes through the empty streets, making my eyes go wide. 

Looking around, I’m relieved to see nothing but a flickering lamp post. I know walking home alone this late isn’t smart, but it’s still better than letting a drunk guy drive me home. Even though Shawn had promised to stay sober. 

“So dumb,” I mumble, rubbing the dog’s ear–something I know she loves. Although I have pet her countless times, I still can’t get a hold of her collar to read her name. Not that it really matters–she liked being called Cutie. 

“Did you just call my dog dumb?” 

My whole body jolts at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. I quickly retract my hand from the fence, clutching my chest as I gasp for air. 

“Jesus! I–no, no, I was just…” I stand up fast, my eyes dropping to my hands as I smooth down my short skirt. Why does it have to be so cold? “I was talking to myself, sorry,” I huff, giving the dog one last glance before finally looking up. 

A lump forms in my throat as I meet his gaze. Even in the dim light, I can see how bright his eyes are–sharp, piercing. Intimidating. 

“She’s, uh… she’s really cute,” I add, nodding to the dog as I give an awkward smile. 

My forehead crinkles as I watch him cock an eyebrow, his arms unfolding slightly as he gestures toward the dog. “She’s,” he points, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth, “-a he.” 

Oh. 

She’s a he. 

“Oh.” My mouth draws into an ‘O’ as I chew the inside of my cheek. I wrap my arms around myself, bracing against the cold breeze that cuts through the air. God, I wish this skirt were longer.

“Yeah.” He reaches for the fence gate, pushing it open and shutting it behind him with a soft clank. “Why are you petting a random dog at…” He glances down at his phone before stuffing it back into his coat pocket. “Nearly two in the morning?” 

The judgemental look on his face makes my fingers twitch. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was walking home from a party,” I grumble, my tongue pressing against the back of my teeth as I hug my arms closer.

His lips curl slightly. “This late? Are you stupid?”

I clench my teeth, a sharp breath leaving my nose. “I–well—you, ugh.” 

His head tilts, watching me like he’s waiting for me to form a coherent sentence. 

Annoyed, I cross my arms. “What are you doing out so late, hm?” I shoot back, my confidence wavering as he stares at me–completely unfazed. 

My feet shift against the pavement as I drop my posture slightly, glancing away. The flickering street lamp blinks in my peripheral vision, its erratic pattern drawing my gaze to the tall metal post.

“I went for a walk,” he says blankly. 

I slowly turn my head back toward him with a raised brow. “Without your dog?” I gesture toward the so-called ‘he,’ who is now cleaning himself. 

Yep. That’s definitely a boy. 

My shoulders shutter as I recoil slightly, disgust creeping up my spine. 

“Trevor's lazy,” he states.

My ears perk at the name. Trevor. 

A small smile creeps onto my face as Trevor stirs at the mention of his name, wagging his tail slightly. 

Trevour wags his tail half-heartedly before flopping onto his side, done with us both. 

I smirk. “Yeah, he seems real energetic.” 

The guy exhales through his nose, unimpressed. “He has more sense than you, at least. Doesn’t go wandering around at night like an idiot.”

My smirk drops. “Okay, rude.”

He shrugs. “Not rude. Just stating facts.”

I glare. “Well, fact: I’m fine. I walk this way all the time.”

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Wow. That makes it so much safer.”

I groan, throwing my hands in the air. “You know what? I don’t need a lecture from some random guy who names his dog Trevor.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “What’s wrong with the name Trevor?”

“It’s just—” I glance at the dog, who’s now licking his own paw in oblivious contentment. “It’s very human.”

The guy crosses his arms. “Yeah? Well, Cutie isn’t exactly original.”

My face heats up. “It’s not his real name! I just—ugh, whatever.” I back up toward the sidewalk, rubbing my arms against the cold.

He watches me for a moment before sighing. “Chris.”

I blink. “What?”

“My name. Since you’re so desperate to call me something other than ‘random guy who names his dog Trevor.’”

I hesitate before answering. “Y/N.”

Chris nods once. “Cool.”

There’s a brief, awkward silence. Trevor lets out a loud yawn.

“Well,” I say, shifting on my feet, “enjoy your walk.”

“Enjoy not getting kidnapped,” he retorts.

I scoff but don’t dignify him with another response. Instead, I spin on my heel and march away, my shoes still sticky, my mood somehow worse than it was before.

Behind me, I hear the fence creak, followed by a soft, “C’mon, Trevor.”

I roll my eyes. Chris.

This neighborhood just got a whole lot more annoying.

[fatalhoon]

caught in my web ! - sjy

spiderman!jake x best friend!reader

wc ~6k

cw fluff!! swearing, one cum joke LOL, jake is a big nervous dork and reader is a little dumb lmaoo, i think that’s all!

an i wrote this and posted it on my sideblog for a different fandom but i thought it was cute so i wanted to redo it for jake a post it here too :>

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

when he first discovered that such a simple and seemingly harmless spider bite had such irreversible effects on him, jake, to put it bluntly, was petrified.

even from the moment the spider bit him, for all he knew he could soon be literally petrified by the way the bite was making his arm feel weird already, and though he can’t say he’s necessarily well versed in arachnids, that was not a spider he’d ever seen before.

he knew most likely it was just paranoia, but his brain was swirling with worst case scenarios.

nonetheless, it was very late at night and a college student such as himself did not have the money nor the means for an emergency room visit, so he decided to attempt to sleep it off, and if it seemed to be worse in the morning he’d see what he could do.

well, maybe that’s an oversimplification of events.

he’d called you, practically hyperventilating and saying his goodbyes, scaring you shitless as well for a good minute before you’d finally pried out of him what had happened.

luckily, entomology was something you were actually studying, and you had enough knowledge of various spiders and the effects of certain venom that when you arrived at his apartment (for his own peace of mind and yours) you were able to calm him enough to the point that planning his own funeral was no longer at the forefront of his mind.

with the strange spider safely captured in a small jar (as afraid as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to kill it) he felt a little better even just from your calming presence.

(“jake, why did you put a piece of cheese in there?” “i wanted to be hospitable.” “..cheese.” “i don’t know what spiders eat!”)

you spent the night on his couch that night as well (he hadn’t asked, but you knew if you left he might start typing up a will) so you were able to keep an eye on him.

the next morning jake wakes up feeling fine, albeit a bit groggy. he flops out of bed, and he rubs the sleep from his eyes as he wanders across the hall to the bathroom.

grabbing his glasses and sliding them on, he looks down at the spot on his arm that he’d been scratching at to check it’s status.

but its.. blurry?

he blinks a few times to focus his vision, but nothing changes.

its not until his hand pushes his glasses up to rub at his face and he gets a view without a lens that he realizes that its actually his glasses that are the issue. he moves them out of the way, and to his shock he can see completely clearly without them.

he lifts them up to sit on his head, looking at himself in the mirror, absolutely dumbfounded.

“what.. the fuck?”

“jake?”

he jumps, banging his knee on the counter.

“jesus! sorry,” you chuckle, hands up. “not a spider!”

“har har,” jake mocks, massaging his leg, a cute pout on his face.

you step into the bathroom, reaching up to adjust his glasses that had fallen from the crown of his head to the tip of his nose. he squints, rubbing at his temple.

“you.. okay?” you venture, watching him blink hard a few times.

“yeah! uh-“ more blinks, eyes wide- “i’m good.” a fake smile. its your turn to squint, not quite believing him.

you see him instinctively clenching his fist, shaking out his arm a little. you grab it and drag him forward a little to examine the splotch on his forearm.

“mm.” you hum. you brush your fingers along the bump, making a shiver roll up jake’s spine. he watches you over the rim of his glasses.

“its a little red, but it looks okay. i don’t think it was poisonous.”

“great! uh- cool, that’s good news,” jake bumbles, an awkward smile on his face.

he stares at you.

you stare at him.

your face is blurry.

he adjusts his glasses.

“right..”

he gulps.

“well. i have a lecture soon, so i should get going.” you give his arm a little pat and release it from your fingers. he nods, scratching at it absentmindedly again.

“still on for movie night later?”

jake answers without thinking through it.

“of course.” shit.

you grin at him. “great.” shit shit shit.

but the twinkle in your eyes and the way your fingers ruffle through his messy hair makes his heart flutter less with anxiety and more with something.. warmer.

you turn and round the hallway corner and jake lets out a tense breath he didn’t know he was holding. he knocks into a small table from his lack of clear sight as he follows you, and swiftly blames it on lack of sleep when you quirk a brow at him.

a minute later you’ve gathered your things from the living room, the bottled spider included to take to your class to be studied, and give him a wave as you walk out his front door.

“see you tonight, spider man.”

jake takes off his glasses once the door is closed behind you, sighing heavily and rubbing a hand down the side of his face. he swipes his thumb across his forearm, your touch lingering in his mind.

“spider man.” he scoffs, but he can’t help the fond smile that turns up his lips.

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

“where are your glasses?”

“i got contacts.” jake lies through his teeth.

“today?” you question incredulously.

“… yeah.”

you clearly don’t believe him, if the way your brow furrows is anything to go by. you’d seen him just a few hours ago.

“is it because i always call you a nerd? you know i mean that affectionately, right?” jake hears the hint of guilt in your voice and panics.

“no! yeah i uh, i do- i just-“ he trails off. he isn’t sure where else to go with this. you catch the awkwardness, watching as he scratches the back of his neck, and decide to let it go before he starts sweating.

“well, if you can’t see the screen don’t ask me what happened,” you joke, lightening the mood to jake’s relief. you set down the snacks you brought and plop down on the couch, propping your feet on the coffee table, remote in hand.

jake relaxes in his spot next to you, ripping open a bag of chips. “you’d probably be asleep even if i did.” you roll your eyes and smack his arm. jake lets out a laugh.

fourty five minutes later, jake does have to ask a question about the movie you’re watching (but not because he couldn’t see, he’s just been daydreaming for most of it.)

and lo and behold, you are asleep, so he’s left to wonder.

jake starts to reach for his soda on the table in front of him, but you, wrapped around his right arm and sleeping comfortably, tighten your grip when you feel him start to move.

he moves just the left side of his body forward, ever so slowly, wiggling his fingers as he strains to grab his drink without disturbing you.

but suddenly, something knocks into the can, denting the side and sending it falling over with a tinny clank against the wood. liquid spills from the opening and dribbles over the side and onto the floor.

“how the-“

“shhh,”

he freezes, looking down at you. you pull him back again, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. your cheek presses up against his sleeve, smushing up your face and jakes’s heart almost explodes. he reaches up gently, pushing a tuft of hair away from your face, and you hum happily.

jake thinks for a second that maybe a stain on his carpet is worth it if he can stay like this forever.

something stuck to his wrist catches his attention.

its a strand of web.

jake yelps before he can catch himself, frantically flicking his arm to detach it and startles you fully awake in the process. you let out a similar yelp in practically the same octave as his was, jumping up and clutching tighter onto his bicep.

“what!! what happened?” you squeak.

he doesn’t answer, just continues his task of brushing off every square inch of his body to rid himself of any potential dangers. when he deems himself safe, he looks over at you, and is met with crossed arms and a disgruntled look.

“sorry! sorry,” jake huffs apologetically. he clears his throat, his face flushing red from embarrassment as he explains, “spider web.”

you chuckle incredulously, rubbing your eyes and letting out a yawn. “spider web,” you giggle through a playful smirk. you stand, stretching your limbs, and hobble in the direction the bathroom.

“try not to die out here without me, alright?” you quip as turn the corner.

jake groans. he gets up himself to grab a towel from the kitchen, coming back to crouch down and sop up the mess still dripping from the table.

he picks up the can and tries to set it back on the table top, but it sticks to his hand. even when he uncurls all five fingers from it, its still stuck snugly to his palm. he uses his other hand to grab it and pry it away, and it detaches with a sticky snap, leaving multiple strands of web connecting his skin to the tin.

“jesus christ,” he gripes, watching the web strands flutter under his breath.

“oh, there really was a spider web,” it’s jake’s turn to startle, jumping a bit as he sees you crouched down right beside him, observing the wiggly webs.

jake gives you an indignant look, one that reads ‘did you think i was lying?’

“honestly i just though you were being paranoid.” jake rolls his eyes, nudging you with his shoulder.

“sorry! not my fault you’re a scaredy cat!”

“i am not!” he defends, pressing the towel further down into the carpet plush.

you glide your fingers up the back of jake’s neck in a gentle tickle, and right on cue he lets out a little ‘eek!’, slapping your hand away. he pushes you softly and you giggle, falling back from your crouched stance on your toes and onto your butt. you hug your legs, resting your chin on your knee as you watch him continue to dry up the mess.

“they probably just like you. i know i do.” you drop a little hint at the end. he never seems to catch on.

“they can like me all they want, just far away from me please.” he grumbles, taking the can to the kitchen to toss it in the trash.

“spiders are friends!~” he hears you sing from the other room.

he drops the can into the bin, hoping this is the last of his spider related worries.

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

jake never thought he would ever be friends with spiders. let alone be one.

it took him a while to realize that the spider bite had caused him more trouble than just a slight fear of the nooks and crannies of his apartment. much more trouble.

he discovered that it was him creating the webs he was finding around when he dropped his pen once while writing out some notes for a class, and when he tried to grab it before it hit the ground, he’d caught it with a collection of web strands that shot out of his wrist instead.

he discovered how strong his webs were when he tripped on the staircase while running late one day, spurting out a web that stuck to the wall and caught him, and tugged him upright before he hit the ground.

and he discovered how useful this strange new talent could be outside your apartment.

“so, any news about that spider? you brought it in to study it, right?” jake asks as nonchalantly as he possibly can, walking down the concrete steps beside you.

“oh, actually yes! we think it might be a-“

suddenly a hooded figure runs by, snatching your backpack from right off your shoulders, and sprinting down the sidewalk through a dense crowd of pedestrians.

the stranger nearly knocked you to the ground with the push-and-shove of stealing your belongings. jake caught you, steadied you on your feet, and booked it after him without even thinking twice, leaving your confused cries to stop behind him.

his speed and reflexes seemed to be heightened as he caught up in a few seconds flat, and in a fraction of that time he had a web wrapped around the strap of your bag, pulling it directly into his chest to wrap his arms around, and a leg out to sweep the thief’s legs straight out from under him, sending him face first into the pavement.

jake stands motionless for a second, energy rushing through his veins, and waits for his brain to process what had just happened. when it does, it feels like he’d just returned to his own body from somewhere completely different.

you caught up to jake after a moment, heaving heavily from your tired lungs. your eyes widen at the scene in front of you; a completely unscathed jake and a nearly unconscious criminal bleeding from the nose below.

“how did-“ you struggle for a full breath. “how did you do that?”

“uhm- adrenaline, i think?” honestly, jake isn’t quite sure how he did this either.

“jake, you could have gotten hurt!” you scold him, trying your best to sound steady and serious, but by the way your hands tremble it tells him you were more worried for his safety than anything else.

“i wasn’t gonna stand there and do nothing,” he says like its the most obvious thing in the world. he settles your bag back on your shoulders, looping your arms through the straps for you and adjusting the fabric of your sleeves. your eyes gloss over and you’re gnawing at your lip like you’re trying your best not to cry.

“your laptop is expensive. we can’t have you lose that,” he jokes, attempting to lighten the mood.

you let out a trembling laugh, and yank him in to hug him with a full crushing force. “you’re such an idiot,” you whine, and he returns the hug with a chuckle of his own.

jake isn’t sure how he did this or what exactly is going on, but what he is sure about is that whatever is happening to him, using it to protect you will always be his first priority.

—🕸️🕷️🕸️—

the idea to become a “hero” of sorts struck jake one day like a bolt of lightning.

the notion sounds absolutely crazy, jake knows that, but the circumstances have fallen directly into his lap, and he knows that if he has the ability, the real ability to protect people, he should take it.

he practices his web slinging in private, and he’s gotten quite good at it; he now can do it on command instead of at random, and can control it when he needs to.

(and yes, he’s made all of the jokes, even if he’s the only person around to laugh. he can shoot sticky white goo from his wrists, did you expect him not to be a little silly with it?)

he practices his dexterity in the air out in an old alley that no one has any reason to frequent. in doing so, his muscles have bulked up significantly, and he was flustered beyond belief when you of all people were the one the pointed it out.

he told himself that if he was going to be this new face of justice, he should protect his identity and keep it separate from his personal life. he didn’t want anyone he knew and loved getting involved; if someone got hurt because of him he wouldn’t be able to bare it.

so he made a few suit prototypes from old clothes and acrylic paint. he may not be the craftiest, but he made do, and he learned some sewing basics in the process, though you really wouldn’t be able to tell. (in the end he commissioned someone to make one for him anyway, for the sake of quality.)

the last thing he really needed came to him after he’d successfully helped a woman with an issue involving a man following her down the street late one night. after making sure the woman was safe enough to leave, he attaches his web to a fire escape and is about to swing away.

“what do i call you?” she yells out from below him as he hangs from the rail.

he thinks for a second. web boy? no, that’s dumb. arachnid kid? a little silly, he likes that it rhymes, but it still doesn’t feel right.

and then it hits him.

“spiderman.”

he swings away, and within the next few weeks, ‘spiderman’ is everything that people are talking about.

you included.

“have you seen him?” you ask him excitedly, rocking back and forth on your heels as you both stand in line at your favorite ice cream shop. “he’s so cool!”

he chuckles a little. “i’ve heard of him.” a blush creeps up on his face he hopes you don’t see, but you’re too excited to even notice. “cool, huh?”

“so cool!” you thank the worker for your milkshakes and leave the small shop, the bell above the door jingling as you step outside. “i want to talk to him so bad, i bet he’s so interesting, and he’s probably so cute under the mask,” you daydream out loud as you walk down the sidewalk.

jake coughs a bit in surprise. “what makes you think that?”

“don’t be jealous,” you poke, a smirk on your face. “just a hunch.”

in a split second you’re suddenly yanked to the edge of the sidewalk by jake as you’re about to step onto the crosswalk. before you can comprehend why, someone comes barreling through on a bicycle, shouting a faint ‘sorry!’ as they whiz by, the wind fluttering your hair. your milkshake slips from your fingers, a small gasp leaving your lips, and jake grabs it before it can splatter across the ground, placing it back in your hand for you.

“you okay?” he asks, brushing off your jacket. you don’t answer, still staring off in the direction the bike went in shock. as soon as everything catches up to you, you look at him, eyes wide. “that was insane! when did you get such crazy reflexes?”

“what do you mean?” jake sweats a little. “didn’t you hear him coming?”

you shake your head. “no that’s not it, you did that so fast, and my drink-“

“i think- i think you were just caught off guard,” he excuses, ushering you forward to keep walking.

“so um. you were talking about spiderman?”

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

and talk about spiderman you did.

specifically, you talk about how you would love to meet him, to speak to him.

so, who would jake be to keep that from you when he is the one you want to meet?

well unfortunately, it wasn’t his choice.

(how was he supposed to go about that? knock on your door and say “hello random citizen, i’m spiderman! your best friend jake who i totally don’t know and definitely am not the same person as said you wanted to talk to me”?)

no, in reality, it was a total accident.

he finds himself crash landing onto the roof of your apartment building after a particularly brutal fight he’d gotten himself tied up in, his fatigue and pain not letting him swing any longer to make it all the way back home. he groans loudly, cradling his leg in his arms as he lays on the cold roof in the fetal position.

“spiderman??”

fuck. he knows that voice.

he lifts his head up in the direction it came from, seeing your head pop up over the ledge of the building. before he can say anything, you scramble up from the fire escape and run over to his side.

‘great,’ jake thinks. this is the second worst byproduct of you having a top floor apartment. (he still remembers how sore he was after having to help you drag your mattress up several flights of stairs when you moved in.)

“are you okay?”

“i’m fine, i’m good, i just-“ he attempts to stand on his own, but groans again, and crumples under his own weight. its your turn to catch him before he falls.

“oh god, um, i can help! just- here-“ you sling his arm around your shoulder and huddle into his side, and you help him hobble to the edge. he clambers down the fire escape, using his webs to keep him relatively stable, and fumbles through the window and onto the floor of your apartment. he hits the floor with a thud and a moan.

“sorry! um, i’ll get my first aid kit! i’ll be back!”

you leave and come back in a blind hurry, making quick work of rolling up the torn part of his suit to get a clear enough view of the gash in his leg to start your process. it hurts at first, a lot actually, but the pain subsides not long after. maybe because its you doing it, and he trusts you more than anyone, but he feels so much love and care in your movements.

he lets you focus in quiet for a while before he finally decides to say something.

“for someone who studies bugs and not medicine, you’re pretty good at that.”

you raise your eyebrows at him, wrapping a bandage around his calf. “how do you know i study bugs?”

shit. “just a hunch.”

you glance at him, not convinced.

“the pinned butterflies on your wall.”

“ah,” you say, nodding.

whew.

“maybe i just like butterflies.”

“that could be it too.” he chuckles under the mask. “i mean they’re pretty. like you. so it makes sense.”

you blush, a smile tugging at your lips. “smooth.”

“thanks, i know,” jake drawls, leaning to suavely rest on his elbow next to him, and hits his head on a table. “ow.” you both laugh.

when you finally get him patched up, he thanks you (he almost leans in for a hug on accident, but settles for a firm handshake instead) and climbs over the windowsill in preparation to take his leave.

“hey, can i ask you something?”

jake’s heart pounds. “sure.”

“can you.. come back sometime?” you twist your fingers nervously as you ask, avoiding his eyes. “i always wanted to talk to you but, this wasn’t really.. under the best circumstances, i guess.”

jake’s brain doesnt know if he should say yes, but his heart knows he could never say no to you, spiderman or otherwise.

“of course.” your smile makes it worth it.

he slings a web up onto a bar of the fire escape and flings himself out.

“wait!”

he turns back, glancing back down at you leaning out the windowsill, the chilled wind fluttering your hair.

“i don’t just like butterflies. i like spiders, too.”

jake grins.

“i didn’t used to like spiders. but i think they’re growing on me.”

and with that, he swings away.

—🕸️🕷️🕸️—

despite his better judgement, jake does come back. more than once.

he knows he shouldn’t appear as spiderman in front of you more than he needs to, but it just makes you so happy, it was physically impossible for him not to when he knows he’s the reason for your smile every time.

he sits with you now on the roof of your apartment, the same place you found him the first time, and the same place you two always meet now.

“-and that’s the story of how i met my best friend jake.” you finish your story, face flushed from laughing, and he’s forever grateful you can’t see his face under his mask. if he’s being honest (having lived through that torture with you) you actually told it way less embarrassing than he remembers it being. whether you perceive it less humiliating than he does or if you’re just gracious enough not to go into detail with strangers he’s not sure, but he’s thankful nonetheless.

“seems like you really care about him.”

“jake?” you ask, leaning back to rest on the heels of your hands. “well, yeah. he’s my favorite person in the whole world. don’t you feel that way about your best friend, too?”

jake feels his face heat up. “yeah, um. you pretty much took the words right out of my mouth.”

“yeah? tell me about them. what’s their name?”

“hey, whoa” jake lifts his hands in defense. “ask me about my favorite ninja turtle all day, but i can’t be giving out my best friend’s identity. why do you think i wear the mask?”

you laugh, nodding in understanding. “okay, okay, fair.”

a comfortable silence falls for a moment, and jake watches you gaze at the stars above the city lights.

“you remind me of him, you know.”

“huh?” jake snaps back into the present.

“jake. you guys seem really similar, honestly. same mannerisms, same cologne-“ you know the smell of his cologne? “you say things sometimes that i definitely think he would say. same favorite ninja turtle, too.”

he never really realized you paid this much attention to him. his heart flutters.

“ehh, i don’t know. guy sounds like a total nerd.”

you snort out a laugh. “oh he is,” ouch?? “but he’s my nerd. i love him just how he is. i wouldn’t change a single thing about him.”

“.. you love him?”

another silence. this one a little more.. tense.

“i love all my friends, but jake is.. different.”

“different how?”

“i’m not in love with my other friends.”

jake’s brain nearly short circuits right then and there. how he gets a single comprehensible sentence out of his mouth after that is honestly beyond him. but he’s not jake right now, he’s spiderman.

“i’m in love with my best friend too.”

“really?” you look at him, a sense of hope in your eyes, like you just found the only other person in the world in the same position as you. if you only knew.

“this,” he motions to his suit, and in turn the whole act of being spiderman at all. “its for them. i help everyone i can, of course, but,” he seems to be lost in thought for a second, drumming his fingers on his knee. “like you said, they’re different. i’d do anything for them. anything at all.”

you tilt your head at him. “wow, who knew a superhero could be so sappy.”

“yeah, yeah,” he waves his hand dismissively. “my bad, gotta protect my stone cold image.” you huff out a laugh.

“have you told them?”

“no.”

“why?”

“same reason as you, i’m guessing.”

“fear?”

“fear.”

a knowing look is passed between you.

“my best friend doesn’t actually know i’m spiderman.”

“wait really?” you ask, surprised. “why not?”

“how am i supposed to tell them that? ‘hey by the way i’m risking my life every day for you!’ that seems like a horrible conversation.”

you chuckle. “yeah, i get that. i suppose its similar to the reason you haven’t confessed. the fear of rejection is present either way.”

“exactly,” he sighs.

after a second, a light bulb seems to come on above your head. “hey, i’ve got an idea. you tell your best friend you’re spiderman, and i’ll tell my best friend i’m in love with him.”

“that’s a terrible idea,” jake admits through a chuckle.

“is it?” you feign indignant. “if they love us, they’ll accept us, right?”

jake thinks it over for a second, his heart racing so fast he hopes you can’t hear it.

“okay. deal.”

you grin. “perfect.”

how the hell is he gonna do that?

“jake should actually be on his way, i’ll call him to make sure.”

shit. shit. he forgot about movie night.

you pull out your phone, tapping quickly to find his contact and press your phone to your ear. jake panics, pulling his phone from his suit just as it starts to ring, and presses end as soon as he can reach the button.

you give him a puzzled look, and he huffs nervously. “sorry, scam calls.” he shoves his phone into his suit before you can see it.

“hm. it went straight to voicemail. that’s odd,” you muse, glancing at the ‘call ended’ screen.

“maybe he’s driving. yknow, gotta stay safe,” he bumbles, nerves flooding his system as he stands up and dusts off the back of his legs. “hey listen, its been great, but i just remembered i have to go-“

“wait, wait!” you jump up as well, grabbing onto his gloved hand. “can you stay for just a minute? i think jake would really love to meet you!”

“i really uh- its- its important- i should-“

“it’ll just be a second! i promise! don’t move!” you plead. you give his hand a squeeze, and before jake can stop you, you hop down the fire escape and scurry back into your apartment.

—🕷️🕸️🕷️—

jake is fucked. absolutely fucked.

as soon as he sees you disappear into your apartment to wait for, well, him, he slings himself down to an alley to ‘jake’ himself up.

luckily, he has spare clothes stored across the city in case of emergencies like this. he stuffs his hand through a hole in the bricks of an abandoned building and pulls out a backpack, and as quickly as he possibly can, he pulls his clothes on over his suit, shoves his mask in and zips it up. he ruffles his messy hair in an attempt to seem a more presentable type of messy, and sprints out into the street.

now trekking up the stairs toward your apartment door, he thinks there wasn’t even really a logical reason to do this. he could have just told you right then that it was him, but something inside him told him that wasn’t the right time or place.

stopping in front of your door, he prepares himself, catching his breath before he knocks.

you swing it open immediately, a huge smile on your face.

“jake! i have something to show- why are you so sweaty?”

“i uh- i was running late so i ran.” he fumbles for an excuse. he walks in and is about to kick off his shoes when you grab his arm, dragging him across the living room to your window.

“come with me first! i have something to show you!” you say, brimming with excitement.

“hold on- i need to-“

“hurry!” you squeal, and hop out the window to climb the ladder. jake internally groans, following after you.

he grabs the rungs and hoists himself up behind you. “can i tell you something first?” he calls upwards. “its important!”

“this is important too! he has to be somewhere!”

oh, so now you listen to that information.

when his head pops up above the ladder to see the expanse of the rooftop, you’re already looking around, confused.

“where did he-“

“why are we up here?”

“i’m looking for someone! he said he would stay for a second,” you whine.

he never actually agreed to that, but he’ll let it slide.

you grip the barrier of the roof and pull yourself up to stand on the ledge, putting your arms out to steady yourself as you survey the area.

“what are you doing!” jake shouts, running up to you and grabbing your waist to prevent you from falling. “you have terrible balance!”

“relax, i’m fine. maybe if i fall he’ll come back to swoop in and save me.”

and as if the universe took that as some sort of sick challenge, a huge gust of wind blows through, knocking your balance off. you tilt forward with a strained yelp, flailing your arms. jake tries to grip your belt loops but they slip from his fingers, and he lets out an exasperated yell.

bracing yourself for a horrendous fall, you let out a scream, squeezing your eyes shut.

but it never comes.

you’re suspended in the air, but there’s no rushing air, no sinking feeling in your gut, everything just.. stopped.

you pop an eye open, met with the rough red texture of the brick in front of you. you follow your arm that’s outstretched above you upward, expecting somehow to see jake’s grip wrapped around your wrist, but instead you see a bracelet of weaved white. you lock eyes with him, a terribly worried expression on his face, the same white around your wrist attached to the underside of his.

for the first time, it all clicks together.

the webs in his apartment. the way they have the same voice, same habits. the way the spider on the suit is jake’s favorite color. his change in demeanor these past few weeks. jake having a limp from the same leg spiderman had injured around the same time.

it all finally makes sense.

“you-.. you’re-..”

“surprise,” jake whispers, a small, guilty smile on his face.

“can you. pull me up, please?” you tremble.

“oh! yeah, sorry.” jake brings you in with ease, grabbing firmly onto your body until you’re sat on your knees on the safety of the roof. you lunge forward, trapping jake in a bone crushing hug. he feels that you’re still shaking, and wraps himself around you with equal fervor, holding your head to his shoulder and stroking your hair to soothe you.

how could you have been so stupid? so clueless? you had every single piece of the puzzle, yet you were so blind to the placements.

it hits you then, that you had confessed to him without knowing it.

jake pulls you back and holds onto your shoulders, scanning you for any injuries. “are you okay?”

when he locks eyes with you, he sees how flustered you look, the blush on your face, and he has to bite back a smile.

“well, this is a little awkward,” he chuckles.

“you’re such an idiot,” you scoff, a common phrase nowadays it seems, but he hears no real weight in your words.

“i should have known. no ones favorite ninja turtle is leonardo except yours.”

“don’t bring my boy into this.”

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“well i think spiderman already explained that,” he says with a shit eating grin.

you roll your eyes. “yeah, he told me quite a bit, actually. some pretty gushy stuff.” jake whines nervously, scratching the back of his neck.

“big mouth on that guy, huh.”

“jake.”

“hm?”

“i have something to tell you.”

he smiles shyly. “yeah?”

you grab jake by the zipper of his jacket, pulling you together to connect your lips in a kiss. his hands immediately find your waist to pull you closer, practically falling on top of him. he tilts his head to kiss you deeper. you sigh happily in tandem.

after a second your hands find the sides of his face and you pull away, giggling at how you both can’t stop smiling and its making it hard to continue.

“i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

you run your thumb across his bottom lip, admiring the contours of his face and how his goofy grin and lidded eyes are so full of warmth.

“don’t you have something to confess to me, too?”

“i still don’t like spiders.”

“jake!” you push him back by the chest and he laughs, wrapping his arms completely around your torso.

he wiggles his fingers up your spine in a crawling motion, making you shiver and swat him away in a fit of giggles. he leans in close to your ear, and whispers-

“i’m spiderman.”

[teaboot]

As someone who learnt english as a second language via textbook, I have to say "flying by the seat of my pants" is a hilarious idiom xD

It's the first time I've seen/heard it.

Could you share another one you like using?

Idk about idioms specifically, but there's a bunch of phrases I learned from my mom!

Lord love a duck! (Incredulous, like 'oh my god')

Lord suffer in sheep dip! (Sheep dip meaning sheep poop. Incredulous, but for annoying things- like 'are you kidding me?')

Is there a piano tied to your ass? ('Don't be lazy, do it yourself')

Someone's cruising for a bruising. (You're picking a fight.)

I don't give a rat's rip. ('I don't care'- a rat's 'rip' is it's butt crack.)

Pull up a stump! (Get yourself a chair, sit down.)

Everybody out of the pool! (Get out of the car)

I'm flying by the seat of my pants. (I have no idea what I'm doing, but I'm doing it.)

Don't go blowing smoke up my ass. (Don't over-compliment me, don't flatter me, don't stroke my ego, don't tell me positive lies)

Looks like it's gonna rain on our parade. (A storm is coming.)

Sorry to rain on your parade. (I've given you bad news- can be used sincerely or sarcastically to denote sympathy for incurring a bad mood.)

Better button that lip. (Stop talking.)

Someone's gonna stick a boot up your ass. ('Stick a boot up your ass'- fight you, beat you, kick your ass.)

Stick that lip out any further, and a pigeon'll shit on it. (Stop whining.)

Suck it up, buttercup. (Stop whining.)

Dumber than a fence post. (Very stupid.)

The back forty. (The wild or forested area behind a rural home. The 'forty' being forty acres, or farmland.)

Don't go begging for a fat lip. (Whatever you're saying or doing is going to bother people and get you in trouble.)

What on God's green earth (What the fuck)

I'm sweating like a pig in a porta-potty (like a pig in a plastic outhouse- I'm very warm, it's hot here)

He thinks the universe flew out of his ass. (He thinks he's more impressive than he is.)

Your mouth wrote a cheque your ass couldn't cash. (You promised more than you were capable of providing.)

You've got a horseshoe up your ass. (You're very, very lucky.)

Taking a dirt nap. (Dead.)

Pushing (up) daisies. (Dead.)

Give me forty acres to turn this rig around. (I need time and space to move this large, heavy, or unwieldy thing. Usually about navigating a vehicle. Taken from a song lyric.)

Jesus take the wheel. (God help me, I can't handle this, I give up.)

Gone belly-up. (Has died.)

We've got a floater. (This one is dead.)

Herding cats. (Trying to organize chaos, managing an impossibly complicated situation.)

I've got a black thumb. (I am bad at growing plants, all my plants die- reference to having a 'green thumb', or being good at growing plants.)

Stop trackin' floor cookies. (Floor cookies are bits of animal shit that fall off your work boots- 'tracking floor cookies' means wearing your boots in the house; take your shoes off at the door.)

Running around like a headless chicken. (Frantic, disorganized, stressed out by many tasks or panicked by a big situation.)

Spinning my wheels. (Waiting around for something to happen, getting nowhere, frustrated by inactivity, not making any progress towards a goal.)

He's gonna blow a gasket. (He's going to lose his temper, he's going to be angry.)

They'll tan your hide. (They'll punish you severely; usually through violence. Specifically in reference to a spanking.)

He's a few bricks short a load. (He's not clever / he doesn't think things through / he's crazy)

Not the sharpest tool in the shed. (Not the smartest person. Very dumb, clumsy, or absent-minded.)

I'm not going to bail you out. (Not going to save your sinking boat- not going to help you out of your bad situation.)

Looks like things are going south. (The situation is growing worse.)

I'll start making tracks. (I'll leave now, I'll start working, I'll get going.)

He's fucking the dog. (He's not being productive, he's doing a bad job, he's made things worse, he's screwing around.)

He's making puppies. (Less graphic version of 'fucking the dog'.)

Plant your ass. (Sit.)

Playing grab-ass. (Procrastinating- accomplishing nothing, slowing people down.)

He couldn't find his ass in the dark. (He's stupid, ineffective, underqualified, or incompetent.)

He couldn't pour water out of a boot if the instructions were on the heel. (He is unbelievably, comically dumb or ineffective. He can't do anything right.)

One foot in the ground. (Dying, or half-dead.)

I'm kicking rocks. (I'm not doing anything productive.)

I'm hauling ass. (I'm running away.)

Madder than a wet hen. (Very, very angry.)

Like I said I'm not sure that these are all idioms but they're all the phrases and sayings from my childhood that I can remember right now

EDIT: Cannot BELIEVE I forgot my mom's favourite

52. Wish in one hand, shit in the other, see which gets filled first. (Wishes don't come true by themselves)

Plus some more I forgot:

53. You make a better door than a window. (You're in the way of my view.)

54. You can take a long walk off a short pier. (Go fuck yourself.)

55. He's about as sharp as a bowling ball. (He's stupid.)

56. Scoot your poot. (Move over.)

57. Not my first rodeo. (I know what I'm doing.)

58. He's built like a brick shithouse. (He's broad and sturdy and very strong, solid.)

59. I smell bacon. (I saw a cop nearby.)

60. I don't want to hear a peep. (Stop talking.)

61. You're thinking with the wrong head. (You're making bad decisions because you're horny.)

62. I'd lose my ass/head if it wasn't tied on. (I'm very absent-minded, forgetful.)

63. That went down like a lead balloon. (That situation was bad.)

[glitterquadricorn]

His name is Chuck - LN4

+summary: what do you get a man that can literally get anything he wants at a moment's notice? why a puppy of course! +pairing: Lando Norris x Reader +warnings: mentions a pregnancy scare, mentions cheating (no cheating happens), semi-edited. a/n: this was supposed to be out months ago... oops. I do not give my permission to have my work reposted. I do not give my permission to have my work translated. If I'm notified that you've stolen my work or claim it as your own, you'll be asked to take it down before I'll report you. End of discussion.

What do you get someone that can afford to get anything their heart desires? It seemed like nothing that came to mind was good enough. She could get him the same thing she did the first year they were together for his birthday, which was a brand new, muted orange, lace lingerie set. But repeat birthday gifts were tacky in her opinion. And it's not like she couldn't get him another one of those boudoir books because the last time she did, it led to a pregnancy scare.

Whenever his birthday did come around, they'd most likely wouldn't even be in Monaco, much less in England. It's sometimes hard to plan things around his racing schedule but she wouldn't have it any other way.

"What are you watching?"

Jumping, placing a hand over her chest, "Jesus Christ, Lando! What is wrong with you!"

Lando laughed as he walked around the couch and sat next to her, noticing she was watching the most recent video Mclaren posted of him playing with puppies. Y/n saw the corners of Lando's mouth turn upwards into a smile. It was at this moment she knew what she was going to get Lando for his birthday. Only problem was where she was going to get it and where she was going to keep it until his birthday.

"I had a lot of fun playing with those puppies," he paused. "It makes me wish we weren't so busy traveling to and from countries for races, you know?"

"I can rearrange and clear some things from my schedule so I could be with the dog at all times."

"There's no need to do that, love."

Y/n saw a flash of sadness in Lando's eyes before he rested his head on her shoulder. Despite him saying she didn't need to move things around; she wanted to because that's what you do when you love someone. So, when Lando went off to go stream with Max, she texted Alex.

y/n -> albonooo

how much do you love me?

albonooo -> y/n

what did you do?

y/n -> albonooo

it's not about what I did, but what I'm about to do.

I need a huge favor.

albonooo -> y/n

I feel like I'm about to regret hearing you out but carry on.

y/n -> albonooo

Lando's birthday is coming up and everyone knows that Lando is a hard man to shop for. Mclaren recently did a video playing with puppies and I wanted to get him a puppy for his birthday.

albonooo -> y/n

okay, so what does this have to do with me?

y/n -> albonooo

I'm glad you asked!

When I get the puppy, I need somewhere to put them until his actual birthday.

albonooo -> y/n

Why me though?

y/n -> albonooo

if you and Lily got another animal no one would question it. In case you forgot, you guys practically have a zoo.

albonooo -> y/n

fair.

Now that she had a place to put the puppy once she got it, the next step was to talk to someone over at Battersea. The first phone call she made, no one answered. No one answering wasn't that big of a deal since they were probably busy, and she'd just call back later. When she called back hours later, the woman she spoke to was less than helpful. In fact, she wasn't really directing her in the direction she wanted to go, and the frustration was growing by the minute. Her fingers rubbed her temple, wondering if getting Lando a puppy for his birthday was a good idea.

And the search for a puppy didn't get any better as the weeks went by. Every time she thought she had found the perfect puppy, something would happen, and she'd be back at square one. But just as she was ready to give up and throw the towel in, she had gotten a call from her aunt saying a friend of hers' dog had puppies five weeks ago and could come and pick one out.

There's just one issue.

This person was in England and she's in Monaco.

When she told Lando she wasn't able to attend the Brazilian GP because of a business meeting back in England, he had reassured her it was fine, but she could tell from his eyes he was a little upset. Seeing that look in his eyes made her feel guilty for lying to him since she's never lied to him about anything in their relationship. She had to remind herself that it's a gift for this birthday and it'll be one that he'll never forget.

Arriving in England, the drive to her aunt's friend's house was long since they lived pretty far out, but she didn't mind as she watched the landscape change from the bustling city where houses were stacked on top of each other to the wide-open meadows of the quiet English countryside.

Soon, the uber was turning onto the long rocky driveway leading up to a large stone home covered ivy. Standing outside was a man who she assumed to be her aunt's friend.

The man held his hand out for her to shake. "You must be y/n! My name is Richard."

"That's me," she smiled. Richard led them in the house and into the sunroom where the sound of puppies playing warmed her heart. "Oh, my goodness! They're all so cute!"

Richard stood off to the side, "If have you any questions, don't hesitate to ask."

"What breed of dog are they?" she asked, sitting down on the floor. The puppies surrounded her until she threw a ball, but there was one that didn't move from her side.

"Jack Russell Terrier." Richard smiled when the one dog that didn't move from her side crawled into her lap and fell asleep. "Seems like you've been chosen."

"Seems like it."

A warm fuzzy feeling washed over her body as she gently scratched behind the sleeping puppy. In her heart she just knew this was the dog for Lando. Pulling an orange collar from her pocket, she fastened it around his neck, making sure it wasn't too tight.

"You got a name picked out?" Richard said, pushing off the door frame, gesturing to her to follow him.

"No. I'll let my boyfriend pick a name since it's going to be his birthday present."

"A puppy is quite the birthday gift."

"Yeah, but when Lando did that video with those puppies, I could see that look of longing for a puppy, but with our schedules it was not practical for us to get a puppy. Now that things have settled a bit, I want to get him the puppy I know he wants."

Richard reached into a drawer and handed her a manila envelope. "Everything you need is in there."

"Thanks again for this. I was beginning to think I wasn't going to find a puppy in time."

"It's not a problem, y/n." Richard came from around the desk, "Let me walk you out."

The two quietly talked about how the season was going as they walked to the front of the house, but the feeling of anxiety was there. And that anxiety feeling was still there when she knocked on the door of Alex's apartment to drop the puppy and supplies off.

"Alex, please tell me I'm not crazy for getting Lando a puppy for his birthday."

Alex, who gently scratched behind the puppy's ear, "Oh! You're for sure crazy-"

From further in the apartment, Lily shouted, "Ignore him, y/n. I think it's cute you got Lando a dog for his birthday."

Alex watched as the woman shifted her weight from left to right, mumbling under her breath and waving her arms around frantically. "Y/n, listen. Lando has been wanting a puppy for the longest time, so this is a good gift."

"You think so?"

"Yes! Now head home before he finds out you've been here."

The reassurance from Alex made the anxiety she was feeling fall off her shoulders. And as she walked down the hall towards the elevator, she crossed her fingers' hoping Alex was right because at this point, there was no going back.

One of the hardest things she's ever done was keep this big of a secret from Lando. There were a few times were she nearly slipped but thankfully caught herself. But Lando clocked her nervousness and made a mental note of her odd behavior. It wasn't like y/n to act this way, so did something happen? Did she cheat and was hiding it from him?

As it got closer to his birthday, she got more fidgety, which again was not like her. Y/n wouldn't cheat on him, would she? No. She wouldn't. He knows her better than herself. Maybe it was something else, and his mind was just making things up.

Lando woke the morning of his birthday and instinctively reached over to the other side of the bed and noticed you weren't there. Instead, was a note.

If you wake up and I'm not there, I only went to pick up your birthday present from Alex. This is around the time you say, 'she didn't have to get me anything,' but I did. I wanted to. I'll be home shortly.

Love, y/n.

He laid there wondering what y/n got him that she had to go pick up from Alex. It had to have been something big that she couldn't have just kept at their place. But then again, if she did keep it at their place, he probably would've found it and ruined the surprise.

"Listen, when I left this morning daddy was still sleeping, so we got to be quiet."

daddy? what?

The door to their shared bedroom slowly opened and the head of his girlfriend peaked from around the corner to check to see if he was still sleeping and when he wasn't, the door quickly closed.

Lando tossed the covers back, walking over to the door. There stood y/n, but his eyes instantly went to the puppy in her arms. "Uh... who's dog is that?"

"You weren't supposed to be awake, but he's yours."

"Mine? What do you mean?"

"Remember when I said I had a business meeting back in England and couldn't go to the Brazilian gp? I did go back to England, but it wasn't for a business meeting. It was to go get this little fella."

"You got me a dog for my birthday?"

"Yeah," she nodded her head, handing the puppy over to Lando. "I could tell you wanted one when you did that video with puppies at MTC, so I went above and beyond to get you a puppy."

"Does he have a name?"

"I've been calling him Chuck because an actor from a tv show I watched as a kid and their name was Chuck Norris."

"Chuck. His name is Chuck."

---

tagging:

@patzammit @mrspeacem1nusone @alexxavicry @catswag22 @eugene-emt-roe @bibissparkles @cherry-piee @khaylin27 @evie-119 @green-thots @2pagenumb @myescapefromthislife @ironmaiden1313 @lottalove4evelyn @mynameisangeloflife @newlifeforus @jxnellat @loloekie @c-losur3 @czennieszn @d3kstar @reiofsuns2001 @sweate-r-weathe-r @itsjustkhaos @hiireadstuff

[dinogoofymutated]

You asked for some smut suggestions for Logan, and I got one:

So like…I mean…Logan might be on the short side, but he’s still big! I mean, like,,,those hands 🫣 It would be nice to see a fic to do with Logan and a little manhandling. but not like in a BDSM way, more like a “I am very strong, and here’s a little reminder” type way. Might seem kinda silly but I’d enjoy a fic like that lol.

NSFW!Wolverine/AFAB!Reader Ask and you shall receive!! I've spent like the last four days working on this and atp I can't looks at it anymore lol. I'm not super happy with how the beginning is written, but I still think it's alright enough to post lol. It's a lot more tell than show compared to most of my other fics, and I was halfway tempted to reformat it into headcannons, but I didn't feel like it. Anyway, hope you like the way I included the manhandling lol! Hope it turned out okay :) Also, might or might not be tall logan. I'll leave it up to yall to assume, I'm just short af so there's not a single person in marvel who wouldn't have to look down at me lmao.

Edit:FUCK I FORGOT THE READ MORE! TWs: MDNI!!!!!! Seriously, you will be blocked. Masterbation, lil bit of a scent kink. Sexual frustration. Manhandling. Jealous Logan. Creampie. Logan calls you "sunshine" and pretty and shit. I'll add more if I can think of any.

    You had a problem. You’ve had a problem. And it really didn’t seem like it was getting any better. It didn’t help the fact that it was incredibly embarrassing, either.

    You couldn’t get off. It’s not like you ever struggled with it before, but lately, it felt like you were fighting a losing battle. At first, you didn’t realize why. Maybe it was because you moved into the X-Mansion. Nerves because you’re living somewhere new, right? So you change it up a little. You got comfortable, had a glass of wine or two, and picked up a raunchy book. Yet every time you slipped your hand between your thighs… Running circles around your own clit, trying your best to finger yourself to your finish, you just could never quite hit that peak. It was safe to say you were beyond frustrated.

    Lucky for you, most people didn’t notice. You try your best not to be too uptight or mean, but there are just some things that you can’t quite hide from certain people.

    Logan’s noticed that something is up with you. You can tell he has, seeing the looks on his face, nose scrunched up in a way he’s catching into something that he just can't quite place. You’re assuming it’s your own pheromones, but hey, as long as he doesn’t realize what it is you’ll be fine, right?

     Maybe not.

    Eventually, you finally realized why you were having so much trouble getting off. All it took was one training session with Wolverine, and you knew immediately. You weren’t sparring or anything like that, hell, you knew before you even hit the danger room floor. Logan was in a bit of a mood today, although not as grumpy as he can be- and he’s trying to be patient with you. You can tell. But you’re having trouble focusing today- and you have been for a while. He can tell you’re not at 100% just by the way you hold yourself, and spends about 5 minutes watching as you struggle to reset the Danger room panel before he’s finally fed up with it.

    “Jesus fuck. Here, let me do it.” Logan grabs you by the waist, pulling you to his chest with one arm as the other reaches around you to reset the panel. It’s not like you didn’t find him attractive before, but the close contact? The smell of his aftershave and the sound of his voice growling in your ear? 

    oh.

    Oh. 

    You were having trouble getting off because you had a thing for Logan.

    You’re practically stunned when he pulls away, standing there with a flushed face and something rather embarrassing pooling in your underwear for the first time in a while. You had to quickly excuse yourself before you ran the risk of him catching onto anything coming from you. He’s a little confused for a second, but you can hear the sound of his low chuckle as you scramble away.

    First thing you do? Go to the store.

    It's not a random errand. At least, not entirely. You had meant to go out with Storm to grocery shop later this afternoon, but you told her you could really use some time out of the house by yourself, which she completely understood. You had the list and everything, it was only a coincidence that you passed by the cologne section on your way to pick up some toothpaste. The sight made you stop for a minute, the gears grinding in your skull. You spent just a few minutes curiously sampling the bottles until you found one that smelled a bit familiar… Should you? No, that's a bit strange. But really, what was the harm, right? I mean, who would know? 

    So you bought it. You felt a bit embarrassed afterward, knowing what you bought it for, and ended up letting it sit in the drawer of your side table for a good while. Until another desperate attempt at fucking your own brains out, that is. 

    You were sweaty and uncomfortable in your bed, sleep shirt sticking to your skin as you struggled to pump your fingers in and out of your tight cunt. It’s been a while, and it shows. You couldn’t even get your favorite dildo to fit inside of you, only adding to your frustration. Touching your clit hardly helped much, leaving you as unsatisfied as ever. Eventually, you give up, lying there as you sigh to yourself. You turn over in your bed in a huff, halfway temped scream your lungs out into the pillow you bury your face in. Instead, you let out something that sounds more like a whisper than a yell, letting the air in your lungs deflate as you let your feelings out. You roll over onto your side when you’re done, halfway tempted to be done with it entirely and go back to bed when you catch sight of the nightstand drawer, slightly ajar. The amber bottle of liquid stares right at you. 

    You open the drawer some more, picking up the bottle and looking at it as you wonder if you’re actually going to do this. But you’re ridiculously horny, and tired, and you know you’re gonna have trouble falling asleep in the state you’re in- so you end up spraying the smallest amount on your pillow.

    It’s…nice. The pillow is warm from where you had been laying on it, and despite how strong men’s cologne could be, this one isn’t quite so striking. At least, not in the amount that you used. You relax back into your bed, pressing your face into the pillow and laying there for a moment. You start thinking about Logan… His calloused hands running across your skin. How his lips and tongue would feel against your own, trailing down your body to your breast. Your hand trails down to your clit as you imagine it as his own. You imagine him behind you, pressing you to the bed as he growls into your ear. You think about what his happy trail would feel like against you. What his cock would look like, feel like, pressing into you. Your legs twitch and shake as you see stars underneath your eyelids, the scent of Logan hitting all the right parts in your head and going straight to your cunt.

    Holy shit. 

    Your orgasm lasts what feels like forever. Your legs are still shaking as you whimper from oversensitivity and pull your hand away, panting as you try to catch your breath. You haven’t cum that hard since… ever. Maybe the cologne was worth it, after all.

    You felt really good the morning after. You found yourself humming in the shower, more energized at breakfast and morning drills. No one had said anything, but you knew there were a few who were relieved to see you back to your usual self. If anything, the only person you noticed acting very differently around you was Logan. He was more tense than normal. He scowled a lot, spending less time in your presence. You’d strike up a conversation that would only last a few minutes before he would make an excuse and leave. It made you a little disappointed. But you knew him and knew he had good and bad days, so you brushed it off at first. But a week, two weeks- almost a month went by, and still no change. You felt scorned almost, silently rejected by the guy you had finally realized you were practically in love with, and to be honest, the only man who could get you off just by thinking about him- and boy, did you get off while thinking about him. 

    You’ve almost resigned yourself to the fact that Logan wasn’t interested when he corners you one morning. He’s leaning up against the wall of the hallway,  waiting for you when you step out of your room. It makes you jump a little, closing your door quickly behind you, knowing damn well you hadn’t washed your sheets after fucking yourself to the moon and back last night and fully not wanting the smell to hit his nose. All Logan does is narrow his eyes. Shit.

    “Who is he.” He asks you. The question completely derails your train of thought. And you furrow your brow, confused. What was that about?

    “Who is he? Your guy?” He asks again, but it does little to clear up your confusion. You’re halfway wondering if he’s being serious at this point, stepping away from your door as you cross your arms.

    “What?” You ask. Logan huffs when you respond to him, cocking his head at you in a way that's more sarcastic than curious. The way he’s looking at you is doing some things that you don’t think you’d like to admit, eyes narrow and scrutinizing as you struggle to keep eye contact with him.

    “What do you mean? What guy?” You repeat back to him, starting to get a little frustrated. He snorts, rolling his eyes as his scowl lingers. He steps closer, looking down at you from less than a foot away with that angry stare.

    “Don’t play stupid with me, sunshine. I can smell him on you.” You ignore the way the nickname makes you shiver a little bit, too busy shrinking into yourself when you process the extent of his words. Smell. He could smell someone on you. Something. Oh god, this was embarrassing. 

    “Oh! That- It’s not what you're thinking!” You say, face flushed red. You’re flustered beyond belief, doing your best to convince him to leave it be, and it’s not going so well for you.

    “Sure it’s not.” Logan huffs. He starts to take steps forward, closing in on your personal space.

    “It’s not. I can promise you that.” You’re anxiously fiddling with your fingers now, taking a step back for every step he takes. He looked predatory, unlike any time you’ve seen him before. You haven’t even seen him like this in the danger room, even less so on the battlefield. 

    “Just tell me who he is.” Logan is adamant about it, his scowl beginning to turn into a frown. Your back hits your door, kickstarting your heart in surprise. You hadn’t realized he had backed you up so far.

    “I can’t!” You say, in the beginning stages of becoming absolutely exasperated, and already incredibly embarrassed. 

    “Why not!?” Logan Snaps, stopping just inches away from you. You cover your heated face, pressing your palms into your eyes until you see shapes, wanting nothing more than to curl up and die right then and there.

    “Would you just leave it!” You shout, but Logan’s having none of it. 

    “No, I won't!” Logan grabs your wrists and moves them away from your face, holding them in front of your chest with a grip lighter than you might have thought. You groan in utter frustration and mortification, looking him dead in the eyes as your angry mouth starts speaking before your reasonable brain can fully catch up.

    “Jesus Christ Logan! Do you expect me to just whip out the silicone and show you?!” Your eyes widen as soon as you say it, slamming your mouth shut as you finally catch up with yourself. Logan is staring at you in absolute shock, jaw almost slack at the confession. 

    “...What?” He asks, slowly. You wince, looking off to the side before deciding it's a bit too late to get the cat back into the bag.

    “Its… Cologne. What you’re smelling. I use it to uh, help me…” You make a sort of gesture with your head, praying that you won’t actually have to spell it out for him. He’s still in shock as he looks at you, hands frozen with his fingers wrapped around your wrists. He clears his throat when he comes to, an unreadable expression on his face as he slowly steps forward again, close enough to press his forehead against your own as he presses you against your door.

    “You’re that pent up, you need cologne to help you get off?” He asks, and you don’t know what to say, cat catching your tongue as he leans forward. The side of his face brushes against your cheek as he leans down a little, the action making your skin prickle. One of his hands releases a wrist to slide up and across the back of your neck, tilting your head to the side as he takes a big sniff of your skin. He’s practically nuzzling you, angling his head so that he can smell the scent on the back of your head where you rest against your pillow at night. 

    He’d noticed it before, at night when most of his anger had worn off, sometime after he started to pick up the scent on you. The undertones, the top notes. But now with you this close, he can tell that it wasn’t another man he was smelling. No. It was just you. Your scent being drowned out by the smell of something that he could finally tell smelled rather suspiciously like his very own aftershave.

    “...Don’t tell me that you wanted it to smell like me.” He asks after a moment. You almost flinch at the sound of his deep rumble, turning your red face away from him. You swallow, feeling like you are absolutely burning up as you nod- right as Logan catches the unmistakable scent of arousal.

    “Fuck”

    You’re sure the sound was more animal than man as he cups your cheek rather aggressively, pressing his lips against your own in a rather desperate kiss. It takes you a second to return it, eyes wide as you process just what was happening. It didn't take long for you to melt into his desperate kisses though, every nip and brush of his teeth just like you imagined it would be. He presses his knee in between your thighs, finally releasing your other wrist to grab ahold of your hip instead. You accidentally let out a whine when he grinds your hips against him, your heart beating so fast you were sure it was going to explode. He curses again at the sound, both hands sliding around you to lift you against the door.

    You practically squeak in surprise, the noise caught by Logan’s mouth on your own one more time before he trails down to your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin. You gasp as he presses against you, his hips beginning to grind against your own. You’re having a hard time thinking, biting your lip as you do your best to stifle your sounds.

    “Logan-ah, can we… head inside, please?” He only grunts in response, shifting your weight as you both begin to fumble for the doorknob. He gets it before you do, hardly stumbling as the door behind you swings open. He’s kissing you again before the door is even closed, kicking it behind him. As preoccupied as you are, you at least have the common sense to reach over and try to lock the door before he carries you over to the bed. 

    He plops you down onto the mattress before he crawls over you, eyes half-lidded and just as lustful as your own. He pushes you down as you try to sit up. His breathing a little hard, pupils dilated to a size you had never seen.

    “Now I know why you closed the door so fast,” Logan smirks, having picked up the lingering scent of your sex on the sheets right away. You open your mouth to reply, but he cuts you off. His tongue snakes into your mouth, and you find that you can’t really remember what you were going to say anyway. He kisses you again and again, distracting you as he reaches above your head. He pulls away when he has the pillow in hand, and you know just by the look on his face that he knows exactly what he is holding.

    “Hate to break it to you, but this doesn’t exactly compare to the real thing.” He snarks. It makes you laugh, and for the first time in a while, you see a genuine smile spread across his face. 

    “Yeah.” You respond, taking the pillow from his hands and tossing it to a far-off corner. “I know.” You could revel in his smile for as long as he’d let you. Logan’s kisses start off sweeter this time, at least for a moment they did. They begin to become more and more rough as hands start to wander and clothes start to come off. His shirt is first to go, your hands running up and down the hair that spans his torso. Logan is quick to remove your shirt and bra in one go, one very small step away from cutting off your clothes entirely. He gives himself a minute to appreciate your breasts, pinching and teasing you by sliding a hand up the middle of your sternum, the back of his hand brushing the side of a tit as he watches you squirm underneath him, arching your back to push your chest out, practically begging him to finally touch you.

    “Patience is a virtue, Sunshine.” Logan says, causing you to scoff. You glare at him a little and all it does is make him chuckle a bit. 

    “Don’t be mean.” You whine. He laughs a bit harder as he finally lowers himself to your chest. He keeps his eyes locked on your own as he brushes the blunt ends of his teeth across the soft skin, but he’s never been the most patient man. It doesn't take him long to give in to you, sucking on each breast individually, massaging the soft skin of the opposite as he does so. 

    “Careful.” He growls when your own hands begin to wander, touching him over the fabric of his jeans. He releases your nipple with a pop, bearing his teeth as he presses his face back into your neck. You don't pay much mind to that, rather enjoying the grunts and sounds he makes as you slowly stroke his covered hardness from base to tip. You can't imagine how restrained he must be feeling. You can’t help but smirk a little as your hands drift up and down, before oh So slowly unbuckling his belt. Logan is agitated, practically bucking his hips into your hands to get you to just get over with it. 

    “Patience is a virtue.” You quote, only earning a restraining hold on your hands once again.

    “Fuck that.” Logan growls. He holds you by your wrists, pushing them above your head as he uses his free hand to remove his belt and frantically unbuckle his pants. You'd be complaining if it weren't for the view of his straining cock, slapping against his abdomen as he pulls his pants down. 

    You don't get to stare for too long before he flips you on your stomach like you weigh nothing. He lets your wrists go to pull down your shorts and underwear, a sticky string of your slick thinning as he pulls the items down.

    “Fuck. You're this wet from just that?” Logan asks you, taking two fingers and sliding them through your lips from behind, spreading his fingers to let himself see the mess you've made of yourself already.

    “...shut up.” You mumble, more focused on the feeling of those very same fingers sliding back and forth across your cunt, the tips just barely brushing against your clit every time. Logan chuckles, sliding one hand under your lower stomach to lift your hips with ease. Your hips buck as he slides a thick finger inside of you without warning, slowly sinking down to his knuckle with ease.

    “Might not even need foreplay at this rate.” Logan rumbles behind you, eyes set squarely on the sight of your pretty pussy spread wide open for him. You can only moan in response as he pulls it back out again, plunging a second finger into you this time. Your hands clutch the sheets as Logan begins to finger fuck you to his content, curling those thick digits to hit that one spot juuust right. You try not to buck or squirm too bad, halfway wondering if this is all just some wet dream. 

    “Logan-” You call out for him through your moans. He only hums in reply, preoccupied at the moment.

    “I- god- I need your cock, please.” You're not sure if it was the phrase or the begging, but it makes Logan groan. You feel embarrassingly empty as he pulls his fingers out. You hear the sound of him stroking his hard cock with your slick, groaning and humming to himself before he picks you up. He leans over you, adjusting to you your hands and knees as you finally feel that thick, thick cock grinding against you. You gasp at the way it feels, feeling Logan smirk against your back.

    “Having second thoughts?” The tone of his voice is teasing, but you know there's more than that behind the words. You vehemently shake your head, grinding back against him a little as you protest. Logan swears under his breath, holding onto your hips to keep them still as he sits up.

    Both of you groan each time the head of his cock catches on your clit, Logan thrusting through your lips again and again as he lubes himself with the wetness you provide for him. You gasp when his head catches on your slot, notching just right. 

    Logan pushes into you so slowly, and you feel like he's thicker than you ever imagined he would be. You're impatient, desperate. You push back onto him in an attempt to take him in more, but his hands on your hips stop you.

    “Believe me sweetheart, you don't want that yet.” Logan tells you, straining himself with how tight you feel around him. He soothingly rubs his thumbs against your skin, pressing into you until you have him completely, balls deep inside you. 

    “Please, please. Logan, Please, I need you to move.” Your begging starts to sound like nonsense to your own ears, but it makes Logan gasp all the same, his cock twitching from where it's buried inside of you. You practically cry in relief when he finally begins to thrust Inside of you.

    His hip smack against your ass with every thrust, the sound of the slap mixed with the sounds of your love and the headboard hitting the wall a lewd and filthy symphony. Even better than your own moans were Logan's himself. Each and every groan and growl above you gave you a whole new array of things to imagine while fucking yourself- if you ever had to do so again. 

    You whine and whimper with every strong thrust, Logan slow and forceful with every movement. It felt like he wanted your insides to memorize exactly how his cock feels inside of you, and you doubt you'd ever mind it. He filled you perfectly, hitting every sweet spot inside of you.

    Your arms are shaking. Struggling to hold yourself up with each and every rock of the bed. You barely start to buckle when He catches hold of you, an arm snacking under your chest and pulling you towards him. His hand spans your collarbone as he holds your back against his chest, holding you up as he continues to fuck you like no one before. You're closing in on that sweet release when his hips stutter a moment. His teeth dig into your shoulder with a sharp bite, holding you there close to him without breaking the skin.

    “Are… are you -ah- close?” You ask. Logan only responds with a short and simple - “Fuck!” - before he pulls out of you.

    You don't have time to whine about the emptiness before he's flipping you around, kissing you again as he pushes your back to the bed rather aggressively. He's quick to sling your legs over his arms, folding you in half as he sides fully into you in a single thrust. He's hitting you so much deeper in this position, chest pressed against your own as his thrusts continue to stutter. 

    Logan kisses you again, a bit differently than the last ones have been. These kisses are tender, sweet. A stark difference between his needy, frantic thrusts. There's a line of spit between you two as he pulls away, half-lidded eyes meeting your own. You’re closing in on your peak, and you can tell he is too. The pleasure is too much for you to handle at once, and you can't help but squeeze your eyes shut.

    “Look at me.” Logan grabs a hold of your chin, your eyes flying open as he thumbs at your lip and holds your head still. “Don't look away.” His hips stutter some more, the both of you groaning as you clench around him, desperately trying to keep your eyes open as you finally cum around his cock. The fluttering of your walls are more than enough to send Logan over the edge, his cum warming your insides in thick spurts. Logan buries his face into your neck, groaning as you ride out both of your orgasms.

    The two of you lay there for a moment, trying to catch your breath. Logan lets go of your sore legs, massaging your thighs as he presses sweet, comforting kisses to your cheek and temple. His hands wander up and down your sides, doing his best to soothe your aches without you even having to ask. -not that he would ever admit to having a soft side. Who would believe you if you told them that The Wolverine was a cuddler after sex anyway?

    “Why didn't you just tell me?” You ask after a long moment. Logan hums, his Face tucked into the crook of your neck.

    “Tell you what?”

    “That you were jealous.” Logan only snorts at that, playfully pinching your side.

    “Jealous of what? Your cologne?” He returns. You slap him on the shoulder as he chuckles at you, unable to stop the playful smile on your face.

    “You mean the cologne that you thought was a whole-ass guy?” Logan stops at that, instead choosing to cover your mouth with his palm as he tucks his head closer.

    “You're a lot prettier when you're quiet. You know that?”