#she is so amped for her wife

[queers-gambit]

Not So Heavenly Surprise

prompt: you share exciting news with your husband but don't receive the reaction you thought you'd get. and then, the Outbreak.

pairing: Joel Miller x female!wife!reader only height mentioned: you're shorter than Joel

fandom masterlist: HBO's The Last of Us

word count: 7.2k+

warnings: angst, angst, angst, slutty angst club, cursing, character death, major major major spoilers, death of a child, descriptive language - we talk about death and dead bodies!!! canon-level violence! NOT edited!!! (will get around to it) this work is super NOT FOR MINORS ❗️season one, episode one spoilers

September 02nd, 2002 one year before Outbreak Day

"You're going to have to tell him," you sighed to your reflection, trying to amp up the bravery. "He's gonna notice, you don't want him questioning anything, now do you? No, nope, no way, you don't. Okay, so, that's it - you're gonna tell him when he gets home. No big deal."

There was a knock at the door, Sarah calling, "Are you okay in there?"

"Girl!" You laughed, reaching for the knob and opening it to see her. "Ever heard of this thing called 'privacy'?"

"Not in this house," She smirked. "Can I get in? Wash my face?"

"Oh, yeah, totally," you moved out of her way, continuing with your nightly routine.

"So, who were you talking to?"

"Myself," you mused. "It helps me work out big decisions."

"Oh, so, you're finally gonna tell Dad you're pregnant?"

"What!?" You yelped, dropping the jar of night cream and groaning when it dolloped out from the fall - landing on your foot. "What the hell, Sarah?"

"What? You're surprised I figured it out?" She teased. "I found the pregnancy test."

"What? You were digging in the trash?"

"Well, if you must know, I dropped the toothpaste in there and found it when I was fishing it out..."

"Sarah," you sighed.

"You know he's going to be really happy, right?" She smiled at you, massaging her cheeks to curate foam from her face wash.

"Maybe," you sighed, stooping to clean your mess. "But I've been trying to figure out what to say."

"What's to say? Just tell him," she giggled. "C'mon, you guys have been married 8 years now! Isn't this, like, what was supposed to happen?"

"Well, yeah, but - "

"But nothing," Sarah laughed. "You're getting all nervous for nothing. It's just Dad, he loves you. He's going to be happy, I promise."

You sighed, nodding slowly, "All right, well, I'll try to tell him tonight."

"There is no try, only do."

"You did not just quote Star Wars to me!"

"Well, is Yoda wrong?"

You whined a little, "No..."

"So, get it done," she smiled. "This is really exciting."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she smiled, "I've always wanted to be a big sister."

"You'd kick ass as one," you agreed.

"Think how upset and flustered Dad will be when I teach Baby to curse!"

"Sarah, you teach the kid any curse words and I'll wash your own mouth with soap," you teasingly warned with a pointed finger. "I'm a little nervous, I think," you admitted.

"Why? Daddy loves you, he'll be really happy," Sarah defended. "Maybe a little shocked, but he'll be over the moon with joy."

"You think?"

"I know," she nodded. "Tell him tonight!"

"Tell who, what?" Tommy asked, appearing in the doorway to make you both shriek.

"What happened!?" You heard Joel, but then, everything was drowned out as you and Sarah started yelling at Tommy for scaring the shit outta you both. Joel appeared in time to see his little brother throw his hands up in defense, laughing at the two of you.

"Not cool, man!" You barked, shaking your head. "Didn't hear y'all come in, the hell's wrong wit'chu?"

"Y'all didn't lock the front door, again," Tommy smirked. "I came up real quick and quiet."

"Jackass," you muttered, wiping your hands on a towel before exiting the room. "Hi, baby," you muttered to Joel, pausing to rock onto your toes and plant a kiss to your husband's lips.

"Hi, honey," he mused, arm anchoring your waist. "What's with the screamin'?"

"Your brother's an ass," you pouted, giving your best exaggerated bottom lip.

"You had it comin', darlin'," Tommy teased. "Told you to lock up, huh?"

"Why're you even here? Why are you always! Here!?" You whined lightly. "Go home!"

"I'm staying the night," he mocked gently.

"You better not clean my fridge out," you warned him with slitted eyes. "I just went to the shop."

"You get them cookies you like?" Tommy perked a brother, watching your eyes widen a small fraction. "YOU DID!" Tommy laughed, turning, and bolting down the stairs - making you yelp and start yelling after him, following closely.

Joel and Sarah could be heard laughing from upstairs.

It was close to midnight by the time you and Joel finally settled for bed. Sarah's homework was done, whole family fed, Tommy was nursing a bonked head with a small ice pack, and you and Joel were turning your bed down.

"Hey, uh," you cleared your throat as you both got in the sheets, "so, I was wonderin' somethin'."

"What's that, sugar?"

"What do you think of when you consider the future?"

Joel paused, then shrugged, "We go to Nashville with Sarah this summer."

"No, baby, I mean the future - like, years from now."

Joel chuckled, "Uh, I don't know, baby, I just think of you and Sarah and Tommy... There's not many others left 'round."

"That's all?"

"I don't know, I think sometimes when Sarah goes off to college, that girl's goin' on a scholarship, you know? So, you and I could maybe take some time for a vacation. Finally take you on that honeymoon I promised."

You hummed, settling against his chest, "Where we goin'?"

"You know I'd take you wherever you wanted," he sighed, "but maybe we could afford... I don't know, trip to... Vegas?"

"So we can renew our vows with Elvis?"

"Why not?" He chuckled, squeezing your hip. "Might be fun, right?"

"You just wanna see the strippers."

"Can you blame me?"

You laughed and smacked his chest, "Easy, mister, you're on thin ice."

Joel laughed lightly, "You know I'm teasin', darlin'. C'mon, anywhere we could, where would you go?"

"Oh, the Maldives, without a doubt.," You smirked. "But how about we keep it simple? Go to, say, Paris?"

Joel snickered, "That's simple?"

"City of Love for our honeymoon? Baby, I'd say that's more cliché than anything. Besides, don't you wanna kiss me at the top of the Eiffel Tower?"

"'Course, sugar, but the food there?"

"Oh, like you've ever been!" You laughed, looking up at him. "Don't talk shit when you don't know."

"Hmm," he considered, "solid advice, sweetheart."

He reached out to caress the side of your cheek, making you sigh, "One thing's missin' though..."

"What's that?" Joel smirked.

"We'd have to find a babysitter."

"Sarah will be older than - "

"No, no, baby, not talkin' 'bout Sarah."

"Who, then?" He chuckled. "Tommy? Though he likes proving us wrong, he can take care of himself."

"No, I'm talking about a babysitter for us."

"Lost me again, sweetheart."

You stared at him for a moment, then admitted, "I'm pregnant. So, we'd need to find a sitter 'cause we'd have a little one by then." However, Joel just stared down at you, brows slowly furrowing as he processed your words. "Joel?" You wondered when he didn't answer, but instead, looked off past you. "Honey, you still with me?"

"I heard you," he grit, making you instantly sit up and off of him.

"Joel?"

He sighed deeply, "Why'd you have to do that?"

"I'm sorry?"

Joel sat up and swung his legs from bed, making you feel instantly smaller than you actually were. "Why'd you have to go and do that? Huh? Get pregnant?"

"Joel - "

"No, what the hell's this!?" He demanded, looking far too upset than you ever considered. "You're pregnant? You're really pregnant?"

"Yes - "

"God fuckin' damn it!" Joel swatted at a lamp, knocking it over, and waking the entire house - not that either Tommy or Sarah were asleep yet. "You can't seriously be pregnant!" Joel barked at you, and if he could, you knew he'd be gnashing his teeth.

"Why is this such a shock?" You asked. "This is what happens when you're married - "

"You were supposed to be on birth control!"

"It's only so much effective when you're cumming in me like some sex doll!" You snapped back, aware of your loudness.

"Don't turn this on me!"

"I'm not! Fuck's sake, I'm happy about this!" You stood from the bed, too. "I'm happy we're havin' a baby! Why're you reacting this way?"

"We can't afford a baby right now!" Joel looked enraged now. "We don't got the space - fuckin' Tommy crashes the couch! Where we puttin' a whole baby, huh? Where we puttin' a kid? How're we gonna afford more groceries? More schoolin'? You didn't think this through, now, did you!?"

"Fuck's sake, Joel, do I need to give you a sex-ed course? Explain how you're just as much in this as I am? I didn't do this to myself, we both took risks - but I didn't think this was gonna be an issue! I thought you'd want this!"

"When have I ever said I wanted another kid? Huh? Don't put words in my mouth, woman! I got Sarah, ain't no kid better than that! Why would I even want to bother? Knowing our situation!? You think you're ready to be a mom? All you do is work, and it makes you a pretty shaky stepmother! Neither of us are in a place to just stop and take care of a kid, we're in too deep with our current bills!"

You felt too stunned to speak, every defense you had lowering in pure sadness as tears collected in your eyes. "You serious, right now?"

"Completely," he sighed, hands to his hips.

"So, you... You don't want this baby?"

Joel's jaw flexed. "Not right now, no."

"Okay," you sighed.

"I can't take care of another kid," he shook his head. "Look, why can't Sarah be enough? You've known her her whole life."

"Why is it so wrong to wonder what it's like to be pregnant? To have my own child? Since you have Sarah."

"We have Sarah," he snapped.

"No... We don't, since I'm only a shaky stepmother."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"No? How'd you mean it?" You wondered sarcastically. "Maybe that I won't be a good mother? That you don't want a kid with me, is it? Whatever, Joel, look, there's no compromise here. You don't want this baby, but I do... So, this it is."

"What is? To what?"

"Us," you sighed, gesturing between you. "If you really don't want this baby, then I don't see how we can still participate in a marriage."

"The fuck - "

"I won't stay where I'm not wanted."

"I want you, just not the baby!"

"So, understand this. Because I'm growing that baby currently, you simply don't want me. So, it's all right, now. I'll get my shit and get out, figure out what to do movin' forward, and I'll have the divorce papers sent - "

"Like hell, you are!" Joel raged.

"How're we gonna fix this then!?"

"Fuckin' Christ, woman, you really know how to piss me off! This ain't my issue - this is your problem. But we ain't gettin' a divorce, so, you better figure it out."

You scoffed, "Who the hell even are you?"

"Come again?"

You gestured at him, "This is not who I married."

"Neither are you. When we got married, you said Sarah was more than enough - "

"You know what? Feelin's change!"

Joel scoffed, "Yeah, fuckin' tell me 'bout it."

"Wow," you sighed, turning for the closet, muttering, "wow, wow, wow, wow, WOW!"

"Fuck!" Joel snapped. "C'mon, doll, don't do this."

He watched you pack a suitcase frantically, the fight continuing to wage farther into the night. Back and forth, you two went round after round after round, trying to make the other understand and see reason. To Joel, it was a matter of financials and space. To you? It was everything else.

By 3 am, you had finally packed your necessary belongings into two bags - a suitcase and purse - before you were charging down the stairs with Joel still hollering after you. Tommy was in the living room, pacing, and Sarah was laid on the couch, eyes red and swollen as she clutched a pillow to her chest. You came to a halt when you saw them both, Joel still sneering but silencing himself when he saw what you stared at.

Just like that, he understood his brother and daughter had heard every word he shouted at you, and never had he felt such shame. You swallowed harshly, nodding at Tommy before looking to Sarah. With a wobbling smile, you managed to garble, "I'm sorry."

"Mama, wait!" Sarah gasped, shooting off the couch as you fled for the front door; Tommy catching her around her waist. "No! No! Daddy, go get her! Don't go! Mama! Please! What's happening? Why won't you go after her!?"

But to Tommy's shock and horror, Joel silently descended the stairs to push the front door closed and locked it - bolting them inside and his wife outside. "Joel," Tommy shook his head, confusing marring his features. "The hell happened?"

But Joel only sighed, turned, and headed up the stairs again. Not a moment later, his bedroom door closed - making Tommy release Sarah. She rushed to the door but stopped, only staring out, and Tommy understood she could no longer see your car.

"Hey, Sarah?" Tommy called softly. "You can stay home from school tomorrow. All right?"

She only nodded silently, taking a seat at the front door and just watching. He frowned, wanting to shoo her off to bed, but understood that her child-like mind could only understand so much. She wanted to wait for you to come home, she wanted to see you coming... However, the following morning, Joel found his daughter slumped against the front door and his brother on the stairs from watching her.

His heart had plummeted to his feet when he saw them, more so when he understood you weren't home. The house already felt colder.

September 26th, 2003 Outbreak Day

Your daughter was barely a few months old by the time "it" happened. After leaving Joel, you went home to your parents and they were gracious enough to welcome you and the babe growing in your womb.

They made up your childhood bedroom into a nursery and let you transform their home office into a spare bedroom as your little brother was living in the guest room and older sister in the basement. It was an incredibly tiny room, but it worked for now; and your little girl was a ray of sunshine that you barely noticed how miserable you truly felt.

You hadn't seen Joel since the birth... And before that? Not since your fight. He really didn't want shit to do with your daughter, and while you always told him when your appointments were, he never showed. When you went into labor, your father was the one who called him because you only sobbed through the pain that you wanted your husband. So, Joel showed that day, but didn't go into the delivery room. He just waited outside it, listening, feeling his heart shatter again and again as you begged someone to find your husband, but no matter how your mother and father begged him to go in, he wouldn't. He couldn't.

It was only after the baby was born did he venture in.

You looked beat to hell and the sheets seemed bloodier than usual, but he didn't want to linger. He only nodded at you, hands in his pockets, "Good job... She's real beautiful."

You blinked, glancing over to where a nurse was swaddling the just-cleaned baby. "Thank you," you whispered. Then, he turned to leave, "W-Wait!" You begged, making him pause. "Don't you... I-I don't know, want to help name her?"

Joel sighed, glancing at you over his shoulder, "No, 's all right. Whatever you want, she's your daughter."

Your heart broke all over again, watching him leave. So much so, when the nurse brought your daughter over for you to hold, you broke down in horrendous sobs that the nurse actually shied away. You couldn't breathe from the pain, and it actually set off a few alarms on your hospital monitors.

Your mother watched in despair as a team of professionals had to sedate you in order to calm you down enough; holding her grandbaby and rocking her arms. She waited for days, hoping you'd ask to hold your daughter, but never did. Only when the lactation expert came in to help you nurse your daughter did you actually "willingly" hold her.

It just broke your heart to even look at her because she looked so much like Joel that it should've been illegal. Eventually, you came around and felt as if you couldn't set the baby down, but for the first few days were exhaustingly tough. Your parents were a huge help, but that didn't make it easier on you to try and process life without Joel. You loved your husband, wanted him back, but after his behavior, you couldn't fathom being within 6 feet of him again.

However, life had much different plans.

You didn't feed your baby formula, opting for breast feeding. Ironically, during your pregnancy, you had developed an intolerance to gluten and never wanted flour-products even after giving brith to your daughter. However, your father loved your mother's cookies...

It was nearly 2 am when it happened.

Your father had been the first "Infected" of the family, and only your mother was in their room with him. You heard the thumping and screams, peering out of your room only to see blood pooling from under your parent's closed bedroom door. "Get back," you hissed at your little brother, darting down the hall to your daughter's nursery.

"DADDY! NO!" You heard your brother scream a minute later, panic enveloping you as your daughter started to cry.

"No, no, no, it's okay, hey, hey, it's okay, sweetheart," you whispered, trying to shush her. There wasn't time to spare, and just as you secured your daughter to your chest with tight arms and made it from her room, your father came barreling out of your little brother's room - scaring the shit outta you. "D-Daddy?"

He snarled, neck snapping when he looked at you - but that wasn't your father. No, this creature was something else and while it was in your father's body, it wasn't your Daddy, and you weren't safe here.

"Down here! NOW!" Katie, your older sister called, making you shoot off down the stairs in a blind panic. Your father came crashing down behind you, knocking into your legs as you reached the bottom - forcing you to turn over and land on your back to protect your kid.

"OH MY GOD!" You screamed when your father bolted upright.

"STAY DOWN!"

Your sister swung her softball bat, knocking your father's head back with a sickly snap. He went down, and for a moment, it was all quiet. "What the fuck?" You panted, baby still crying.

"I don't know," Katie panted, reaching for your arms and helping you up. "I-I didn't - I didn't think," she stuttered, looking at your father, who's head was split open and spewing blood. "I-I killed him."

"Between us?" You nodded, "Think he was already dead."

"Where's Mommy? And Billy!?"

"Upstairs..."

"You don't think...?"

"Should we check?"

"What if they're alive and we just left them?" She worried, blinking back tears. "I-I don't know what to do."

"I think we need to get the fuck outta here," you admitted, looking around you two. "We aren't safe here, Katie, we should move."

Just then, there was a thud from upstairs. Your sister uttered your name in fear, and you had to steel yourself. "What do we do?" She whispered.

"Kitchen, there's only one door and the basement," you nodded, the two of you turning and hustling into the room. You looked around and found a long cerated knife, standing at the ready with one arm around your baby.

"What's gonna come for us?"

"Whatever the hell happened to Daddy," you gulped. "I still think we should run for it."

"But Mama - "

"She's probably dead!" You snapped. "But we aren't. We don't have to die if we play smart. I say, we get what we need and get the fuck out of here."

However, before she could answer, there was a snarling from outside the door. Your baby still cried, and soon, the door was bursting open with your mother's Infected body being hurled through the door. Your sister begged your name in a yell and you repeated at her that it's not really your mother - keeping the kitchen island between you three - and that she needed to swing the bat.

However, your little brother came barreling inside right after and knocked into you. It was a struggle as you had to let go of your baby to keep the 10-year-old demon off your body; hip teeth gnashing as pale tendrils came curling out of his mouth.

"NO!"

You couldn't look back at your sister, struggling to keep the suspiciously-strong boy at bay. You used your feet to kick him off you, snatch up the knife, and as he came back - snarling and screaming - you only stabbed the knife up into the underside of his jaw. Yanking free, blood and more came gushing out, and your brother when down.

When you turned, your sister was panting and leaning against a counter. Mother laid dead at her feet. "You good?" You asked.

"Yeah... You?"

"Yeah," you sniffled, moving to collect your baby from the bloody linoleum floor. "Can we get the fuck outta here now?"

"There's no more threat."

"Seriously?" You snapped. "Honey, if it happened here, it's happenin' elsewhere and we need to fucking move before we get left behind. Understand me?"

But then... There was a sickening sound from the only other door in the kitchen... The one leading to the basement...

"Katie?" You called your sister's name, "it's time to run."

"GO!" She screamed when a new body, that of your next door neighbor, came bursting through the door. You both ran, your daughter tight to your chest, and just made it outside your family home when a truck was screeching to a halt.

Joel leapt from the passenger seat, hollering your name in panic, and making you shoot off like a Roman Candle towards him. He caught you easily, holding you and your infant close to his chest as Katie came sprinting from behind you - taking cover behind Joel.

"What - "

"JOEL!" Katie screamed, pointing towards the body rushing from your home.

"Tommy!"

There came a gunshot, making you flinch into his chest as he turned you from the sight. "Get in the truck," Tommy called, Sarah opening the door from the inside to invite Katie in.

"We gotta go, darlin', it's time to go, let's go," Joel muttered to you.

"What the fuck is happenin'?"

"We don't know, but it's bad," he nodded, looking around frantically. "We need off the streets, baby, please, get in the truck."

But you paused, asking him, "You came back for me?"

"For the both of you," he sighed, caressing the top of your daughter's head - who still wailed in fear. "Please, baby, it's time to go - get in the truck." When you did, he rambled, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, all right, Tommy! Let's go!"

When everyone was in and doors shut, a new game began: Get the Hell Outta Dodge.

During the ride, Tommy and Joel filled you and Katie in with what they knew from the broadcasters that were once on the airwaves. Sarah held onto you tightly, infant child still wriggling in your lap and arms. You were trying to flee the suburbs, making for the highway, but it seemed, everyone else who hadn't been killed off had the same idea and created intense traffic.

"We're okay," you whispered to Sarah on repeat, almost in a chant. Katie frowned and slowly reached over Sarah's lap, taking hold of your daughter. You slowly let go only to latch full onto Sarah and try to comfort her with slow rocking and cooed words of encouragement. Joel knew that in your time apart, you and Sarah saw each other often - nearly on a daily basis - and could understand that you were her mother, through-and-through.

You both needed the comfort right now.

Someone to lean on.

Someone to be scared with you instead of saying "buck up."

"Take the field, Tommy!" Katie barked from the back, holding your screaming baby to her shoulder and trying to offer her warmth and comfort. However, it was impossible with the tangible panic and loud blaring of horns and cursing voices. "We can cut across and pick the road up on the west side."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. West, West, all right. All right, hang on," he turned the wheel, everyone bracing for the sharp movement before the bumping of the terrain became wildly uneven.

Around them, other cars followed suit, and the field was soon flooded with civilian cars trying to flee. "The fuck could be happening?" Katie asked you, gulping, "You're the doctor!"

"I-I don't fucking know, Katie, please," you whispered back, gulping in nerves as Tommy drove you all over the grass.

However, when they came over the hill to catch sight of their destination, there was a flooding of lights and choppers in the air. Tommy cursed, "Shit! Fuckin' Army!"

"Isn't that good?" Sarah asked from your embrace.

"It's good for them, but that's the highway we're tryna get to," Tommy explained, coming to a halt as cars flooded past them.

"All right, keep movin'. Head north," Joel advised quietly, his mind trying to settle.

"Could be a lotta people," Tommy argued lightly.

"Well, we can't go south, we can't go east, we can't go west," Joel pointed out. "Hell else we supposed to go?"

"Tommy, fuckin' drive!" You grit, Katie joining you in on the last word.

"Tommy, c'mon!" Joel followed right after. The tires squealed as Tommy pressed on the gas while turning his wheel, making the truck turn and speed off for a distant suburban town; lights in the distance guiding you. "Yeah," Joel muttered. "Yeah, I know that place. This can work."

"Yeah, all right, fine, cool, but then what?" Katie asked. "Where are we supposed to go then?"

"I don't know. Mexico. Just far, far as we can," Joel answered uneasily. "How much gas?"

"Three-quarter tank," Tommy answered.

"Go through town," Joel advised. "Golf course by the river, straight across, we pick up the highway on the other side of the blockade, then we're out."

"I'm gonna throw up," Katie whispered, head tilted back with her eyes closed.

"If you're feelin' sick, hand me my baby," you snapped, looking at her with fear.

"No, girl, it's anxiety," she snapped back. "I'm not sick."

"How can you be sure?" Sarah wondered.

"Cause it would've hit us the same as it did our family..."

"Who'd it hit?" Tommy wondered, looking back.

"We're all that's left," you sighed, saving your sister from answering. "Daddy turned first, then Mama... Billy after... We got out."

"They bite 'chall?" Tommy asked, glancing back.

"No," you answered, looking at Katie. "You bit?"

"Nope, I beat 'em to the punch," she sighed. "Ah, fuck, my stomach."

"Throw up in my truck, darlin'," Tommy muttered, sucking his teeth.

"Throw up on my baby, Kate, and I'll beat 'cho ass," you snipped, perking a warning brow at her.

"Girl," she sighed, glancing at Sarah - who had sat off you in contemplation. "Sarah?" She whispered in wondered.

"Maybe it's everywhere," she voiced, glancing at the two of you sat on either side of her. "Maybe there's nowhere to go..."

"Well, hey, we'll just have to find somewhere safe," you nodded back at her, but furrowed your brow. "Anyone hear that?"

"Oh, shit - "

"What the fuck!?" Tommy called over Katie, glancing up towards the roof as there came a deafening sound of a plane flying far too low to the ground.

"Cover her ears!" You begged Katie, reaching for Sarah to press your hands over her ears. Your sister held your daughter's ears closed - her still screaming bloody murder - as the plane flew over the truck.

"Fuckin' hell!" She looked back, noting the sky. Sarah whipped around, too, only to spy two more planes in the sky - all flying low and at odd angles.

However, ahead of them, cop cars were speeding around the streets and cutting off any route. "Son of a bitch," Tommy cursed. "Gotta go around. Grab somethin'!"

You held onto the designated 'oh shit!' bar over your head as Sarah leaned over to hold Katie and your baby. Tommy took a sharp right into an alley, between buildings. When you all rightened, it was only to see the people on the street running around, screaming, cars zooming past them all. Tommy took a left, then another right, and joined the bustle of the street.

"All right, keep goin', keep goin'," Joel pointed ahead, but tommy blew past a stop sign. "Shit - TOMMY!"

Another car came to a screeching halt, barely missing T-boning the Tommy's truck. They moved on, only to discover people mauling each other in the street - blocking most of their path. "Oh, my God," Sarah whispered, reaching for you as your arm came around her shoulders again as Tommy came to a stall.

"Tommy, you can't stop here," Joel reminded.

"I can't drive through 'em all!"

"Are you serious?" Joel barked. "Just keep goin'!"

However, ahead came the smashing of glass and a stampede of people - all running wildly and making you assume they were Infected, too. "Ohhhhhhh, shit," Katie whimpered.

"Go, go, go, go, back, back, back, back, back, back," Joel encouraged his brother, who hastily switched gears.

"I'm trying!"

However, when you and Sarah looked back to watch the crowd and stay out of Tommy's range of sight, you saw a distant threat and tuned everything else out. "Joel!" You begged, reaching for his arm as the sight of an airborne plane turning in the sky to head back your way was far too pressing right now.

"Dad!" Sarah echoed.

"Holy shit," Katie sobbed, cradling your baby tightly and without you even noticing, put her seatbelt on.

"Move. MOVE!" Joel told Tommy.

The plane took a nosedive into the ground, exploding, and send a flurry of parts around the surrounding area. One of those areas happened to the building you were driving past, and one of the steel parts ricocheted off it and into the truck.

Everything went black.

"Baby? Baby, can you hear me? Hey, hey, hey, darlin', c'mon, open them pretty eyes for me, c'mon, baby, please."

"Fuck," you wheezed, eyes slowly opening.

"Hey, hey, hey, there you are, hey," Joel whispered, Tommy, Katie, and Sarah already out of the truck. "There you go, c'mon, you all right? You hurt?"

"No," you blinked a few times, wiggling your toes and fingers. "Fuck's sake, what happened?"

"Car accident," he nodded, "c'mon, sugar, gotta get up for me," he looked around. "We ain't safe here, c'mon, baby, that's it."

You nodded and let him pull you from the wreckage, grunting when shattered glass pressed into your skin to create long drips of blood that resembled a child's melted-crayon canvas from elementary art class. When out, Sarah kept weight off her ankle and wobbled in her stance, making you frowned, "All right?"

"Ankle," Sarah sniffled.

"We gotta get off the streets!" Tommy called from the other side of the car.

"KATIE!?"

"I got her!" She called back, and then, you could distinguish her shrill crying. You sighed with relief before Tommy was profanely screaming and Joel turned you and Sarah from the car just as an out-of-control police car came smashing into the truck.

"I got her," you told Joel, taking hold of Sarah in full as he nodded in thanks before turning for the wreckage they couldn't get around.

"Tommy!? Tommy!? Katie!? TOMMY!"

The brothers found a glimpse of each other through the flames, Tommy telling his brother, "Head to the river! We'll find a way! Get them outta here, Joel! Go!"

"Take care of my daughter," he nodded back.

"C'mon," Tommy told Katie, and the two were taking off with Tommy's gun slung over his shoulder.

Joel turned back for you and Sarah, gulping nervously at you, "Darlin', listen, I'm so sorry - "

"Joel, now's not the time," you panted. "We gotta go. Okay? We're good right now, but we gotta stay good. Let's get the fuck outta here, please. We can talk later!"

He nodded back, looking at Sarah, who refused, "We can't leave them! K-Katie has D - "

"They'll be fine," Joel insisted. "Tommy's with 'em, they'll look after each other. Can you run?"

"No," she shook her head, making Joel sigh.

"Can you?"

"I'm good," you nodded, worryingly looking at Sarah. "I can carry her - "

"'S all right, darlin'," he muttered, sweeping Sarah into his arms and making her arms latch around his neck. "You keep your eyes on me," he told his daughter. She nodded. "Okay?"

"Okay," Sarah breathed.

"Okay," Joel nodded. "And you don't look anywhere else." Sarah buried her head in her father's neck, his eyes meeting yours. "And you..." He panted, swallowing nervously. "You stay with me, you stay right with me, all right?"

"All right."

"All right," he agreed, hurrying off down the alley. You were true to your word, keeping up with him easily, but both slowing when the end of the alley only lead to a group of Infected motherfuckers feasting on the flesh of other humans.

You panicked for a moment, looking around you, and nearly missing the sound of the a distant explosion - sounding more like a crack from this distance. However, it was enough of a sound to draw the attention of at least one Infected Fucker - who looked up to stare at you, Joel, and Sarah.

Joel lead you to a building behind you - but the Fucker followed. "Joel, go, go, go," you hissed, easily taking the lead to use your body to burst through doors. Joel followed, understanding that because he was carrying Sarah, you had assumed the role of "guide" and wanted to clear his path - but it also cleared a path to be followed.

It made horrendous sounds as it chased you three, literally hauling it's body around as if it had no real control over it. The feeling inside your chest was chaotic, the tension tangible through the air as you lead Joel through the closed-diner.

The creature still followed.

Finally outside, you didn't have to restrict yourself but couldn't find it in you to leave Joel and Sarah behind. If this was the end, it was only right you fell as a family - and while deeply stupid of you, it was oddly poetic. However, as you heard the beast in pursuit just nipping at your heels, so sounded a reverberating gunshot.

It made you pause, looking back to see a headshot had taken the Infected Fucker out, and yet, no obvious sign of the shooter. Joel comforted Sarah, looking down at you - making you nod, telling him you were okay - before looking around again.

Then, a flashlight blinded you as a Humvee's lights flashed on, a voice demanding, "Don't move!"

"Joel..." You whispered, holding onto his elbow as he readjusted so he was slightly in front of you.

"My daughter's hurt!" Joel called to the military man. "Her ankle!"

"Stop right there!" He barked again.

"Okay," Joel muttered, nerves being shared as you had a bad feeling about this. "Easy now. We're not sick!"

But the solider, instead, radioed in, "I got three civilians by the river, one of 'em injured... Ankle..."

"What about Uncle Tommy and Aunt Katie?" Sarah asked her father.

"We're gonna get you somewhere safe first, with your Mama. Yeah? Then we'll come back for 'em, okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry, repeat?" The solider asked into his comms system - earning your attention again. Joel tried to step forward, but the flashlight was right back up into your face, the man snapping, "Hey! No one told you to move!"

"Joel," you worried. "They have shoot-to-kill orders."

"What?" He whispered.

"In the event of extreme violence, similar to this, they have orders to shoot-to-kill," you told him shakily, watching the man. "I know you wanna trust 'em, but they're not our friend right now. Get ready to run..."

"Darlin' - "

"Joel," you hushed, squeezing his elbow.

The solider answered his commanding officer with three, spaced out, "Yes, sir's," before he was slowly picking up his firearm and the light was again in their eyes.

Joel realized how right his estranged wife was in that moment. "We're not sick," he tried to remind. But the man approached, making Sarah's breathing pick up as she held on tighter to Joel's neck - blindly reaching out for you. "Sir," Joel begged, "we are not sick!"

But just like you had said, the orders were shoot-to-kill, and the rapid gunfire sounded in the knight - only barely masked by Sarah's high-pitched scream. You felt a searing burn in your thigh, all three of you toppling over down the short hill you were heading towards; all three rolling away from one another.

When you came to a halt, you seethed in pain, holding your thigh, but hearing a much worse sound. Sarah hyperventilating. You looked up as the solider leered over Joel, army-crawling towards her just as a gunshot sounded. However, when you weren't struck, you kept going, and reached your stepdaughter.

"Baby?" You whispered.

"Mama," she begged. "Mama, Mama," she repeated, barely able to swallow her saliva - much less her fear. "Hurts," she grunted, soon losing the ability to form words.

Tommy had seen the scene and rushed forward to shoot the solider, leaving Katie at his side with your infant daughter still in arm. "I got'cha, hey, hey, hey, I"m here," you whispered, literally whipping your shirt off to press into her stomach. "JOEL!" You cried, looking over your shoulder to spy him on the ground.

He quickly scrambled to Sarah's other side, taking in the situation, and looking at you with absolute devastation. You cried as you held pressure, but you knew, from the entry wounds, Sarah didn't stand a chance. Her aorta artery had been hit and shredded by a bullet, only giving her moments left in this life.

Watching Joel was possibly harder than watching him walk away from you in the birthing room. He was desperate, trying to save his daughter but only being able to hold her as she grunted and sobbed in pain; bleeding out in her father's arms. Joel begged you to help but you couldn't, unable to form words, so, he turned to his brother and screamed at him - and your sister - to help him.

But in that moment he had looked away, Sarah's life had left them. "Joel," you whimpered, making him look down and realize what happened. He sobbed, drawing her in tightly; rocking helplessly on the ground as he couldn't fathom what had just happened.

However, amongst his mourning, there came a sound you never wanted to hear again. Whipping around, you caught sight of your sister starting to twitch and leapt to your feet; limping in hurried motions to snatch your screaming baby from her tightening grip.

"Katie," you begged in a sob, backing up towards Tommy, "oh, God, no... No, please."

But the bite on her forearm had turned a sickly black-and-blue, alerting she had been bit at some point and never voiced it. Before your very eyes, she turned from your dear, sweet older sister into a blood-thirsty monster. Yellowed and dead eyes, snarling and uncontrollable twitching, limbs that turned up in odd angles as the infection took over completely.

When done, you sister gave a shriek before you pleaded, "Tommy!"

He took aim and fired once, putting Katie out of her misery; sending her corpse crumbling to the ground. You panted, tears in your eyes as you couldn't process this night, but then... The unexpected.

"Oh, God, no," you gasped, wrenching your daughter from your chest as she started wriggling uncontrollably. "No, no, no, no, no, no," you sobbed, dropping to your knees and laying her down. Quickly opening her baby blanket, you noted the adult-sized bite on her whole shin, sobbing harshly. "Delilah! No, not my baby, no, no, oh, fuck, no, c'mon, not you, too. Not you, too, Delilah, please, my angel, oh, fuck, no, God damn it!"

"Darlin'," Tommy stuttered from behind you. He looked up in fear, finding his brother's confused gaze and calling, "J-Joel!"

"Delilah, please, fuck, h-how do I fix this!?" You begged. "No, fuck, God damn it! Why can't I help my daughters!?" You snarled at Tommy, sobbing until your chest hurt. "Why!? Why can't I save them!?"

"Doll," he whispered, his older brother slowly letting go of Sarah to lay her down, shut her eyes, and rest her arms over her stomach before turning for you.

"Not her, too, please," you begged. "That's everyone, please, no, please, th-this can't - please, this can't be happening! How do I help, Delilah, baby, please?" You still begged, looking at her bite. "I-I can - I don't know what to do! Wo-Would amputation work? Oh, fuck, no, no, it's - no, please!"

Joel stumbled to his feet, nearing you, but pausing as he could only stare as his infant daughter, whom he had only just seen, twitched and convulsed as the infection proved too great for her little body. It also wasn't lost to his that you had name her after his own mother, long since departed from this world and who would never meet her granddaughter.

"Oh, my God," Joel whispered, slowly nearing you as you sobbed over your daughter; hands hovering all over as you weren't sure where to touch her.

"Please!" You begged nobody, sobbing uselessly as Delilah came to a slow but jarring halt. "Oh, my God," you squeaked, leaning back in shock. "Oh... Oh, my fuckin' God, no... Not our kids, c'mon, no, God, please, fuck - this has to be some fucked-up nightmare. Right?" You looked desperately at Joel. "This... This isn't real, right? This isn't really happening? Please, Joel, you have to fucking tell me this isn't real - this can't be real."

"I'm sorry," Joel wheezed, slowly reaching for you.

"This didn't happen," you shook your head. "O-Our daughters - what the fuck just happened?"

Tommy slowly took the seat on your other side, Joel easily tugging you into his embrace as your sobs wracked your whole being. There were no words to be shared, only the grief of two parents who had just lost everything. Sarah's blood stained both your skin, Delilah laid perfectly still in her baby blanket right in front of you, and Tommy, who felt his gun weighed more than himself after failing to protect those he loved most in this world.

Joel, who lost his daughters but kept his brother.

And you... Who lost your husband a year ago and both your daughters, your mother, father, little brother, and older sister all in a single night. You, who would carry this night of great loss with you, for life. You, who felt confused on how "moving forward" was ever possible. You, who would eventually lose feeling in your head and heart that would result in years of violent turmoil.

You, who would eventually find a path to redemption, but for tonight, you, who grieved loudly and openly in the bloody arms of your estranged husband.

requesting rules and masterlist

TLOU masterlist

[actuallyjustabiscuit]

Yes I’m still going! PART SIX BABYYYYYY

Caine shutting his mouth when he’s upset is an adorable quirk.

Best ADHD rep I’ve seen

He’s just a silly little guy. A goofy goober.

This line either implies that Mildenhall wanted to have kids and just never got the opportunity to build a family with Martha, or Caine’s a hack and just forgot to include children into this adventure’s storyline but still wanted to amp up the tragedy.

I think it’s here that Pomni starts to realize that Kinger is no longer his usual forgetful and nonsensical self, because unlike the other times where his eyes are just staring blankly at whatever he’s looking at, here he looks much more focused. He’s actually reacting to what’s being said on the tapes and his character model conveys that by adding furrowed brows.

I also think the word “wife” acted as a sort of trigger.

Arguably the funniest moment in the episode. What a polite corpse.

Kinger is me whenever I watch any scary movie. I nitpick the logic so much I’m not allowed back into theaters.

This scene is precious not only for the obvious reason of Ragatha just enjoying a nice tea party, but here she’s also trying to raise her pinkie despite…not having any.

Also, she’s apparently left handed! Neat!

[chaoticloving]

Yacht

Harry styles x actress!reader

Summary: Harry worries something is wrong during a family trip to Italy, turns out your just horny

Warning: sex to get pregnant lol

Italy, it was always Italy.

As two high profile A-listers, Harry Styles and Y/n Y/L/N-Styles could never go anywhere without being caught. Once in the car, another in the street, and of course at concerts and premieres.

Vacation was another highly intense time for the couple, but it was only amped up to the max because of the Love on Tour's ending.

The night of the final show, Harry had his wife, mum, and sister in his dressing room. As the tour has lasted literal years, he figured he owed everyone some sort of gift: gift giving was his love language. He got the lovely couple of the band, Sarah and Mitch, and the little love-bug, a couple of odd-ball things he knew they would all like. He got similar items for the rest of the crew, personalizing them for the recipient.

His wife though, along with his mum and sister, he believed were owed some time with him. Call him selfish but Harry really did miss being with his family, and it was clear from the thousands of messages and voicemails that they all missed him deeply too. So he figured, why not Italy?

Italy is his go to place for relaxing, despite the constant paparazzi, it was quite peaceful when out in the water or in his shared home. Not only that, but his mother truly adores the country and the history; he feels he owes it to her for putting up with all of his shenanigans when he was younger, he knows he wasn't as easy as Gemma was, and stardom really did exacerbate it. But he's better now--Y/n has whipped him into shape--and he's wealthy enough to go to Italy as much as Anne wants.

Gemma just loves the opportunity to gossip with Y/n, along with the chance to sun bathe on the yacht. She was a simple person to please, and would be appreciative for a coffee and croissant.

Y/n, though, his love, isn't one that can be shown love to through gifts, at least expensive gifts. Her net worth is the same as his, but beside all of that, she is extermly picky about what she wants. All of her brithday gifts are something she specifically told Harry, from brand to color, nothing was left for interpretation.

He thought the vaction would be good though. Y/n likes the quality time between them, how they could just be themselves with nothing stopping them.

The yacht was a perfect hit though. Anne and Gemma both loved the salty breeze of the mederterain sea, but he didn't think it was enough for Y/n. He needed something that was more of a wow factor.

Harry was nervous, biting his nails as he took Y/n down to the docks for a midnight boat outing. He planned this a bit ago, but now was second guessing the whole ordeal.

"I love the smell of Italy." Harry said, holding his hand with his wife. "Something about it...just isn’t it perfect?"

"Is it the cigarette smoke?" Y/n joked, sneaking a quick peak at the corner of Harry's mouth. "Why are you taking me to the docks?"

Harry cleared his throat. "A midnight trip since I wanted some one on one time with you."

They had reached the docks by now, and were slowly getting on. He felt Y/n's hands get tighter around his hand, squeezing every now and then while the life guard was untying the rope connecting the yacht.

Harry looked over to his wife, watching her to make sure she was enjoying herself. She was looking beautiful, hair down while her face was pointed up, looking at the night sky's stars. Her outfit was loose, a simple dress that she threw on after showering to get the sea off of her. It was one he picked out long ago, around their 6 month anniversary, and it was still beautiful.

Her wedding ring completed the look though.

A beautiful antique ring, one that looked as though it was carefully preserved throughout history, looked ethereal on her.

"Hey H?"

Her voice was beautiful too. It was no kidding she was a movie star, her voice draws you in and cages you so you could never leave--not that Harry would want to.

"Yes, Love?"

"You're staring."

Harry blinked, not what he was hoping she would say. He hates to be called out.

"Just wanting to make sure you're happy." He shrugged. "I love you s'much, and I want to give you the perfect gift."

Y/n smiled, a warming one that made Harry's legs feel like jelly. She could never get over the love she felt from Harry, his passtion ratiating from him at all times was truly sickening to the loveless.

"Harry, I love this trip." She brushed her hand through his hair. "Everything you do makes me happy."

"But, earlier, on the yacht you seemed...off."

Y/n bit her lip, looking down to the sea beside them. She didn't mean for Harry to feel disappointed in himself, but she knew exactly what caused it.

"I just had a lot on my mind..." She said, not giving much up which Harry was not happy with.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"I ran out of my birth control about a couple weeks ago, and my hormones are really messing with me." She said, hoping he would get the hint.

"So you're horny?" Harry laughed, a boy-ish grin forming on his face. "I can deal with that."

Y/n laughed and pushed his kissing face away from her neck. "Yes, but since I haven't been on birth control in a few weeks, my doctor thinks I could get pregnant."

Harry's jaw dropped, which then formed into another smile, this time one of excitement and hornieness. "So, you mean...we could start trying for a baby?"

Y/n just nodded. Harry put his hands on her face and kissed her. Her hands moved from his hair down his arms then under his shirt. Harry, bless his soul, was a little nervous to move his hand down, but when Y/n broke apart this kiss so she could strip out of her dress he had no problems.

Harry followed and took off the white shirt he was wearing before, alog with his pants. He got pushed down to a long cooler seat. Y/n strattled his hips and startedkissing him more. Harry started to trickle down to her neck, leaving a hicky closer to her boobs so no one could see. He loved the moans coming out of his love, the way he knew she was feeling good was getting himjust as turned on.

"You were horny." Harry snickered, getting back to work soon after. “Sitting on the yacht; you knew I’d fuck you if you asked.”

"I would've done something about it if my in laws weren't in the vicinity."

"My bad." Harry said, but it was half hearted as now he just really didn’t care.

The conversation didn't last long, soon enough Harry's boxers were off and Y/n bra and panties were somewhere else on the boat. "You sure? I got a condom somewhere."

"If I wasn't sure I wouldn't be off the pill." She reminded him. "What about you?"

"I've wanted a kid ever since you said 'I do'." They kissed, softly now, but Y/n soon sat on Harry's hard cock and they both moaned in ecstasy.

Harry was a little shocked to be honest, rarly they have sex without any foreplay or lube, and he doesn't think he's ever felt her so wet--he had to make sure not to cum too prematurely.

Y/n was focused on Harry and her breathing. Sex felt different now knowing they are activly trying for a child, she knows Harry's dick is the same, but something about it just made it better.

She begain to bounce, Harry's arms coming up to squeeze her boob while the other grabbed her ass. He positioned his legs and pushed up into her, again, again, and again. The repative motion was made all the diffference by one of his hands coming down to her clit to make her feelmore pleasure. She gapsed when he pintched her clit, mouth then forming a smile as he looked down to Harry's.

"Babe, I think-I think I'm gonna come." Harry groaned. "I wanna get you pregnant and it so fuckin' hot--come with me. Are you close?"

His voice was fast passed, he rushed through his words as he tried to hold off from coming. Y/n was feeling the same way though; the love, the passtion, and the idea of being pregnant was too much.

"Har, I'm about to." She groaned as Harry's hips shot up in a more paniced order. He felt crazy, moaning and looking just at her made him want to exploed. "Come with me."

Her voice trailed off and turned into a moan as Harry came inside her, no protection. It felt like heaven to the both of them, forgetting the sweat that clang to their bodies.

"I love you." Harry whispered. She was still on his dick, just collasped over him now, but she knew he said it out of love. Sex changed after marriage or after any new step within a marriage; after marriage was so loving, and they had a sense of understanding that truly could be sourced from empaths.

"I love you too." She whispered back. Giving one small kiss to his lips.

"If you get pregnant, I don't know how I'm going to top that gift." Harry jokingly sighed.

"Hm, you could give me another one." She chided. "I want a bunch of Styles babies."

"I'll love any amount of kids you want." Harry decided. "Even if its twenty."

She laughed. "No way am I going to carry twenty, maybe we'll just get some pets."

"What happened to a whole bunch?"

"Only if they're just like their daddy."

"Damn, I only wanted them if they're just like their mummy." Harry joked being distrought, groaing with faux aggrivation.

"Maybe they'll have the best of us."

"My beauty, and your personality." Harry joked, which Y/n didn't like so she jokingly shuved him. "Maybe not your personality."

[honestsycrets]

Hey! if your requests are open can you do a drabble where the spider society meets Miguel's and readers baby for the first time? like they show up with her one day where the sitter couldn't make it or something and it's so wild to see Miguel be so soft with her

❛ summary | Miguel doesn't feel secure letting anyone watch his daughter-- not even Peter. or, gwen tries to hold miguel's daughter for the first time.

❛ sy's notes | slightly different than the request above but still in the same vein.

❛ tags | reader and child from starved, family piece, some angst, some sweetness, reference to loss of child, mention of pregnancy.

He just had to do it. 

Despite the fact that Miguel knew everything about his body being amped up, he missed how it felt. In his rush to have sex, he didn’t consider the possibility that you could have been ovulating. That the temporary amenorrhea wouldn’t last. It was his miscalculation. A miscalculation resulted in Mireya’s presence in his lab, chewing on his knuckle as some poor substitute for a teething toy. 

“Ay chingado, where is that pinche--” he huffed under his breath, rummaging around his cluttered desk for the damn toy. Mireya pinched down on his finger again with those bright brown eyes, twinkling with mischievous curiosity for why her papi was cussing again. His claw popped forth, drawing a fantastic giggle careening from her lips. Miguel retracted them again, shaking his hand out at his side. “Are those fangs or teeth in there, mija, hm?” 

“That’s cute.” 

In his preoccupation with his daughter, he hadn’t necessarily heard the pitter-patter of feet behind him. Despite what everyone might think, Miguel doesn’t like visitors in his lab. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, realizing that it was Gwen in the lab. Great, he expelled a great puff of air. Wherever Gwen was, Jess or Peter never seemed to be too far behind. 

“What is?” 

“Mireya,” she bounced forward, hands behind her back, inspecting Mireya with a twinge of a smile. It grew on her lips, just a little. She flicked her index finger, making a point that he really didn��t feel like hearing. “And you too. I mean, even if you cuss a little at her. You’re so soft with her.”

“Enjoy the sight while it lasts.” Miguel bit out, drawing into a little sigh as he cradles his daughter close. “But I’m not cussing at her, I’m looking for her teething chew-- which is not my finger, Mireya.”

She bites down on his palm. Miguel’s face screws up in annoyance, rather than pain, settling a small kiss on the top of her head. Her soft baby curls tickle his lips. He turns back to his panels, inspecting the anomaly he had been tracking all afternoon. She bites him again.

“Wherever that thing went, carajo! Lyla, ¿dónde está?!” He forgot that his daughter had a low tolerance for his outbursts. Unlike Gwen, Peter, or even you, Miguel was usually well aware of his rising volume. Gwen held up her palms.

“No, mi vida, no, I’m sorry,” Mireya’s lower lip quivered, revving up in another sharp cry that Miguel hardly had the patience for. Her cry burst free, causing Miguel to tear away from Gwen, sliding Mireya onto his broad shoulder. He pats her back gently. “Is there a reason you’re here?” 

“Your wife sent me to help you. I’d… I’d really like to hold her. I mean. If you’re willing.” 

"¿Qué?" Miguel hissed, hiding the flash of displeasure that ripped across his face. Of course, you sent a teenage kid to come take a daughter from him! Why wouldn’t you? No way in hell— he took a step away, the sharpest way he could say no. Almost a year old and still Gwen had not held her. 

“She shouldn’t have. I don’t need help.”  

“She said you’d say that,” Gwen tippy-toed up to Miguel’s shoulder, peeping at Mireya’s big brown eyes. She screwed them shut, burning through another red-hot wail of pain. If Gwen didn't leave him alone--

“What exactly did she say?”

“Mireya’s teething and Miguel has a bad temper.” 

A bad temper, she said. Miguel scrunched up his nose. 

“Tch. Of course, I never would have guessed.” 

He heard another set of feet. Two, actually. He expected to see Peter’s too-happy smile beaming at him like an aggravating ray of morning light. He didn’t, however, expect your eyes to stare right back at him. Your voice cut right through Mireya’s inconsolable cries. 

“Miggy, are you giving Gwen a hard time?” 

He chewed on his words, using his foot to roll his chair out from his desk. You hopped onto the platform with Peter’s aid, a task on its own with your swollen belly behind a deep blue gown. Mireya’s sharp cries fizzled out into little chirps, somehow pleased with your presence. Miguel, however, was not. 

“There’s my girl!” Peter slapped his hands together, rushing forward when you were secure on the platform. Peter couldn’t help himself, even amid a fight. She bounced on Miguel’s shoulder, palms extended, squeezing and releasing. Why did she have to love Peter? “Hi, Mireya!” 

“No. You should be resting,” Miguel pointed toward his chair. You didn’t fight him on it, sliding into it with your hand under your belly to support the child that brewed in your stomach. He couldn’t help but feel a string of guilt for the exhaustion that was so easily apparent on your face. It’s why he took her-- in the hope that you would sleep. 

“I would if I knew you would take the help.” 

Peter swerved around Gwen, peering over Miguel’s shoulder at her squishy little body in double the glee the little girl looked at him with.

“I don’t need help.” 

“Lyla says you do,” you tilted back in the chair, folding your arms just under your swollen chest. Miguel threw another curse under his breath. The AI who mysteriously was not listening to any of his commands. “And if Lyla says you do, then you do.” 

He could have fought you but as fate would have it, you were close to pushing out another child of his. He glared at the glittering stone of your ring on your finger and relented, his head bobbing into a complacent nod. As per usual, you won.

“Fine, por hoy,” he said with a heavy breath, turning over to face Gwen. She cracked a nervous smile as he leaned in, settling Mireya in her arms. Gwen’s big eyes snapped down to the little girl, insecurity trickling from her person. Miguel picked up on it like blood pouring into a cup of water. “If you hurt her, I’ll—“

“Miguel, no threats.”

He cursed. 

“Now that that’s settled,” Peter ran his hands together, swiping up the chew toy that Miguel had been looking for. He obnoxiously slid Mireya out of Gwen’s arms,  the only person that Miguel would allow his daughter to be held by without standing threats. “Come to Uncle Peter! We can go get ice cream with Hobie and Pavitr, just you and me and Gwen!"

Hobie and Pavitr? He never--

“Tio Peter,” Gwen corrected, stroking her upper arm nervously. 

“Tio Peter."

Miguel couldn’t help but watch the pair slip away-- talking about things like ice cream for toothaches, park dates, and fun as they slipped into a portal. You caught Miguel’s hand, stopping him from jerking to snatch her back up. 

“She’s safe with them,” It itched-- it itched all over. The terrible feeling that no, his Mireya was not safe with Peter, or Gwen, or Jess, or anyone else that wasn’t him. If even him. You stood up. “Miguel, Miguel no--” 

He snapped to the monitor, drawing forth Gwen and Peter, his hand at his lip. Your stomach pressed into his back. His third-- no second-- child. His hand fell to your arms that intertwined around his muscular midsection. “She’s almost one. We talked about this. You said Peter was the only one you’d trust to watch her.” 

“Almost one,” he laughed it off, his hand falling away from his lips. “She could be forty and I would still worry.”

“You don’t trust Peter?” 

“I don’t even trust myself.”  He threw you back a glance, an undercurrent of sadness flowed through the words.

“I do, mi amorcito,” You held him a little tighter, finding the words came as easily as the movements of the child in your belly against his back. Miguel bit back a small smile at the feeling, following Peter and Gwen choosing ice cream for his little girl. The door jingled with a bell-- Hobie and Pavitr strode in, because of course they did, it couldn't just be a quiet outing. Who was next? Miles? “And I trust Peter too.”

“I know you do.”

Vanilla? Cotton candy? Not the cotton candy. If they only knew. It’s strawberry. Mireya’s favorite is strawberry. Gabriella’s was vanilla. His shoulders relaxed, watching Peter present a small sample of strawberry to his little princesa. 

“Bueno,” he slid his hand on top of yours. “I could… go for an empanada. ¿Quieres ir conmigo?”

“Sí,” you beamed. “Let's go. Just you and me.”

It’s a strange feeling— being without his little girl. At least for today, he’s certain she’ll be okay. 

[sant-riley]

[Task force 141 + others with Gen z!reader] [pt3]

A/N: Some of these you /may/ have seen on tiktok, that is me who posted them on tiktok. I am green haired bitch so no I didn't steal anything LMAO. I hope these live up to yalls expectations.

The last two of these my lovely friend gave me inspiration for <3 @frogchiro

Warnings: She/her pronouns swearing, age gaps, tiktok memes (like always lmk if I miss something!)

~

You steal Prices hat on numerous occasions bc its a fashion abomination and you refuse to let this man wear it around you. You hide around base as frequently as you can.

Jokes on you though bc he will literally wait til it's your birthday and buy you a matching one and will laugh at your scream of disgust.

Gaz one ups him by gifting you a matching hat as well, putting it on your head as he flicks the brim.

"Thanks Gaz! I love it!

"And not mine?"

"You're on thin ice, old man."

Price gets gifted a set from manscaped by the guys as a gag gift. He uses it for his beard bc he never bothered to look into why everyone was laughing around him.

Price takes your phone when you try and show him memes, squinting hard as fuck like a dad 💀

Soap, if yall have the time off takes you to scottish football games and it's a whole thing. You sitting there while he gets drunk out of his fucking mind, hollering and whooping and you're there trying to sink into your seat.

Chances are someone's gonna shove you and you're gonna trip and fall bc everyone's so amped up and Soap threatens to beat the shit out of them. It's a miracle y'all don't get kicked out 💀

If you have tattoos, Soap is the first one to take a marker set and color them in and adding his own additions. If you were ever to get them actually tattooed, he would tear up and pretend he isn't emotional about it.

"You like me that much Bonnie?"

He would get something of you too, so it evens out. This also makes Ghost in turn get a tattoo for you bc he refuses to be out done and he's just as attached

Neither of them get your call sign or your name, but they get something personal to what each of them associate you with.

The first time you meet Alex, you're across the room doing something that has your focus and didn't realize this is actually your first time meeting him. You ask him for a hand only to look up and see him extend his prosthetic at you with a smile and you scream.

"You asked for a hand but best I can do is a Leg." Price comes running and he sees the scene and rolls his eyes.

Everyone single one of them are the definition of "my girl can wear whatever she wants bc I'll break your jaw." meme btw. You can take care of yourself but you never need to bc they will beat a bitch up.

Laswell invites you constantly to come over and meet with her wife, esp if you don't have a mother figure. She always always tries to come on base to see you and always has a birthday and Christmas present on it's way to you wherever you may be. Her wife loves you to death and they've pretty much adopted you and you cannot escape it, oh well.

Gaz buys you whatever your little heart desires, especially if he's deployed away in a country where they sell exclusives of whatever you enjoy. It's a pain in the fucking ass to try and ship a anime figure to your place from Japan but he's gonna try his best.

Ghost doesn't share his food, or at least it was before you came along. He groans and grumbles about having to feed you but he wouldn't do it if he truly didn't want to. Soap asks and Ghost tells him to fuck off.

If you watch anime, please imagine trying to get everyone in the room and trying to explain who Dabi is. They're all so fucking old they keep thinking you're referring to the elf from Harry Potter and it infuriates you to no end.

Soap and Gaz know better but it's funnier to see you mad.

Being the youngest, they absolutely force you to do the jobs they don't want to. Whether it be cleaning the barracks, to cooking dinner when able, it doesn't matter bc they'll all pull rank on you.

"You're the new kid, get to it then."

"Ghosttttt-"

"Don't Ghost me."

Soap is the kind of motherfucker to play the fifa games and doesn't understand that he's stupid for buying it every single year bc there are no changes oncesoever. He will not listen to you about it and you've given up.

Ghost will see you talk about your etsy list and will ask for your phone, you trust him so of course you hand it over. He hands it back to you and it's just, all purchased. He says nothing while he sips on his tea while you scream at him asking why he did it. He won't tell you but it's because he knows it makes you happy and it'll keep your mood up, giving you a reason to be motivated to get through missions. It's also because he knows that retail therapy is a thing for your generation.

Soap, if you do any, is actually really good at doing your makeup! He knows how to do everything and he refuses to elaborate. (As a kid he'd do his mom's makeup when she went out for dates) he's the one who helps you doll up if you're going undercover.

Ghost, Gaz and Price find you unfunny whenever you make a "wow I wish British people were real." You say it so often and it gets annoying but they also just accept it's a part of life.

Soap personally enjoys the "SCOTLAND FOREVERRRRRRR" meme and will scream it with you. Ghost threatens to cut yalls tongue out.

Other parts can be found under #Kayla writes <3

Taglist:

@devilsfoodcake22 @simon-rileys-princess

@stupid-ninja @milkmily

@lune-la-chanson @tamayakii

@teacupcollector @sweet-as-an-angel

@perilous-pasta @ihatethisappsomuchitpains

@marsbar127xx @baddump

@xncasi @king-cookiex

@palomaxaxaxa @amatchasky @wolfyland07 @diejager

@hailstrum18 @pretty-little-bunny382728 @mzfandom

If you'd like to be tagged, go to my pinned post and comment there :)

[paradiseprincesss]

OMG OMG OMG. now i KNOW you aren’t taking requests. but im helping you out with your cillian story. reader is having an affair with cillian, they meet either on set or at an awards show and she’s whipped for him. but he just won’t leave his toxic wife. all to the song fantasize by ariana 🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️🧎‍♂️

fantasize - cillian murphy x reader

masterlist

notes: thank you to my pookie @ilovetoxicfictionalmen for helping me with the idea of this entire thing she served and she did not come to play i love her - okay so this is my first actual cillian fic and lowkey i was nervous to post it but slay? this is lowkey based off the ariana grande scandal lol and also completely based off fantasize by ariana grande (unreleased). also sorry if theres any mistakes i edited it but i got lazy like halfway through lmaoo

summary: cillian falls for a young, talented singer who finds out he's married, and she gives him an ultimatum; either get a divorce and then she'll give him a chance, or don't ever talk to her again because she's not that kind of girl. after nearly a year of not speaking, news breaks that he's divorced his wife - and suddenly, he shows up to her home in los angeles begging for her love because he can't seem to forget about her.

word count: 9.1k

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, cheating/affair, divorce, age gap (unspecified but reader is early 20's and cillian is 47), fingering, p in v, general smut obviously, pining (a tad bit), pathetic desperate cillian, cillian doesn't have kids in this au

"over here!"

"one more, just look here for a second, gorgeous!"

"are you going to be performing tonight?"

"when is the album dropping?"

the cameras flashed in your pretty face, and the reporters and paparazzi continued to yell out questions and take pictures of you as you walked down the carpet in a rush to get inside.

tonight was the oscars - it was a pretty big deal in hollywood, and as an a-list singer, you were invited to attend of course. yes, you were fresh onto the scene, so young you had barely finished high school by the time your name was being plastered in the tabloids, but now a few years later, you were a household name. your voice captured the hearts of many, and you were ever so grateful for your adoring fans.

after the release of your debut album, your fame skyrocketed. barely entering into your twenties, you already had multiple musical awards ranging from ama's to grammy's. there wasn't a person alive who didn't know your name. not only were you a talented singer who's voice hit octaves that could shatter glass, but you were a beauty icon.

with your iconic sense of style and that gorgeous face of yours, you weren't hard to miss. everything down to the last detail about you had many swooning, including some of the biggest names in hollywood. tonight, you wore a stunning, black, sultry gown custom made by vera wang herself, and matching black pumps that were from valentino. your stylist absolutely delivered on your hair and makeup so tonight - all eyes were on you.

you were rumoured to be performing at the oscars this year. the rumours had started to circulate a few weeks prior with fans getting all amped up about a possible performance from you. however, tonight you were just there to attend and look stunning on the carpet, as well as maybe catch up with some of your fellow celebrity friends. you weren't the type to step out onto every red carpet, so when you did, you made headlines.

as you stepped away from the flashing lights and the buzzing reporters, you finally made your way into the venue where the oscars were being held. this year, they had set things up a little differently than they usually did. most of the time, it was like a theatre of some kind. rows and rows of seating like you would see in the movie theatres, but this year, they switched it up. instead of the normal seating arrangements, they had cloth covered round tables with name plates.

your team got you seated at a table quite close to the front; the venue was already pretty much fully packed once you got inside, actors and singers alike were all mingling with each other. tonight, you were seated at a table with a few other young singers and talented individuals - billie eilish and olivia rodrigo being two of them.

"you look amazing." billie said to you as soon as she noticed you, and olivia looked up from her phone with a smile. "you totally do, i love this dress on you!" olivia agreed sweetly.

"oh my gosh, look at you two, though!" you say, excitedly catching up with two of your closest friends in the business. the three of you continued chatting for a while amongst yourselves, and billie pointed to the table diagonally across from yours.

"dude, cillian murphy is sitting over there - holy shit." she laughs, and you and olivia peek over at the table billie gestured to.

there at a table sat the cast of oppenheimer, and even for someone as famous as yourself - you were starstruck at the sight of him. he was undeniably gorgeous...and definitely way too old for you. you were aware that cillian was a very private guy, never really stepping out into the public eye other than to act or do a quick interview every now and then, but seeing him in person had your head spinning. he was even better looking in person than any photos that you'd ever seen of him.

as you, billie, and olivia stared at the seasoned actors and actresses seated across from you, cillian glanced over - and all three of you looked away, feeling like silly, teenage school girls. "shit," you giggle, "that's embarrassing."

"awkward." billie laughed, and olivia laughed along with the two of you. the topic of conversation switched quickly, and the three of you continued to talk about everything under the sun. eventually, the lights started to dim and the room started to go quiet as the host stepped out on stage. you'd never been to the oscars before, only other award shows, so you were watching in awe as this was your first year attending.

throughout the award show, you stole little glances at cillian; he was mesmerizing, and his blue eyes were truly breathtaking. halfway through the award show, cillians name was announced and he accepted an oscar for his performance in oppenheimer. you applauded along with the rest of the crowd, and he did his little acceptance speech before joining the rest of the cast back at his table.

while he stood up there, you couldn't help but notice how perfect he was - not a flaw existed on this man. as you watched him with hearts in your eyes, you almost felt your heart leap out of your throat as the two of you made eye contact for just a second. however, he quickly returned his gaze to something else, almost looking flustered to have looked your way.

afterwards, cillian and the rest of the cast all did a little cheers to his award. they put their champagne glasses down and continued to watch the host on stage. whilst many talented actors and actresses went up to claim their oscars, your eyes were focused on something else - rather, someone else.

you couldn't help but keep looking over at the older man across from you; nobody in hollywood had truly captured your attention the way he did. love at first sight, perhaps. sure, your sweet personality and jaw-dropping beauty had many a-list men and women swooning, but you never felt inclined to date someone in the same industry as you - they usually had a reputation. there was always something wrong with them, whether they were substance addicts or a serial cheater; you didn't want to stick around and find out.

your heart rate spiked when those stunningly blue eyes you'd been staring at all evening suddenly locked with yours once more, and you looked away hastily, out of both sheer embarrassment and awkwardness from being caught staring. you immediately started to pay attention to the award show, not daring to glance back over at his table. after the host wrapped up the show, everyone got ready to head to the oscars afterparty.

you made your way to the venue with billie and olivia, along with some other young women your own age, and headed straight to the bar. you ordered a cosmopolitan, then another, and then one more. after socializing and drinking, you went to one of the many tables scattered across the room. sitting down, you sigh and sip on your third cosmo of the night.

"excuse me," an smooth, irish accent came from beside you, "d'you mind if i join you?"

looking up in awe, you see none other than cillian murphy himself - looking handsome as ever in his suit - standing with a glass of whiskey in his hands. you felt at a loss for words, but nodded and swallowed. "not at all." you say, gesturing for him to sit.

"i'm sorry," he laughs softly, "i had to come over and say hi. i'm actually a bit of a fan. i watched your performance at the grammy's a few months ago - you're incredibly talented. you have a beautiful voice."

as he tells you this, you felt your jaw drop. cillian murphy, the man himself, thought you were talented? you look at him with an adoring smile, and nod as you took everything that he said in. if you were being honest; you didn't think he even knew who you were.

"that means, like, so much coming from you. i saw oppenheimer and your portrayal of him was amazing. everything you do is...amazing." you gush, and he smiles bashfully. honestly - you found it quite endearing that he was even approaching you and talking to you like this; wasn't he well known for being so reserved and frankly, a little shy or even awkward?

"ah, i appreciate that." he smiles softly, "it's admirable how successful you are - especially for someone so young."

you bit your lip as he mentioned your youthfulness, feeling both mentally and physically weak in the presence of this man. you felt your head spinning; was this really happening right now?

you shrug, trying to play it off as cool as possible. "i appreciate that, truly." you say softly, looking at him with the same starstruck expression as before.

he was quiet for a good minute, taking in your every detail. you noticed his eyes lingered to the dip in your dresses neckline, before speaking again in his gorgeous irish accent.

"m'sorry, you must get this all the time, but you're absolutely stunning." he says casually.

you thought you'd misheard him at first when he said those words. this was cillian murphy of all people - and he was casually throwing out compliments to you. not to mention he was more than twice your age; it was almost morally wrong. almost, but it seemed that neither of you seemed to care about that. not that you really should, anyway.

"t-thank you! i think that, um, you're..." you stammer out, but trail off. you were three drinks in, a little past tipsy, and so utterly starstruck by him that you couldn't muster up the courage to tell him how attractive you found him.

he seemed to understand your nervousness, and gently, he placed one of his hands on your upper thigh with a soft laugh. "nerves?" he asks sympathetically, and you nod your head, laughing along with him. "it's your first time at the oscars, right?"

"yeah," you confess with a smile, "sometimes, i feel like i'm still not used to the whole 'celebrity' thing."

"understandable, you're s'young. it only makes sense." he tells you, once again reminding you of how young you were in comparison to him, whilst his hand was literally resting on your thigh. "if you want, we could go back to my hotel room to chat. you know, to ease your nerves if crowded rooms aren't your thing."

you almost had to stop yourself from fangirling out loud, and with a small nod and a soft smile, you take him up on his offer. "y-yeah, okay. sure."

you were almost certain that he wasn't taking you back to his hotel room for the sake of rescuing you from your social anxiety, but you let it slide. i mean, he's cillian murphy - you'd let just about anything he did slide.

he softly took your hand in his, walking you out to the exit with him, and a few people glanced over in surprise. you tried to pay them no mind, but you knew how it must've looked to others. cillian and you got into his car with his driver, and the both of you headed back to his hotel. once the two of you got to his room, he closed the door behind him and threw his suit jacket over the back of the couch.

you stood there a little awkwardly, mostly because you were so nervous, but also because you'd never been this close with a man so much older than you before. cillian made his way over to you, and softly put his hand on your waist, his thumb trailing little circles over the fabric of your dress.

"is this okay?" he asked softly, and you nodded.

"mhm." you answer, looking up into those striking blue eyes of his.

his other hand trails up your spine, and then to the back of your neck, running his hands through your hair gently. softly, he pulled you closer, closing the gap between the two of you. you were in shock; but you kissed back. it was electrifying. here you were, standing in cillian murphy's hotel room, kissing him. you thought that surely you were dreaming.

the two of you continued to share a few more kisses which then turned into making out, and suddenly you were laying back on his bed with him on top of you. he continued to kiss you deeply, hands roaming all over your body until something seemingly got stuck in a loose thread on your dress. as you both pulled away hesitantly, you noticed something on his hand gotten stuck on that loose thread - a ring.

and no, it wasn't just some regular old ring, and surely not one just to accessorize. the gold band shone on his ring finger, and you saw it for what it was - a wedding ring. you looked down at the ring, and then back at him. how could you have not seen it before?

it seemed in this moment, he knew he'd fucked up as he cleared his throat and started to stumble over his words.

"i-it's not-" he tried to explain, "i'm leaving her."

you looked at him in shock, and in the heat of the moment, you pushed him off of you with a scoff. "you're married?" you ask angrily, "are you fucking kidding me?"

"yes, but-" he tried to interject, but you weren't having it.

"that's disgusting," you spat, "have some respect, jesus christ."

you were already getting up from the bed, grabbing your purse from the kitchen counter as your designer heels clicked against the wooden floors. everything went south so quickly; from when you met to how you ended up in his bed, making out - it was all just one big blurry mess to you now. you didn't know he was married, and if you did, you never would have accepted his offer to come back to his hotel room - let alone let him put his hand on your thigh.

"wait, please-" he begged, following you as you collected your things, "i can explain."

"really?" you asked sarcastically, "you can explain how you're married, yet you decided to take a woman less than half your age to your hotel room?"

"yes," he exasperated, "i'm leaving her, i swear. we're getting a divorce."

you scoffed, this wasn't the first time you'd heard this excuse. hollywood men were sleazy. this was a known fact, and you'd lost count of the amount of men who had slid into your dms telling you that they were getting a divorce or leaving their woman for you. it's not like you ever replied or cared to give in, but still - you knew what they were like.

cillian knew what he was saying was wrong on so many levels - but he couldn't stop himself when it came to you. within seconds of seeing you, you drove him wild. you were a type of beauty he'd never seen before, someone you just feel instantly drawn to.

"well," you say, after a riviting moment of silence, "we'll see about that." you turned to grab the door handle with your purse thrown over your shoulder.

cillian suddenly reached out to grab your arm out of instinct, not willing nor ready to let you go just yet. "please," he sighed, "please - just give me a chance." he said, feeling extremely pathetic for begging like this.

you stayed silent and shot him a stern look, and he took this as his opportunity to continue whatever tangent he was already on. "i'm trying to divorce her as quick as i can but it's just so complicated" he explained, "you're just so gorgeous, fuck, and you're- you're everything i want- no, need."

you stayed quiet for another few seconds, once again trying to process what was coming out of this mans mouth.

"listen," you sigh, "i don't mess with married men, i'm not that kind of girl - but if you actually go through with that divorce - if you're genuinely serious about that, then maybe we can talk."

and with that, you pushed his arm off of you, stepping out of his hotel room and slamming the door behind you. as much as you wanted him to be yours - you knew it was wrong. you were meant to be on your own, not with a man who was married to another woman. what kind of woman would that make you if you were to let something happen between the two of you? you could never do anything like that. i mean, you would but, you were just too nice - and too hot.

you found his driver outside of the hotel, and you told him to drive you back to your hotel. that night, you took a steamy shower to try and clear your mind - but you couldn't shake the thought of him. usually, you paid no mind to any men, married or not, but if you were being honest; you couldn't stop fantasizing about cillian.

you couldn't help but think of him in all the wrong ways while you were laying in bed. you didn't even know why. that night, you had trouble falling asleep, your mind was far too occupied by fantasies of what it would be like to be his. this was only the beginning of such fantasies that would play out in your head for many months to come, but you didn't stop yourself from imagining them.

you'd fantasize about him all the time. if he was yours, you'd give him every part of you, nine to five and five to nine. your life hadn't been the same since you met him. sure, you hated it at first but soon, those little fantasies started to fuel you. you knew he was crazy about you, too. he'd even create little burner accounts to stalk your social media to see what you were doing - but you never wanted to give off the impression that you felt the same. at least, not yet you didn't.

it had been a hectic last few months with all the award shoes and red carpets that came after the oscars, but now you had some downtime. award season was over, and that meant you had more free time to stay out of the public eye and work on your second album, which you were excited to share. however, there was another small reason why you chose to stay out of the public eye.

photos of you and cillian, hands intertwined, had leaked to the media. apparently, the two of you in your inebriated states didn't notice some fans lingering around the area hoping to catch a glimpse of some celebrities. those people snapped some photos of the two of you, and then sold them to multiple media outlets.

the backlash was what you expected - sort of. the media had painted you to be the innocent one in this scandal, and rather cillian the one in the wrong. to be fair, that's what the truth was anyways, but you were glad that in this day and age, you had the internet backing you up and not ripping you to shreds. there were multiple articles talking about how "cillian murphy, 47, tried to take advantage" of you and how he was straying from his wife for "someone who was more than two decades younger."

you were pretty silent on social media for a while, and you only got around to updating and posting like you normally did just last week. the comments scared you as you weren't sure what people would have to say, but everyone was surprisingly supportive of you. there were minimal to no comments about the whole cillian murphy scandal, and things seemed to have died down just as quickly as they started.

now, a few months later after those pictures head leaked - cillian was still with his wife who he claimed he was "divorcing." you knew that it was most likely a front, but deep down; a part of you wished he had gone through with it, and even worse - you wished you had gone through with throwing caution to the wind and having your way with him that night. as wrong as it was, you felt your heart aching at the thought of him. sure, you were young and you didn't really know what love was, but you were pretty certain that this. was. it.

you wanted to know so badly why he was still with her, he was clearly not happy and had wandering eyes, so why was he still staying? it was a puzzle to you, and you felt yourself overthinking the simple question constantly, often letting it consume your daily thoughts. cillian wished he could tell you why, but he knew it would sound shallow. if he was being honest - he didn't love his wife. maybe at first when they got married when he was your age he did, but definitely not anymore.

their love had grown stale, and it's not like he really had a reason to stay faithful anymore besides his morals, but those morals didn't do him any good whenever he thought of you or better yet, saw pictures of you. him and his wife didn't share any kids together thankfully, and he often found himself zoning out every time they spent time with one another; his thoughts going to you instead. his wife had indeed seen the pictures of the two of you, but she was determined to let it go. apparently, the two of them were going to marriage counselling for it.

you scoffed at the idea when you read an article about it because you thought it was ridiculous. there was no point saving a man who didn't want to be saved, it would never work. but of course, you kept this all to yourself - you didn't want to give off the impression that you were okay with being the other woman because you weren't. shamelessly, you would constantly search his name up on social media or online to see any articles with updates about his marriage - and yeah, you were aware how bad that habit had gotten.

your fantasies were vivid, the memory of his hands trailing up and down your body on repeat in your mind all the time. the feeling of his lips pressed up against yours on that one, fateful night - you couldn't forget it. but that's the thing, as much as you wanted him and so desperately craved him - if he wouldn't leave her, you knew you couldn't force him to. you weren't going to wait forever, especially for a married man, and cillian knew that if he let you go, he'd come to regret it for the rest of his life.

his wife could tell. she knew that his mind was always going back to the thought of you - she could see it in the way he was acting towards her now, the way he touched her, the way he spoke to her - it almost seemed like he would try and pretend that she was you.

"honey, i don't know why you're so upset." cillian calmly explained to his wife, who was currently shouting at him in their shared home in dublin.

"you aren't even trying, cillian! it's like you don't care anymore - after over two decades of marriage you're just done?!" she screeched at him, and he rolled his eyes in frustration.

"oh, come on," he groaned, "don't be like that."

"oh, really? like i'm the one who had an affair with someone less than half my age." she sneered, and he knew that technically, she was right. she hadn't cheated on him, but he did cheat on her.

"were going to marriage counselling for it, i don't understand why you're so mad at me! i told you, we didn't even go past kissing." he huffed, and his wife was seconds away from losing it.

"how does that make it any better?" she yelled, "i know you still think about her, cillian. i went through your god damn phone! i saw the accounts you made to see what shes been posting. i know you wish that it was her in bed with you at night, sleeping by you. i saw the way you were looking at her in those pictures!"

cillian went silent at the bomb that his wife just dropped - and he couldn't even deny it anymore. of course he wished it was you in bed with him at night, and yes; if he had it his way, you'd be in her place instead. he imagined what a life with you could be like; the two of you living in a quiet, little suburban house with a few pets, and a beautiful garden - and you with a wedding ring on your finger, not his wife who he stopped loving years ago.

"you're thinking of her again, aren't you?" his wifes voice brought him out of his thoughts, and he looked at her as she had tears in her eyes.

"don't cry, please-"

"do you even love me anymore?" his wife sobbed quietly, interjecting. he sighed, staying silent, and she continued to speak to him through her tears. "i think it's best if you get it out in the open - maybe you hoped i wouldn't notice, but i've been married to you for over twenty years. i know you, cillian."

with a sigh, he looked down in shame. he couldn't bring himself to say anything, it seemed that his words got stuck in his throat at this very moment.

"your silence is enough of an answer," she said quietly, "but tell me cillian, you owe it to me after all you've put me through - do you love her?"

"i-i don't know i-" he stammered, knowing full well what the truth was; he did love you. he fell in love the moment he laid eyes on you. he fell in love with your youth, your radiance, your beauty, everything about you made this man weak. he'd barely known you for an hour and yet, he could confidently say that he loved you.

"you do know," his wife murmured, "you and i both know."

"well maybe i do," he whispered, "i can't change how i feel."

"twenty years, cillian! does that mean nothing to you?" she yelled, her rage apparent now.

"what do you want me to fucking say?" he spat back, knowing full well he was in the wrong here; but all his morals went out the window at this point, "i can't undo what i've done, and i'm sorry, okay? i'm sorry, but i also can't change the way i feel about her!"

"what's wrong with you? i don't even know who you are anymore!" she screamed at him, and now both of them were going back and forth, the argument escalating at an alarming rate.

"i don't care!" he shouted back, making his wife angrier.

"so, what now?" she screamed, "d'you want to get a divorce? is that what you want?"

"you know what? yes! in fact, i've wanted one since before i even met-"

"don't say her name." his wife spat, and that pushed cillian over the egde.

"i'm getting the divorce papers by the end of the week, and you're going to fucking sign them, i'll tell you that much." he seethed, and his wife started to throw whatever she could at him in a blind rage. as cillian ducked away from a dish being hurled at him, he decided to get one last dig in. "oh, by the way - i knew from the moment i met her, i'd much rather that she have my last name instead of you."

when you read the article titles and news headlines, you felt your heart drop.

"oppenheimer star cillian murphy and his wife have seemingly split - here's what we know."

you quickly wash down your glass of wine, and put your phone down in disbelief. you felt the guilt sink in slowly, and it made you want to cry; you couldn't help but feel like this was your fault. that you destroyed a marriage, and you had taken a man from another woman. you knew if that even if you weren't a hundred precent of the reason they divorced, you were at least a part of it. you were sure of that.

when you found out about his apparent divorce, you were shocked to say the least; you had finally come to terms with how he was probably never going to have the guts to leave her, and that was okay with you now. you didn't want to get dragged into a messy scandal, you were okay with letting him do what he wanted - he wasn't yours to keep, anyway.

up until now, he just didn't have the heart to leave her, as the media would think he'd only left her because he got the fame, and now he wanted some young, hollywood beauty. sure, it was partially true that he had left her for a younger woman that he so desperately wanted, but they didn't know how much he loved you. the media didn't know how badly he needed to have you.

and now that you were in the picture, those rumours would look like they were true - and it would be an absolute mess. the media would eat it up. so now, to force yourself to try and move on, you were talking to a bunch of other guys, but they just weren't him.

today, you were at another event where you were currently sitting at the bar, waiting for your favourite cocktail; a cosmopolitan after your second glass of wine. tonight, you needed it more than ever. this was a huge event, as you were one of the biggest stars attending, along with some other big names in hollywood. you heard about who else was going to be there, and cillian's name was included in that conversation. you felt stupid for thinking he wasn't going to be there, his fame had skyrocketed after oppenheimer - of course he'd be there.

tonight, you made waves as you walked the red carpet in your stunning, custom made gown by none other than donatella versace herself with the perfect mix of accessories and matching heels. you looked dolled up.

oh, and you also came with another man. that's right; you walked the carpet with your rumoured new boyfriend, evan peters.

when people saw the two of you step out onto the carpet together, they lost their minds. evan was quite a bit older than you, but still - he was a little over ten years younger than cillian. once the two of you were posing for pictures as the flashing lights consumed your vision, he wrapped his arm around your waist and kissed your cheek softly. the photographers were eating this up; and they were shouting your name left and right, along with various questions.

"over here, look over here!"

"how long have the two of you been together?"

"did you have an affair with cillian?"

"what happened with cillian murphy?"

"did you hear about cillians divorce?"

the questions were progressively getting more invasive, and the two of you stepped into the venue of the event, wanting a break from the cameras and flashing lights. evan headed to the bar with you, but excused himself for a moment.

of course, the moment you were alone, you saw cillian, along with some other cast members from oppenheimer, walk in. you recognize pretty much all of them right away, and you do your best to look unengaged and pretend that you didn't even notice him.

cillian saw you instantly, but before he could even say anything or go over to you - he saw your new man return to the bar, wrapping his arms around you from behind and placing a soft kiss on your cheek. in that moment, he thought he could actually feel his heart being ripped into two, but he kept his composure and smiled at his cast-mates happily.

"another drink already?" evan teased, a smile on his face, "everything alright?"

"mm, yeah. everything is fine." you say cheerfully, even though deep down your heart was hurting at the fact that the man now sitting in front of you wasn't the man that you were in love with. "i just get a little overwhelmed at these events, you know that."

"right, i'm sorry." he says softly, taking your hand into his. "you look gorgeous tonight, sweetie."

the way he complimented you and the environment you were in felt all too familiar, and flashbacks of your night with cillian came flooding back into your mind. you mentally shook them right out of your head for the night. you didn't want to hurt your own feelings again, so for the remainder of the night, you avoided him and stuck by evans side.

cillian on the other hand thought he was going crazy. did you see the news articles about his divorce? were you in love with someone else? did you even think about him?

the following weeks had gone by in a blur as you were currently promoting the anticipated release of your upcoming album, and things were going so well for you - but you felt empty inside. you thought you were losing it, driving yourself insane over a married (well, no longer) man who you'd kissed for a few minutes in a hotel room.

two weeks ago, you broke it off with evan. you were certain it wasn't going to work, he was such a sweet guy and you knew he deserved someone else because your heart didn't belong to him. it belonged to cillian as much as you didn't want it to.

what was it with you and this man?

after breaking it off with evan, you debated texting cillian. perhaps it was just bad timing and now that he was divorced, things could work. maybe you just needed a little time apart just so that you could make your way back to each other. as you picked up your phone to try and muster up a text, you opened your social media to see that tmz had a new article up:

"cillian murphy and estranged ex-wife seen out together in dublin - what does this mean for the former couple?"

and below, there were pictures of him and his ex-wife walking side by side on the streets of ireland, and a few pictures of them in a little cafe together, seemingly just talking - but this was enough to drive you up the wall. you were done; you were out the door, and he was out of chances.

bye.

if he couldn't make up his mind, you would make up yours. opening your text messages, you scroll down to his contact. it had been months since the whole oscars incident, and neither of you had ever talked after that - he didn't even reach out to you after his divorce. so, you figured that this was just a waste of time; maybe it was best to move on from the fantasies in your head.

and with that, you blocked his number and tried not to let your anxiety consume you. to be honest, you were sort of hoping that maybe things would've worked out between the two of you; it felt like it was meant to be - but now you weren't too convinced.

currently, cillian was cooped up inside of a hotel room down in los angeles and he knew that you'd most likely seen the pictures, everyone had at this point. he tried to message you for the first time since the hotel room fiasco, but as he tried to explain it to you, his texts kept going green - you'd blocked his number. he tried calling, but the line just went dead each time.

the pictures were taken so out of context, but how would you know that? you wouldn't. in reality, cillian had agreed to meet up with his ex-wife as they were supposed to talk about divorce settlements. that was all. the two of them walked around, enjoying the sun as they tried to talk about it civilly. his estranged, and now ex-wife, took the whole situation surprisingly well.

sighing, he grabbed his car keys and his jacket, and got into his car while speeding recklessly down the freeway; his heart beating exhilaratingly. as he sped down the freeways of los angeles, he took a moment to appreciate the beauty of it all. the palm trees and the pink sunset - it reminded him of you. vibrant and beautiful. so young, so reckless, and so carefree.

as you were winding down for bed, you heard the doorbell of your beachfront property being rang repeatedly. in a state of confusion, you make your way downstairs and started wandering towards the front door. who the hell would be on your doorstep ringing your bell at such an hour? swinging the door open, you find cillian standing there like a pathetic, love-drunk fool.

"are you fucking kidding me?" you deadpan, looking at him with an expression that said the same thing as your words. after nine months he decided to show up at your doorstep? how did he know where you lived?

"i know," he began, "i know i look insane but i'm- jesus, i'm fucking crazy about you."

you stare at him wide-eyed, as this was not what you were expecting to see this evening. "cillian," you sigh, "i saw the pictures-"

"i can explain," he interjects, his voice laced with desperation, "please."

there he was; standing outside your house in the middle of the night, begging for you because he couldn't let you go. begging after he'd left his wife of twenty years for you.

"fine, just come inside. i don't want any more leaked pictures online." you grumble, opening the door fully so he could come in.

once he got inside, you closed the door behind the both of you, walking to your living room together. this was the first time in months that you'd actually talked - and even though you tried to deny it, your heart was racing at just the sight of him stood there, desperate for you. as you sat across from him on your couch, you looked at him silently, letting him say what he needed to.

"i'm so sorry for the mess that i've created." he said quietly.

"you should be." you respond cooly, trying not to let his words effect you in any way. you knew better.

"i know the last nine months have been insane," he says, looking at you with remorse, "but i mean, you can't deny what we have. i've never felt this way about anyone - i wouldn't have divorced my wife if i didn't think this was something worth fighting for."

you rub your temples, "cillian," you groan, "you can't be saying shit like that."

"why not?" he retaliated, making you scoff. "you told me to reach out to you once i was divorced and you'd maybe give me a chance. i'm doing what you asked me to, baby please-"

"don't baby me," you scoff, "you didn't tell me from the beginning that you were married. let's say i do forgive you, and we do this for real - how can i trust you?"

"i-i don't know, but i'll do anything i can to make this work." he pleaded, "i haven't stopped thinking about you since the day i met you."

"jesus, you're crazy." you groan, and to that he agreed.

"yeah, i know," he agreed, "m'fucking crazy about you."

you threw your hands up in defeat as if to say "well?" and he just looked at you in awe, his salt and pepper hair complimenting his gorgeous blue eyes. he continued to stared at you. he certainly wasn't trying to hide hide how attracted to you he was.

"the pictures of you and your ex-wife..." you said quietly, looking away from him, "i can't trust you, cillian."

"we were just talking about settlements," he said, "you know better than anyone how the media is; they blow shit out of proportion and take everything out of context. i swear that's all it was."

"you can't just show up like this..." you trail off, a frustrated sigh leaving your lips.

"is this because of your new guy or somethin'?" he huffs, and you roll your eyes at him. "no," you explain, "i'm not even seeing him anymore, we broke it off weeks ago."

"oh," he says, his eyes lighting up, "well, that's good to know."

it was silent for a moment, the two of you sitting there in each other's company, both lost in thought.

"why?" you ask suddenly, the question lingering in the tension filled air.

cillian looks at you confused, "what?"

"why does it have to be like this?" you ask, feeling the weight of your emotions bring you down. "why does it all have to be so complicated? why did you have to make it so complicated?"

"if this is about my marriage-"

"of course it's about your marriage!" you exclaim, your emotions getting the better of you, "i've spent the last nine months driving myself insane over you - god, i don't even know why. i feel this overwhelming guilt because of your divorce and-"

you pause, getting choked up as every last feeling from the last nine months decided to reign it's terror on you in that very moment with cillian sitting right across from you on your couch. every ounce of guilt that was compiled up inside of you, every bit of anger and resentment, and every negative emotion poured out from the depths of your slightly broken heart.

with teary eyes, you finally look at him again. "i feel like i wrecked your marriage, and i-i don't want to be that type of woman."

"you didn't wreck anything." cillian says, moving close to you as he placed a hand on you, rubbing your back soothingly. "i was in the wrong - i should have told you the truth. i should have done a lot of things differently. if i could go back in time, i would."

"but you can't!" you say as the tears start flowing, covering your face with your hands.

"i can't, no," he agrees, "but i'll change, i'll do anything for you."

"are you insane?" you shout at him with tears pooling in your eyes, "i don't know why you-"

"because i fucking love you, that's why." he said suddenly, looking you dead in the eyes as you both went silent.

"i'm sorry?" you ask in shock, meeting his gaze.

"because," he sighs, "i've fallen in love with you."

"you barely know me-"

"but i want to," he insists, moving closer to you. "just one chance, please."

looking up into his gorgeous blue eyes once more, you felt yourself go weak. he chased you down for months, left his wife for you, showed up at your doorstep - what more could he do to prove he was all in for you? with a trembling breath, he reaches his hand to softly cup your face, wiping your tears away with his thumb. his eyes search yours for any trace of a mutual feeling, for any indication that you might've wanted him as badly as he wanted you.

as he was leaning in, the gap between his lips and yours was getting smaller and smaller by the second. despite everything that was said in the last ten minutes, you didn't stop him. you didn't back away because deep down, you knew you needed him as much as he needed you. the pull between the two of you was unexplainable.

softly, he kissed you for the first time in nine months, and instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his neck. as you tangled your hands in his greying hair, he pulled you closer by your waist. while his tongue was exploring your mouth, you boldly get on top of his lap. straddling him, you run your hands in his hair once more and deepen the kiss.

"tell me you feel the same way, i know you do." he whispered against your lips, pulling away just enough so that he could get the words out.

"i feel the same, cillian." you confess in a breathless whisper, and he starts to pepper kisses down your neck, trailing them along to your collarbone.

"thought about you every fuckin' night," he murmured against your skin, "m'gonna cherish you, my love."

"i fantasized about you all the time." you admit out loud, grinding your hips down onto him.

you could already feel how hard he was underneath you, and you bit your lip at the feeling of his clothed cock pressing up against your cunt.

"mm, yeah?" he groaned, "tell me, sweet girl."

his hands took hold of your waist, helping you grind down on his lap. "i thought about y-you..." you whimpered, feeling yourself soak through your panties already.

"well, don't get shy on me now." he said lowly, his hands reaching up to squeeze your breasts, rolling your clothed nipples between his fingers softly. since you weren't wearing a bra, he had easy access.

with a soft moan, you try your best to answer him as his bulge rubbed against your cunt and his fingers tweaked your nipples, causing you to lose all inhibitions. "t-thought about your cock stretching me open," you confess, "and- f-fuck, i thought about you bending me over, making me scream all night."

"how about i help you live out those fantasies of yours, hm?" he growled, pulling you into a sloppy kiss.

as you melted into the kiss, he reached his hand down and slipped them past the waistband of your pyjama pants. he pushed your panties to the slide and let his fingers swipe through your soaked folds, making you moan into the kiss. the feeling of his fingers just simply brushing against you was heavenly, and you knew you needed more.

"you're fucking soaked, baby." he groaned, biting your lip softly between his teeth.

in an instant, he was pushing you down onto your couch. you shimmied your way out of your pyjama pants with his help of course, and he also assisted in pulling your panties down, too. as he tossed them to the side, you felt your heart palpitate at what was about to happen.

he gently inserted his middle finger into you at a slow pace, your slick walls clenching down on him from sheer neediness.

"that's a good fucking girl," he praised softly, "feels good, baby?"

"m-mmhm," you moaned, looking up at him as he hovered over you.

with one hand, he continued to play with your tits, tweaking the nipple between his fingers and with the other hand, he was fingering you gently. the act was so intimate yet sinful at the same time, it had your head spinning. the way he kept eye contact was driving you insane as you looked into his icy blue eyes.

slowly, he inserted a second digit into your drooling hole, your back arching at the intrusion and slight stretch. you let out a quiet moan, and he started to curl his fingers, fucking you with them faster and faster.

"let me hear those pretty moans, sweetheart," he cooed, "i wanna watch you as you cum on my fingers."

"f-fuck, right there-!" you whined, arching your back even further.

as he fucked you on his fingers rapidly, you could feel the coil in your stomach about to snap. as your slick walls clenched down on cillian's fingers, you moaned his name out over and over, feeling yourself drenching his hand.

"fuck, you're so pretty." he complimented, watching your reaction as you came undone on his fingers for him.

after your chest was heaving and you were left a panting mess, he pulled his fingers out gently. he helped you slip your pyjama top off, and you assisted him in undoing his belt buckle.

as he pushed his pants down, his cock sprung out. your mouth watered at the sight of it, needing nothing more than for him to be balls deep inside of your aching, needy cunt right now. he got on top of you hastily, stroking himself a few times before he lined himself up with you.

he teasingly brushed his pale, pink tip through your sticky folds as his pre-cum leaked out, and you whined with desperation.

"i fantasized about stretching you open on my cock." he admitted suddenly, biting down on his plush lips. "i thought about how you'd look with it buried deep inside, begging me to let you cum."

his vulgar words went straight to your core, and you looked up at him with a rosy hue covering the apples of your cheeks.

"show me," you whimpered, "make me beg to cum on your cock."

it didn't take much convincing before he suddenly pushed into your warm hole, stretching you out beyond belief. you could feel him fill you fully, and you almost choked on air at the sensation of his cock actually splitting you open like he promised. even though your cunt was dripping, he was still met with some resistance just from how tight you were around him.

"jesus, baby," he groaned, "what a tight fucking pussy."

"uh-huh, y-you're so big-" you squeak, and he started to move in and out at a fast pace, barely giving you time to adjust.

as his cock filled you fully, you swore you could feel him bulging in your stomach. his fat, veiny cock was reaching places you didn't even think were possible to reach, and places that his fingers certainly couldn't. he continued to push deeper inside of you with harsh thrusts, knocking the wind out of you each time his cock brushed up against that spongy spot inside of you.

you closed your eyes as your slick started to drip down onto the couch. you'd never been so soaked in your life. he tapped your cheek a few times, causing your eyes to flutter open. softly, he cupped your face with one hand while the other held an unwavering grip on your leg, lifting it up over his shoulder so he could fuck you even deeper.

"look at me, sweetheart," he commanded softly, making you clench on his cock. "oh," he noticed, "you like it when i talk to you like that, huh?"

you indeed liked when he talked like that - scratch that, you fucking loved it. he could feel you squeeze his cock with your dripping cunt each time he just spoke, his voice bringing you closer and closer to the edge once more.

"cill, i-i...fuck!" you screamed as his cock brushed up against that sensitive spot inside of you, causing you to suddenly lose all ability to speak properly.

"hm, sweetheart?" he cooed lovingly, but continued ramming into you ruthlessly.

your pussy was soaked and stretched, and as you kept your eyes on his - you watched him in awe. the way his pink lips were slightly parted, his salt and pepper hair disheveled, and his brow furrowed. it was driving you into a permanent state of euphoria.

"i love you," you gasped between breathless moans and incoherent begging, "so much."

your pupils were blown, staring up at him with such intensity he thought he was going to break right then and there.

"fuck, sweetie," he groaned, "i love you, too."

"i-i'm gonna cum, r-right there-" you begged him, "please, can i?"

"cum on my cock, cum right fucking now." he almost growled, pounding your tight, sopping cunt mercilessly. his pace never wavered, and he continued to fuck you into euphoria, studying you as you tipped over the edge from his thrusts.

with a groan, he came with you. he filled you with everything he had, fucking his cum so deep into your cunt you could almost feel him bruise your cervix. after his cock spurted the last bits of his cum into you, he was a panting, love-drunk mess propped up above you.

you were just as fucked out, smiling at him dopily while his cock remained buried inside of your warm walls. cillian brought his hand back up to your face, brushing a strand or two out of your face before placing a gentle kiss on your swollen lips.

"my love," he whispered, voice saccharine, "you are everything to me. everything."

"i adore you." you say softly, letting a heavy breath out.

"we'll make this work, i know we will. i just can't live a life without you in it." he tells you.

the crowd cheered, giving you a standing ovation as you finished your performance. you smiled bashfully and yelled "thank you new york!" into the microphone as the final show of your tour ended, and you waved goodbye to the thousands of fans in the arena.

rushing backstage after your show, you run into cillians arms and he hugs you tightly. he places a soft kiss on your head as you smile up at him sweetly, and looks at you with a proud expression on his face.

"you were amazing, love," he says softly, pulling you into his side as the two of you walk into your dressing room, "m'so glad i could join you for the last half of your tour. love watching you perform, s'amazing."

"oh, cill," you smile bashfully, "shush, you're too sweet."

"my lovely wife," he sighed, kissing you softly, "i'm just so proud of everything you've done."

you sigh blissfully as he holds your hands in his, and you head back to the hotel your staying at before your flight tomorrow morning. as your head hits the pillow, you feel exhausted and like you haven't slept in ages. cillian wraps his arms around you, spooning you as you turn off the light.

"goodnight, mrs. murphy." he whispers softly, holding you in his arms.

now you didn't have to fantasize about what it was like to be his anymore - he was all yours now, and you were all his. last name and all.

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[trashmouth-richie]

hi, ziggy! ahhh i missed hih ❤️ could you pretty please do something for jealous!eddie where maybe somebody flirts with tooty because she got that milf glow after she had the babies lmao ily ❤️

anon💕💕 thank you for the req! this took a little spin and has an open ending, but!!! the twins are in this and some other familiar faces ❤️ might get a part 2? who knows!

a night out without the kids. almost an unheard of event. but tonight corroded coffin were performing their annual concert the night before halloween.

sissy & oz toted their overnight bags up the paved sidewalk to grandma and grandpa’s house— the same house you had once called home when the wheeler’s took you in as a teen.

reaching the front door eddie squats to eye level with the twin three year olds. “okay you two,” he says in his fatherly tone, “last time you stayed the night grandpa said you terrorized the cat.”

“i no do it daddy,” sissy speaks her little voice high pitched and tattling, “ows chaseded hims.”

a frown spreads on her brothers face his brown eyes pleading, “i did not! sissy made tinky swim in the potty!”

eddie bites his lip to hide a laugh and you take a deep breath, “that’s another thing, the cat’s name is bruce, not stinky.”

“but mama,” sissy complains, head held high in a defiant pose— one eddie recognizes as a mini version of his wife, “boose 's hard to say.”

eddie ruffles her hair and stands up, talking out of the side of his mouth, “always arguing like someone else i know,”

his large hand slides down the curve of your ass pinching the leather fabric snug on your skin, giving it a tight little squeeze.

“eddie!” you scold, swatting his hand away, “not in front of the babies.”

he grabs your waist and pulls you back into him before you can rap your knuckles on the front door. his mouth is hot in your ear, “sorry mama,” he purrs, dancing his tongue on the shell of your ear, “you just look so fucking hot tonight.”

sissy and oz are both slapping the door with both palms as it swings inward. “who’s makin’ all that racket?!”

“gwampa! it’s us!”

“issy and ows!”

wayne smiles as big as he always did when his grandbabies visited, “are you sure y’all ain’t no robbers are ya?”

“gwampa’s silly, daddy!” oz squeaks, squeezing wayne tight around his leg.

eddie grins and chuckles, “aww nah buddy that word is ‘senile’”

you smack eddie in the chest and usher the kids inside to play with their cousin, alex. “thanks for watching them tonight, we really appreciate it,” you say to wayne reaching through the threshold and giving him a hug.

“ah, ain’t no problem,” wayne says flipping eddie the bird behind your back, “karen and i love these little turds.”

“u too oh two be good for grandpa and grandma okay? eddie hollers, “be nice to the cat, sissy… i’m talkin’ to you.”

her little nose wrinkles into a pout and her brows furrow together.

“swear to christ himself, that kid is the spittin’ image of you, tooty.”

“god help me.” eddie pouts, “i’m gonna go gray before i’m forty.”

—

you kiss the kids goodbye and wave from the windows of your jeep before heading to the hideout. eddie looked particularly good tonight, leather pants, a cut off shirt, he even let you smear some eyeliner on his eyelids before tonight’s gig.

“nervous?” you ask, carrying some cords from eddie’s old van that now belonged to big d.

gareth walks past you with an amp, “not really, the hideouts like home away from home, makes me feel 18 again.”

you smile and ruffle his still thick curls, “will coming tonight?”

a sad look replaces his smile, “haven’t talked to him in a week… last i heard from jonathan he was staying with joyce and hopper.”

“he’ll come around man,” eddie says coming through the back door, “he loves you.”

“yeah, i hope.”

—

the boys— men now— rocked a killer show, fans still screaming for the band even though half of them were married and the lead singer had two kids.

you were front in center, in your designated spot that you always stood after the first show where eddie sang ‘lady evil’ just for you.

now you were sporting a new homemade shirt, ‘sitter’ crossed out with ‘mama’ his old leather jacket on your shoulders.

a hand sits on your lower back you giggle, “jeez nance, how drunk are you?”

only it wasn’t nancy, but a random guy. burly and tall, a thick beard on his face matching the short hair on his head, balancing a cowboy. you didn’t recognize him from anywhere and you pull back with a shocked face,

he smiles and you can smell liquor on his breath as he leans in real close, “been watchin’ you all night little darlin’ looks like you need a drink.”

you scowl and turn away from him, looking for jonathan and nancy but they’re nowhere to be found.

“hey,” he blunders stumbling towards you, “you like cowboys?”

you don’t want to give him the time of day or even the satisfaction of a tasteful retort so you do your best to ignore him, looking at eddie as he turns to thrash the guitar riff with jeff.

eddie turns back around to continue the song and shoots you a wink, the same time a big sloppy pair of lips press on your cheek, hard and unwelcoming.

you didn’t see eddie’s eyes turn to black or the way he dropped the neck of his guitar hands balled into fist, you were seeing your own scarlet red, turning and slapping the face of the drunk asphalt “cowboy”.

eddie cuts the band and grabs the mic, “hey fucker!” he pushes his lips in a smooch and whistles like a dog, “here boy, up here.. yeah you— the guy who just got slapped.”

cowboy slap face looked up to the band, “what?”

“you must be new to town, huh? a drifter maybe?”

he lifts his head and spits on the ground, “what’s it to you?”

eddie laughs a little crazy-like, “… that,” he says pointing to you, “is my wife… and i’m sure you don’t know this or maybe your marbles are a little rattled up there with the cobwebs, but..” he jumps from the stage in a dramatic flare, wet hair bouncing behind him, skin slicked in sweat.

he tossing the mic behind him, standing tall and flicking the brim of the guys hat, toe to toe. “i’m not afraid to kill a man.”

“you’re bluffin’,”

“wouldn’t be my first, and for her,” he says moving you behind him, “won’t be my last,”

….

[tropes-and-tales]

Fairy Godmother, Part II

(Santiago "Pope" Garcia x F!Reader)

CW:  Slight angst, fluff.

Word Count: 2757

AN:  This was originally requested by an anonymous person, and it is the sequel to this.

Christmas morning comes far later than Santi would have thought.  Sophie sleeps in—exhausted, he guesses, from all the excitement.  He wakes around six, makes his way to the kitchen and starts the coffee machine.

A beat later he hears the quick click of the guest room door, then the creak of floorboards as you make your way towards him.

“Morning,” you say behind him.

“Merry Christmas,” he replies.  He holds out an arm, and you pause for a second before you tuck yourself against him in a side hug.

“Kiddo’s still asleep?  I’m shocked.”

Santi jostles you against him.  “She’s wiped out.  Her favorite person came home yesterday and she was exhausted.”

“I’m hardly her favorite person,” you reply, and he hears the smile in your voice.  “Soph is a daddy’s girl through and through.”

“But I’m the guy who makes her brush her teeth and wear shoes when we go out.  You’re the woman who sends her fun gifts from faraway lands.”

“The faraway lands of airport duty free shops.”

You have a quiet moment in the dawn light.  Santi pours your coffee, pours his own, and just as he’s gearing up to perhaps ask you about Tom and his interference in your lives, there’s a shriek and a thump down the hallway.  A second later, Sophie’s bedroom door flies open, and Christmas morning starts in earnest.

-----

He can’t bring it up until that evening.  The day is a flurry of activity.  Sophie attacks the gifts under the tree like a rabid animal, and breakfast—chocolate chip pancakes courtesy of you—only amps her up further on sugar. 

Frankie and his wife and son stop by for a quick visit on their way to Frankie’s parents’ Christmas get-together, and Santi watches as Frankie gives you a big hug and welcomes you home.

“Thanks, Frankie,” you reply.  “It’s good to be back.”

“How long are you staying?”

“Just through the weekend.  Then I fly back.”

Frankie’s wife shakes her head.  “You can’t stay longer?  It’d be nice to have another women around here.”

You smile and glance between Frankie and Santi.  “They do get obnoxious when they’re all together, don’t they?”

Santi makes a noise of mock-outrage, but he notices that Frankie only smiles a bit, then tilts his head as he studies you.  He’s quiet for a moment before he replies, more seriously, “you know, you’d make a lot of people happy if you moved back here.”

You miss his meaning entirely.  You laugh lightly, wave him off.

“Oh, no,” you tell him.  “Sophie would get bored of me soon enough.”

It’s Frankie’s wife who glances between the two men, the three of them sharing a knowing look that you miss entirely too.  Santi lifts his eyebrows at them, lifts his shoulders faintly, as if to say, “I’ll fill you in later.”

By the time the Morales family leaves, it’s time for lunch.  Santi is no slouch in the kitchen, and with your help, you whip up a feast.  Which is largely lost on Sophie, who is so hyped on sugar and new toys and visitors that she’s unruly, in that space where she can’t focus and hears but doesn’t listen.  And Santi usually has endless patience, but he’s hyped up on things too, nervous and anxious, wanting to talk to you but afraid of how the conversation may turn.  He gets snappish with his daughter, which makes her cry, which makes you intervene, which makes Sophie wail, which makes Santi feel like a monster.

“It’s okay.”  You pull Sophie into your lap and let her cry.  You rub her back and rock her a bit, and you look at Santi.

“It’s okay,” you say softer.  “She’s just tired.”

Santi huffs.  He knows she’s tired.

“Maybe you’re just tired too,” you add.

Maybe.  He hasn’t slept well, pretty much since he knew you were coming to visit.  He worked, took care of Soph, then spent his nights and weekends cleaning, preparing for you.  He laid in bed awake, imagining how the visit may go.  He laid in bed and tossed and turned and remembered every single moment with you:  the long nights when Sophie was a colicky baby, the lazy days when you sat with Santi and took his mind off of Julie.  Every moment large and small, monumental and mundane.

“Why don’t I get her down for a  nap, and you lie down too?  I can clean up from lunch,” you continue.

Santi huff again.  “No way.  You’re a guest—”

“And I know where everything goes.  And you’re exhausted too.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Let me put Soph down.  You lie down too.”  A beat, and you grin at him, add, “unless you need tucked in with a story too.”

He smiles back; it feels just like before, just like before you left.  “Yes, please.”

You stand up with Sophie in your arms and turn towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.  “Go lie down, Santi.  I’ve got this.”

He stands up and follows you down the hallway, but he does as you say.  When you turn left into Sophie’s room, he keeps going until he’s at the end of the hallway in his own room.  He lies down on top of the comforter, and he thinks he’ll only rest his eyes, but as soon as he closes them, he’s almost immediately asleep.

He’s snoring softly twenty minutes later when you creep in the room and look down at him, a bemused smile on your face.  You take a folded blanket from the foot of the bed and shake it out, then place it over him.

“Sweet dreams,” you whisper, and you have no way of knowing it, but he’s dreaming of you, like he does many times when he sleeps.

-----

Santi doesn’t get to really talk to you until evening, then.

He wakes up from his nap grumpy:  too warm, his mouth dry, and with the general discombobulation that comes with sleeping too long off-schedule.

Not unlike how Sophie wakes up—a fact you tell him with glee when he stumbles out of his bedroom and finds you quietly reading on the couch.  Sophie is already awake, coloring just as quietly where she lies on her stomach on the floor.  A cartoon is on the TV, but the volume is low.

“You know, you never need a DNA test,” you tell him.  “Because you and the gremlin both kinda do this thing?”  Here you mime Santi and his daughter, rubbing your eyes messily and grumbling.  “You both do that when you wake up.” 

“Untrue,” he says, his voice husky from his dry throat.

“And your hair both gets messed up in the same way.”  You close your book and stand up, make your way over to him.  You gesture at his head.  “All corkscrewed bed-head.”

“Some women might find that charming.”

You snort.  “Some women might find that it gives you a mad scientist air.”

“How are you not tired?  You literally traveled here from halfway around the world.”

You shrug, then head into the kitchen.  Santi follows, and he watches as you pour him a glass of water and hand it to him.  He nods in thanks and drinks it down.

“It’s not that I’m not tired,” you reply.  You lean against the kitchen counter.  “I guess I’m just used to it.” 

Santi glances in the living room.  Sophie is still there, engrossed in her coloring, so he leans against the counter opposite where you stand.  “You ever think of giving it up?”

“The traveling in general or the job?”

“Both.  Either.”

“Eh.”  You move your eyes past him to look out the window over the sink.  It’s late afternoon, and the sun is lower in the sky.  Long shadows cross the backyard.  “I’ve never really thought of it.  It was fun at first.  I’ve been literally everywhere.”

“But it gets lonely.”  Your eyes slide back to his, and Santi gives you a knowing nod.  “I’ve been there.  Done that, sweetheart.”

“It does,” you concede.

“So why not give it up?  You could work anywhere.  Why not come back here?”

Your eyes move back to the view outside the window.  The lengthening shadows, the setting sun.  Golden hour, it’s called, but you told him once you found late afternoon a sad time of day.  The last gasp of daylight before night.  The time of day when people should be making their way home.

“Maybe for some people, loneliness is less a state of where they are,” you answer him, and your words come out slow, like you’re measuring the weight of them.  “Maybe it’s a part of who they are.”

It surprises Santi to hear you say that.  You never struck him as a lonely person, and he tells you so. 

You slouch a bit against the counter.  Your eyes find his, and he admits that he can see it there.  A loneliness.  A sadness.  You don’t say anything, and the moment stretches to the point where he can’t not bring it up.

“Have you…always felt this way?” he asks, and he says it slowly too, chooses his words with care.  “Or is it because of Tom?  What he said last year?”

The corners of your mouth turn up into a sardonic smile.  “Do you want the truth here?”

“Always.”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“You don’t know that.”

You nod and take a breath.  Your eyes shift to the window again, but now it’s like you’re looking not at the landscape but back into time.  Back to a year ago, and even further than that.

“Tom wasn’t wrong,” you tell him softly.  “I mean, the underlying idea…he wasn’t wrong about that.  He was actually dead-on.  When Julie first took off, I felt so guilty, like I was responsible for her somehow because she was my best friend.  And I felt like I owed it to you and Soph, since I’m her godmother.  That’s kind of the point of a godmother, you know?  To step in when the parents aren’t around.  Julie wasn’t around, so I stepped in, and it was tough because I had, like, no idea how to deal with a baby, but it felt right to be here and help.”

You pause, shake your head faintly.  You take another breath.  “But it didn’t take long for it to start to feel like my life, you know?  Like, at the start, I was just stepping in to help, like a fairy godmother.  Popping in to help out in an emergency with the intention to pop back out once everything was square.  But it start to feel like it was my life, and you got your legs under you and didn’t really need me anymore, but I stuck around anyway.  Because I got used to pretending that Julie never happened, that Sophie was my own daughter and you...."  You trail off and shake your head again, harder.  “Well, you know.”

Santi’s throat is dry again, and he realizes that he’s been holding his breath.  He exhales heavily, says, “you never said anything, sweetheart.”

Your gaze finds him, and he can see the pain there.  “Of course I didn’t.  It was humiliating.  But I thought I was keeping it subtle until Tom pulled me aside.  I figured if that idiot could see it, it was only a matter of time before you saw it.  So I left.”

“I never saw it.  If I had—”

“I didn’t want to hear it from you, Santi.  I didn’t want to hear you let me down.  Because I knew you’d be so nice about it, all apologetic and sweet, and it felt like that would hurt more than you yelling at me and telling me to get out of—”

What can he possibly say to convince you?  How can he explain how he fell for you too, how he never said a word for basically the same reason you never did?  How he was afraid that you’d let him down gently, just as sweet?  How he imagined the pain in your eyes as you explained that you cared for him, as a friend, as only a friend, as your goddaughter’s father?

He can’t think of anything to say in the moment; he can rely on words later.  Now, he only cuts you off by bridging the distance between you, lunging really, and clumsily kissing you because you are talking, and he half-misses your mouth.  He cuts off your words by kissing half of your mouth, and his teeth click against yours, and you cry out in surprise and pain.

All told, it’s a terrible first kiss.

An awful first kiss:  you look at him in shock, and you lift your hand to your mouth.  When you move it away, there’s blood there—just a little, but for fuck’s sake, the first time he kisses you, he makes you bleed, so he moves to the sink and dampens a paper towel, hands it to you.  You press it to the inside of your lip.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you ask.  You keep your voice low for Sophie’s sake, but there’s more than one emotion in your tone.  Bemusement, bewilderment, both.

How can he begin to explain it?  “You got it all wrong,” he tells you.  “And so did I.”

“Which part?” 

“All of it.  Every bit of it, sweetheart.”

You smile at him, rueful.  You remove the paper towel, daub at your mouth again.  It looks like it was a little cut, and it looks like it’s stopped bleeding. 

“You’re insane,” you say.

“Probably.” 

“Oh, most definitely.”  You twist the paper towel in your hand, and your voice goes small on him.  “What are you trying to say, exactly?”

He could rehash the past.  He could talk about Julie, but his ex is so far in his rearview mirror that he rarely thinks of her.  He could call Tom an asshole or an idiot or both, but he can do all of that later.  For now, he goes with the simplest explanation.

“I’m trying to say, I miss you.  I’ve missed you since you left.  I want you to come home because I love you.”  He watches your face as he says it, studies how his words hit you, and it’s like watching the sunrise—the way the light spreads over everything.  He also sees the way you try to school it, how you try to temper what you’re hearing versus that loneliness you feel—

“And this is all independent of Sophie,” he adds.  “She loves you too, but I’m speaking for just me here.  I love you, for you.  Not for what you do for my daughter or how she feels about you.  For you alone.”

“Santi—”

“And I’m sorry I fucked up kissing you.”

You start to smile, start to reply, but there’s a small gasp nearby, and you both turn to see Sophie standing there, staring in dread.

“Daddy said a bad word,” she whispers in horrified awe.

You glance at Santi then turn to Soph.  You hold out your hand and she takes it, her wide eyes fixed on her father’s face like he might be struck down by a vengeful god for saying “fucked.”

“He did, didn’t he?” you ask. 

Sophie nods gravely.

“Think he should be punished?”

Another nod.

“Maybe some time in the time-out chair?”

“Five minutes,” Sophie whispers. 

You nod seriously, then turn to Santi.  “Five minutes in time out,” you tell him.  “So you can think about what you’ve done.”

“Fair,” he replies, just as seriously.

Five minutes is enough time to pull himself together.  To calm his hammering heart, to will his blood to cool a fraction.  Because he’s amped, twitchy with nerves and excitement, and the next time he kisses you, he wants to get it right and not make you bleed.

Five minutes is plenty of time.  When he’s done with his time out, he helps you pull together leftovers for dinner.  The two of you work in tandem in the kitchen, an orchestrated movement of reheating dishes, doling them out, pouring drinks, gathering silverware.  But once Sophie has her plate in front of her, you and Santi both return to the kitchen for your own plates, and that’s when he kisses you the second time, and it goes better.  It goes so much better, because you see him coming this time, and your eyes go soft as you meet him halfway and kiss him back.

[florencemtrash]

Hummingbird: Chapter Four

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

What if the Earth-1610 (Miles’s universe) version of Miguel’s wife was actually Miles’s AP Art teacher?

Masterlist

Warnings: Violence and injuries

Seven months later

This shit was getting old.

One of Doc Oc’s tentacles rammed into Miguel’s side, tossing him against a wall and leaving a crack in the concrete. She smiled in satisfaction, oblivious to the spider-venom blaster he’d stuck to the underside of the mechanical arm. With a quick chirp and blast of energy the arm was blown off. It landed with a pitiful twitch on the ground as electricity sparked through its circuitry.

“Let’s go!” Hobie whooped, slamming his fingers down the guitar strings with so much force Miguel was surprised they didn’t snap in two. 

Doc Oc screamed, blown backward by an eclectic spray of pink and purple newsprint. 

Three arms down, five more to go… or so they thought. 

New arms sprouted from their old stumps, flailing around for a brief moment before they shot out towards Hobie. 

He barely dodged the series of blows.

“Is that hammer space, bruv?!” 

Joder.

Hobie lept around the barren stage, launching battered amplifiers slathered in a dozen layers of stickers towards her. A stray limb punched through the drumset as Hobie spun out of the way. 

He gasped. The amps they could replace, but no one fucked with his instruments.

“Is it time to call for backup?” Lyla asked Miguel as Hobie gripped the neck of his guitar (the battle-safe one of course) and swung at Doc Oc’s head.

“Do not call for backup!” Miguel growled in annoyance. 

He could handle this.

“Yeah, I didn’t even ask you to come, mate!” Hobie yelled over the sound of Doc Oc sailing over the empty mosh pit and crashing into the guard rails. “I ain’t part of no band.”

“You literally just finished a concert three hours ago!” 

“That got nothing to do with you.”

Miguel groaned, ready to bash his head into the wrecked drum kit. 

No puedo más. No puedo más. He found himself thinking that a lot lately.

But as much as Hobie and Miguel liked to pretend they hated each other, they made a good team out in the field. They swung from the ceiling lights, electric blue and pink lights showering down on them in that crazed, photomontage way that tinged every part of Hobie’s world. It was enough to give Miguel a headache. 

The worst part about the multiverse is that there was no telling what kinds of powers and modifications existed out there. For example, Miguel didn’t know a Doc Oc existed that had lasers shoot out of their tentacles.

“I feel like it’s time to call for backup.” Lyla repeated, casually watching from the safety of her AI existence as Miguel’s webs were split in two and he took a sickening punch to the jaw. He shook his head, blinking away the dots in front of his eyes as he took a moment to rest in the comfort of his rubble sofa.

“Do not call Jess. She’s on maternity leave.”

“I wasn’t talking about Jess.” Lyla grinned mischeviously. 

Miguel narrowed his eyes, “No. Absolutely not.”

It was too soon, far too soon for him to drag you into a fight like this. 

“CALL FOR BACKUP!” Hobie cried out from the confines of Doc Oc’s tentacles, squirming around and trying to use his head spikes to free himself.

“You weren’t saying that earlier!”

“THAT’S THE TOXIC MASCULINITY TALKING! YOU GOT TO BE COMFORTABLE WITH CHANGING YOUR OPINION AND ADMITTING YOUR FAU-”

A portal opened up stage left. 

Miles swung out first, black and red suit standing out like an ink stain.

“¡¿Alguien pidió ayuda?!” Miguel could hear his smug smile through the mask.

“You already called him!?” Miguel scowled and hopped onto his feet, sprinting to join the fight as Miles landed his first punch against Doc Oc. 

Relief flooded his system. He thought that-

“I actually called her.” Lyla said, pointing a finger with a grin.

Miguel’s heart skipped a beat.

You stepped through the portal, adjusted the gloves on your newly designed suit and teleported yourself onto Doc Oc’s back, casually blinking away any tentacles that got too close. 

You were absolutely buzzing with excitement. Nevermind that you were currently blinking across spacetime to avoid the lazers that left behind scorched scars on the grass. This was your first real mission outside of occasionally helping Miles with his friendly neighborhood Spider-Man duties. And in Hobie’s dimension no less! Ever since you’d seen his unique color palette and design you’d been itching to see his world for yourself. Maybe you and Miles could take an impromptu field trip to the nearest museum afterwards.

“Lyla said you didn’t want to call me.” You said, happy with the way his eyes slightly widened beneath his mask. He coughed to clear his throat.

“You’re supposed to be at work.” Miguel said, tearing into Doc Oc’s tentacles with his forearm blades, “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s summer break.” 

“You said you were teaching summer classes.” 

“I am! Only five kids are enrolled and he,” You tilted your head towards Miles, who waved back before he tore off an arm, "was the only one who could come to the Met field trip. Which you so rudely interrupted by the way.” The smile in your voice exposed the fact that you were quite ok with the interruption.

Miguel rolled his eyes half-heartedly, hoping you didn’t notice his restrained smile.  “Let’s just get the job done.”

And you did. 

Fighting a flesh-and-blood supervillain was a far cry from the simulations you’d fought at Spidey HQ where the only injury you could sustain was a blow to your pride when Lyla flashed the battle stats on the screen. Your training also didn’t account for the absolute chaos of working with a team. You nearly got in the way of one of Miles’s spider venom blasts and accidentally teleported onto Hobie’s back, throwing him off his rhythm long enough for a punch from Doc Oc to send you both crashing. Miguel had nearly lost his mind after that.

But after walking away from the fight with only a bruised jaw, cut upper arm, and a very disgruntled Doc Oc in tow, you were going to call your first real superhero outing a success.

“Sorry about earlier,” you said, extending a hand out to Hobie from where he groaned on the ground. He grabbed your arm and rolled onto his feet, shaking the dust off his jacket.

“Eh, it’s part of the learning.” He straightened his coat and reattached one of the pins he’d tucked safely away in his pocket, “Not bad for a first anomaly though.”

“Hmmmm, are we counting Spot?”

“No.”

“Damn.”

A shadow fell over your shoulder and you smirked, turning around on your heels to come face to face with Miguel. The fight was over, but somehow Miguel looked even more tense and irrate than before. Behind his back you saw Doc Oc yell and punch at the orange walls of her prison. 

“Are you here to say good job?” You teased.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, voice tight.

Hobie brushed past you, “I’m good, cheers.” he said, patting Miguel on the shoulder before heading over to where Miles stared in awe at the anomaly. You felt more than saw Miguel roll his eyes.

“I wasn’t asking you.” 

“I know.” 

Hobie’s reply widened your smile. There was something glorious about seeing Miguel lose his cool. Normally you tried to get him to smile or laugh, but sometimes annoyance was an easier emotion to muster from him. It reminded you that beneath all that hard-won armour was a man just trying his best.

“I’m fine, Miguel.” You said. 

He gently tugged at the bottom of your mask and you took the hint, pulling it off entirely. Miguel’s frown deepened as he gently tucked a finger beneath your chin and turned your face to the side, eyes narrowed in on your swollen jaw. You tried not to blush under his watchful gaze. It really wasn’t a terrible injury, and with your enhanced healing it would fade within a day, but it stll felt like a gut punch to Miguel.

You were used to this kind of attention from him. The first two months after joining the Spider Society had been a pool of uncertainty that you’d flapped around in with little control - you’d been uncertain about your powers, the multiverse and your place in it, and your relationship with Miguel… especially your relationship with Miguel. 

His aloofness was only matched by his sincerity and once you’d forgiven him for what he’d done to Miles, you found him easy to like. His grouchiness and sarcasm pulled smiles from you as easily as water from a spring, and it didn’t escape anyone’s notice that you were the only one who could make him laugh and crack through his walls. But there was always that itch in the back of your mind that told you he only cared because you looked like his wife, not because you’d both grown to know and care for each other. 

You tried not to think about it too often. 

It made moments like these harder to handle.

“Nada que no pueda manejar.” You said softly, pulling his hand away and towards the anomaly, “Now come on. This anomaly isn’t just going to hop dimensions on its own.” 

Miguel opened his mouth as if to say something, but ultimately relented, allowing you to lead him to where Hobie and Miles bent their heads towards one another, shooting jokes back and forth as easily as their webs.

Margo portaled in to help Miguel take Doc Oc to Earth-928 and you watched their retreating backs disappear with a blink before Hobie turned towards you and Miles, rubbing his hands together and pulling you both into his side.

“Now! Who’s ready to see some real art?”

______

“I can’t believe all the museums in your dimension are Koons-themed.” Miles said, slouching in his seat and looking positively disappointed.

“Why’d you think I took you to the back alleys, mate. Real art’s cheap.”

“Say that to my bank account after a trip to Blick.” You muttered, biting into your empanada with a groan of satisfaction.

You sat cross-legged on top of the bench, watching Margo’s cyber body split into two as the Go Home Machine whirred to life. Its metal claws clicked together, sounding like the chirping of birds as it spun its web around Doc Oc as she watched with no small amount of curiosity.

“You think you could ever do that?” Hobie asked, leaning against your shoulder and slinging his arm around you casually. 

You raised your eyebrow, “What, forcefully send a living person back to their home dimension?”

He shrugged nonchalantly.

“You try interdimensional travel without your fancy watch and tell me how easy it is.” You said with a grin, poking at his side until he squirmed away with a chuckle. You took the opportunity to steal a french fry from him.

“Alright, alright, stop. I think you could do it.”

The four of you watched as the Go Home Machine finished its kaleidoscopic work. Miguel always had a clinical view of the work he did and the machines he created. Whenever it was traveling to another world, or encountering a new being (Spider-Person or otherwise) the last thing on his mind was beauty or a fascination with the ways things were. That’s where you two differed the most. So while Miguel hardly ever stayed around to watch the Go Home Machine run its science-magic, you always craned your neck to catch glimpses of the worlds beyond Earth-928.

“I better check in with Miguel.” You said, hopping off the table once Doc Oc was safely back in her home universe.

Hobie, Miles, and Margo all shot each other a knowing look before you could notice. 

Now that school was out for the summer you found yourself spending more and more time on Earth-928, and after six months of training you could walk to Miguel’s lair from any part of the building with a blindfold on. The first few weeks you hadn’t been able to suppress the slight unease at entering the dark room where many of the captured anomalies would sneer at you like you were a meal to be hunted.

Now… not so much.

“You’re still here, Norm?” You asked, catching sight of the familiar gentleman who shrugged and smiled. He sat comfortably on the floor, purple hood and goggles abandoned beside him to expose his weathered face.

“Still here,” He repeated, “I suppose I’m not as high a priority to send home now that I’m not, you know, evil anymore.” He sighed, “I just can’t believe my luck. I leave an alternate universe and not even a year later I’m sucked into another one!” He chuckled.

“I’ll talk to Spider-Man about it.” 

“Peter?!” His eyes brightened at the possibility.

“Ummm…no. Sorry.” 

He nodded, shoulders deflating every so slightly, “Thanks anyway Spider-”

“Y/sh/n, actually.” Miles and Gwen had helped you come up with it.

“Well, thank you Y/sh/n.” He said and waved you on before he could steal more of your time.

“I told you it’s dangerous to talk to the anomalies.” Miguel said, eyes still trained on the screens as you blinked next to him. One day you’d manage to sneak up on him, but today was not that day. 

You frowned when you saw he was still wearing his mask. 

“Well you’re talking to me right now, aren’t you?” You said, bumping his shoulder with your own before climbing onto the empty space on his desk he subtly reserved for you.

Miguel stiffened and his fingers froze over the keys. It had taken you months to fully forgive him for all the terrible things he’d said and done to Miles - the things he may have said to you if you didn’t have his wife’s face… if you were just a regular anomaly.

“That’s not what I-.” 

“You also said Earth-199999’s Peter Parker took care of the Green Goblin. I think we’re fine.” 

He nodded and sighed. His eyes were killing him right now and even the faint flicking of the red-orange lights from the screens felt like blows to his skull. 

“He wants to go home.” You said and saw his eyes flicker to the anomaly on the screen, red and tired.

“I know. He’s scheduled to be sent back tonight. I promise.” 

You nodded with satisfaction and snapped your fingers, a pair of sunglasses blinking into the palm of your hand, “You should take a break. You’ve been working non-stop for over two days now.”

“I’ve got work to do.”

“The multiverse is not going to shatter because you take a thirty-minute lunch break, Miguel.” 

He eyed you warily and shook his head, fingers flying across the touchpad like they were racing to win gold. 

He always did this. He always worked himself to the bone until you would find him red-eyed and slumped over the tabletop for one of his thirty-minute “power-naps.” 

“Lyla.” You called out. The woman appeared perched on your shoulders.

“You rang?”

“Can you please tell Miguel that the multiverse isn’t going to collapse before he does?” 

“Ooooh you said please. I like you.” Miguel muttered a few choice words under his breath, “The multiverse is holding steady. I’ll alert you if anything changes at all.” Lyla winked at you and disappeared. 

“Realmente necesito cambiar su código.” Miguel grumbled.

“¡Ni se te ocurra!”

Miguel tightened his lips but said nothing. You slid over to sit in front of him and pushed against his chest until he finally relented and sat down in the chair. He didn’t want to admit this, but the only reason he agreed to sit down was because he’d fractured two ribs in the fight, and you pressing against his chest hurt like a bitch.

“Did you really come all this way just to get me to rest?”

“Obviously.” You tossed the sunglasses into his lap along with the extra empanada you’d been carrying around the last half-hour. You hoped it was still warm, but then again, if it weren’t for you he probably wouldn’t have remembered to eat at all. 

The corner of his mouth tilted up. “Gracias.” 

“Solo cállate y come. Lo juro, es como si estuviera tratando de mantener viva una planta de interior. Una planta de interior muy obstinada.”

He tilted his head down, hiding his face as his mask disappeared. 

You held your breath, reaching out instinctively to hold his face in between your hands. Color rushed into his cheeks, emphasizing the dark, purple bruise that crawled its way up from his jawline to his cheek bone, the flesh around it swollen and warm when you carefully traced it with your finger. The bridge of his nose was similarly bruised, the strong slope of his nose tilted ever so slightly to the left. 

Miguel also stopped breathing, the pain hardly registering as he felt your eyes against his skin as physical and real as your hands.

You became all too aware of the closeness, the way he was looking at you. A familiar and malicious voice scratched the back of your mind - What are you to him? Who are you to him? Who is he really thinking about when he looks at you like that?

You let go of his face, your heart sinking in your chest.

“¿Qué te sucedió?” You murmured. His brown-red eyes were wide and soft.

He cleared his throat, disappointment gathering in his chest when you withdrew your hands, “I guess I should have called for backup sooner.” 

“Where else are you hurt?”

“I’m not-”

“Where else are you hurt? Y no te atrevas a mentirme.” 

Miguel melted under your fiery gaze. You weren’t one to show your anger - teaching teenagers had strengthened your patience - but Miguel had a special way of pushing your buttons, whether he knew it or not. 

“I may or may not have cracked a rib… or two.” 

“Miguel!” 

“I’ll heal!” 

“Estúpido, bastardo terco.” You muttered under your breath with no small measure of affection.

You reached over and gently pressed on his stomach, hearing him hiss in pain. He grabbed your arm to get you to stop, shame coloring his bruised cheek.

“I’ll be ok. I promise.” He whispered when you leaned down from your seat to inspect his jaw again. Any longer under your watchful gaze and he might just combust.

“I know you’ll be ok. I just…” Your lips tightened. “I don’t like to see you hurt.”

You’d been in this situation before with Miguel a few times. It always ended with him promising to take better care of himself, holding to that promise for a few weeks, and then falling back into old, self-destructive habits. The others said he had gotten better about taking care of himself ever since you’d come into the picture, but you found that hard to believe. 

“I don’t like to see you hurt either.” He admitted, gently rubbing up and down your forearms. He eyed the tear in your suit, and the clean white bandage that peeked through. 

Who is he really thinking of?

You told that voice to shut up.

“So you can imagine how worried I get when I see you like this.” 

Miguel sighed, running his hands through his hair and mussing up the curls. He could imagine it all too well. Every time you left for your own dimension a knot of worry would sink in his chest like a boulder dropped into a lake, and it wouldn’t dissipate until the next time he saw you safe and whole. He flinched at the very thought of you sporting bruises and cracked bones like the ones he had - the scars he bore after years on the job.

“What would you have me do?” He asked, “I can’t just give this up.” 

“I’m not- No one is asking you to. I know you need to do this. But you don’t have to do it alone. You know any of the other Spider-People would be more than happy to help monitor things in the Spider-Verse.” 

“One - it’s the Arachnoid Humanoid Poly-Multiverse. And two - the other Spider-People aren’t like me. They can’t do what I do.”

“You’re right, they’re a hell of a lot funnier” He scoffed, setting his jaw in a scowl that had pain flaring up the left side of his face. “And they don’t go around punching teenagers.”

“That was one time!” 

Your lips turned in a downward smile, trying to suppress your laughter at the indignant expression on his face. The scowl on his face slowly but surely loosened, twisting into a barely concealed smile.

“Stop doing that.” He muttered.

“Doing what?” You asked innocently.

“Getting me to smile and laugh. It hurts my ribs.” 

“All the more reason to get some rest, Miguel.” You said, ruffling his hair and gleaming with satisfaction when he finally allowed himself to smile. You plucked the sunglasses from his lap and placed them on his face, careful not to upset his healing nose.

How was it possible that he hated and loved the way you said his name so much? He knew you cared for him. The first two months had been tense and filled with questions of what you were to one another - A mistake? A bad memory? Husband and wife? It had been a time when every touch, glance, and hidden smile had been given with a measure of uncertainty and restraint.

Miguel didn’t feel that way anymore. When you messed up his hair and forced his hidden smile out into the open he just saw you. Not some version of his wife. Not someone he’d barely known. Not someone he’d lost. 

Just you.

“If I promise to take the night off to sleep and let Ben and LEGO Peter take care of it, would that satisfy you?” 

You hummed in thought, “How many hours of sleep are we talking about?” 

“Four.” 

“Seven.” You countered.

“Five.” 

“Deal.” You stuck out your hand, a wide grin on your face that Miguel matched when he shook your hand.

“What would I do without you?” He asked sarcastically.

You scoffed, “Shrivel up and die, probably.” 

<- Previous chapter Next chapter ->

_________

Author's note: Here's Chapter Four! Y/n is feeling some insecurity about her relationship with Miguel... I wonder if that will come up again in the next chapter 👀...........

As always, please let me know your thoughts! Hope you enjoy :)

Taglist: @geraskier-thots @howabouticallyou @sweetheartlizzie07 @dont-mind-me27 @omg-edzia-stuff @sarcastically-defensive17 @trouble-sistar @saltyluminaryvoid @lunablue001 @sadslasher13 @yas-v @thel0v3hashira143 @trishuh8 @vague-flying-shape @tiana76 @dinuxia-bhm @mxtokko @devilsrose666@natbratty @zettoaizawa-shusband @dorck26 @notasadgirlipromise @niyanispunk @thecraziestcrayon @athenxt @imnotyourbcbe @jannajuju @lunamoonbby @elle-19 @aces148 @sseleniaa @elaineiswithyou-blog @summerli-u @rattlethemskulls @sunseekerlove @bubbabobabubbles @loonalockley @aleombre @littlelilies@07-bilin @nerdalicios @insanely-creative-things @enby-rising @nataliahemsworth @coralineyouareinterribledanger @louderfortheback @damnzelsoul @enheduannasposts @bontensbabygirl @mynameiswilliamblake

[tbgblr2]

What happens late at night.

He stood there, his mouth agape as his very, very pregnant wife stood at the foot of the bed.

Without ceremony or warning she tugged down her pyjama bottoms, leaving her bottom half naked. He tried to rise, do something, but he couldn’t move he was fixed in place.

“It’s time” she said. Was he imagining it.. was she speaking… sensually?

She leaned forward, one hand on the bed between his legs, opened her own legs to a slight squat and there was a sudden splash as a gush of water was seen falling from between her legs… accompanied by a low moan, as if she was… orgasmic?

“Babe… are you ok?” Seems he can still speak.

“I’m perfect babe.” She purred. “Just lie back and enjoy the show.”

She reached down and grabbed the bottom of her pyjama top, lifting it up over her belly, up to her breasts which she caught in the fabric and lifted up, finally releasing as the top was pulled up, her breasts slapping back down against her belly as the top finally passed over her head and gets dropped to the floor.

“Oh look at that you are enjoying it…” her eyes focusing at the growing tent under the bed sheet covering him. He tried to reach an arm out but couldn’t move any part of his body.

She pulled the tie from her ponytail, her hair spilling down around her shoulders. Like some sort of Hollywood special effect she swings her head and her hair falls perfectly into place.

“What the hell?” He says, to himself, completely bewildered.

“Babe… you aren’t relaxing. I can’t do this without you supporting me… with your eyes.”

She pulls back the bed sheet and he finds himself naked, erect. And still unable to move. He wasn’t tied down or anything, just couldn’t move anything.

“Just let it happen…” she said, crawling on her hands and knees onto the bed. Her breasts and belly hanging down. Her head reached his cock and she lowered her head down onto it, her wet lips slipping slickly down the shaft.

She let out another sensual moan as she pressed her belly down onto his legs and he felt the belly getting tight.

“Contraction?” He asked. She made an affirmative sound which vibrated up and down his cock, sending a shockwave down his spine. Whatever was happening right now amped the sensitivity he usually felt up to maximum. He tried to shiver, but couldn’t.

She pulls her head up, sucking as she goes leading to an audible pop as she lets go of his cock with her lips, only to lift herself up shuffling forward on her knees so she was straddling his hips.

“Are you going to ride me?” He asked… getting into the swing of things.

“No silly… you won’t fit with this big head in here.” As she bucked her hips forward rubbing her slit up and down his shaft accompanied with moans of pleasure.

He finally put two and two together to realise what was going on. “You’re in labour?”

“Got it in one baby…” she continued to slide up and down without actually letting him slip in.

“This can’t be right… isn’t it supposed to be painful?”

“Pain… as well as pleasure… is all in the mind.” She was getting breathy at her movements, rubbing faster and faster. “It’s coming… it’s coming… I’m coming.” She shrieked but there was no sign of pain in the exclamation, only pure pleasure, her smiling face beaming as she came down from whatever high she was on.

She crawled backwards up his body so her knees rested either side of his torso, her belly pressing down against his hard shaft and her breasts resting against his thighs. Her ass – and perhaps more importantly given the current situation – her pussy - was inches away from his face.

He saw a trail of slick juices elongate and drip from her opening as she groaned, putting effort into a push. She didn’t seem to be uncomfortable in any way whilst doing it. She pushed again, her back end lifting closer to his face and her belly pressing down further into his waist as she let out one of the most sensual sounds he ever heard.

“Can you see the head?” She panted as she set into another push. He was bewildered. Unable to act to do anything other than speak so he settled with saying that no, he couldn’t see anything.

“Oh good… I’ll have to push more.” She actually sounded ecstatic for needing to keep going. She got right back into it, her grunting, moaning sounds echoing in the bedroom. She slipped a hand back under her belly and used two fingers to spread her lips. “Does that help, can you see it… please say you can!”

He gulped. He saw it. A dark, hairy mass just visible when her lips were parted. He got excited.

“Yes baby, yes, I see it. I can see our baby. You’re doing so well!” He was desperate to move, to reach out, to touch it but he was frozen in place. Her head turned back and she looked at her husband and smiled, blowing him a kiss as she started to push once more.

He watched as the viscous fluid dripped from between her legs and splashed onto his chest as the room filled with the sound of her moaning.

“I can feel it, it’s right there” she squealed but it wasn’t in pain, she giggled at the end of the exclamation.

“What can I do, how can I help?” He said, eyes open wide and focused between her legs watching the dark shape move and grow as she pushed more and more. She removed her fingers, her lips slipping back in place and covering the head again.

“Just tell me how well I’m doing. I love hearing your encouragement.” She was still actively pushing but was not out of breath, seemed to be actively enjoying things.

He took up the mantle “you’re doing great babe, keep up the good work. Now push for me, let’s see the head. Good girl!” Her response was magical, a low groan that rumbled from her chest as she pressed her body hard against him and pushed. Her efforts were rewarded by the teardrop shape of the head head starting to poke through between her lips.

“I can see it, keep going!” He encouraged, so she pushed hard again, more and more of the head becoming visible as she put in the work.

He watched enraptured as the head grew and grew her lips sliding back to let more and more of it push through. She pushed harder and harder, her body pressing against his as she exclaimed how good she felt and how tight everything was. She shivered in orgasmic bliss as she finally pushed out the head with another good-natured squeal, a splash of the amniotic fluid gushing over his chest.

Suddenly he was rocking left to right. Suddenly he heard a noise he hadn’t heard before this had started. Suddenly he was awake, his wife jostling him from sleep. The tone of her voice and look was very exasperated.

“Joe… Joe. Wake up. My waters have broken, I think I’m in labour. We’ve got to get to hospital!”

[denileisariver]

☆ i know your wife, and she wouldn't mind ☆

pairings: batman x f!reader, nightwing x f!reader

warnings: smut! cheating, reader is a home-wrecker, bruce is married dick just has a gf, unprotected sex, doggystyle, angst, basically pwp, bruce hates himself whats new, mean bruce?, slut dick grayson (like father like son), oral sex (f!receiving), no physical descriptions of reader besides genitalia.

a/n: just had some thoughts. probably poorly paced but whatever. maybe tumblr will actually show my post in the tags this time :).

bruce wayne aka batman ☆

you knew he was married. from the moment you met him, you noticed that metal band around his ring finger. he talked to you about his kids, how he loved his family dearly, and yet-

"mmgh! ah- fuck!", he had you on all fours, ass in the air, girthy cock pounding relentlessly at your tiny hole. bruce fucked like he hated you, pushing and pulling to contort your body in any way he pleased. grip on you so tight you'd find bruises on your hips and arms when you looked yourself over in the mirror, not that you minded.

in fact, you relished in it. you knew there was a part of him that did hate you. and hated himself even more. you could feel it whenever you ended up in his bed, when he would kiss you. it always started off slow, ashamed because he knew he shouldn't have been doing it in the first place.

could feel it when he tore your clothes off, pushing you onto the bed. roughly tweaking one of your nipples in one hand, your bottom lip caught in his teeth. always, always so angry.

"that's it, fucking take it," bruce grunts, almost a low growl, with each hard thrust. one of his heavy hands hold your face down into the mattress. you'd sometimes stare at the photo of his family on the nightstand. the image blurry because of your tears. "dirty fuckin' girl.."

all of it was too much. the filthy combination of his fat cock, thick fingers toying with your clit, the rhythmic sound of skin slapping, and the loud headboard banging against the wall. it drove you into a frenzy, drool spilling from your mouth onto his pillow, a ring of slick 'n' sticky cum forming at the base of bruce's cock. "c-cumming!"

he always rode out your orgasm for as long as possible, only slowing down when your body was falling limp in his arms. you'd thank him, and he was only soft on you for so long before putting his walls back up soon after.

he hated you. no, hated himself. hated how he only would start to feel guilty after you were gone and his sheets were ruined with your juices. hated the fact that he was a bad husband, and even worse, that he knew he'd do it all over again.

dick grayson aka nightwing ☆

you assumed he only did it to blow off steam. he'd pull you into a room after a mission, still amped up with adrenaline. you never really fucked outside of this, almost always the same. he'd find you, chest heaving with that look in his eyes.

at first you just thought his little girlfriend wasn't satisfying him enough, and you were fine with that. he'd eat your poor pussy like a starved man, and you were more than welcome to serve it to him. "s-shit- right there, grayson,"

if you had worried about getting caught earlier, that certainly was the last thing on your mind now. he gently spread open your pussy lips with his thumbs, fucking into you with his tongue. you heard talk about him, knew that he was well known for being a player, and an even better fuck. dick hummed low sending vibrations straight to your core, tongue alternating between lapping at your clit and teasing your fluttering cunt.

"Oh, fuck-" you put your hand over your mouth to muffle your moans. he wasn't exactly subtle, you didn't know if he was even trying to hide the fact that he was sleeping with you. anyone of the other heroes could easily hear you, including his girlfriend. you talked to her almost regularly, she was even fucking nice to you. if only she saw you now..

you start moving your hips, grinding your face against his mouth, head falling back in ecstasy. his groans only entice you even more, holding onto his wet hair to keep him in place. dick's gloved fingers ease their way into your slick cunt, two at the same time, slow and arched upwards to push at that sensitive spot deep inside you.

you don't need to let him know when you're about to cum. your hips begin to falter, legs starting to shake from your gradually building orgasm. all the signs to let him know to flick his tongue just a bit faster, push it against your clit a bit harder. your pussy clamps down on his fingers and he holds them in place inside you, gently grinding the tips of his fingers to brush up against your g-spot.

"so beautiful, baby.." he'd compliment, licking your pussy juices off his fingers, that devious smirk on his face. everytime you're telling yourself it's the last. the both of you already know it's not.

[jhoneybees]

Could you write some this with 50’s Elvis? The reader is Scotty’s cousin from Europe and comes to visit family. The reader doesn’t open up to anybody easily because people always treat her unkindly. Scotty takes the reader to recording sessions where she gets to know Elvis.

Hi! This request was a bit of a challenging one and I'm so sorry that you had to wait so long! I've changed a few things around so I hope you don't mind that. My mind has been so slow at writing these days, it's annoyinggg😭

Unexpected.

Characters: 50s!Elvis X reader

Warnings/triggers: loneliness, travelling abroad??

Taglist: @elvisalltheway101 @atleastpleasetelephone @i-r-i-n-a-a

_____________________________________________

Stepping foot out of the taxi and shyly thanking the driver for helping you unpack your suitcases out of the back, you stand in front of a wooden weathered house. Taking in a deep breath, smiling when the front door swings open.

You’ve just arrived in America this morning and the reason why you’re here is because in Switzerland where your parents live and where you go to school, the kids don’t treat you nicely. You've tried making friends over there but no matter what you do, if it's either acting like you're someone else or being someone's personal assistant, they always treat you so unkindly.

You’ve heard of that common phrase “not everyone is going to like you” and you’re not sure if it’s true because it seems to you that everyone at your school doesn't like you at all, including the nerds and other people might think it’s nonsense but even your parents think it’s strange how no one likes you.

It’s been making you really sad and miserable.

So after a bit of a conversation, your parents decided to send you to stay at your cousin’s house in Memphis. To test their theory of you being treated better in America than in Switzerland.

“Oh Y/n! It’s so lovely ta see ya” you smile sheepishly as your cousin’s wife runs down the porch and wraps you in a warm hug “So glad you’re here!” she chimes.

After you shyly nod and giggle, she ushers you inside the house with a hand on the small of your back and calls out to Scotty “Honey! Guess who’s here?” before giving you another friendly smile and politely taking your suitcases to your room.

“Hey! Bookie!” turning your head around to see your cousin standing in the archway leading into the living room with his arms out and a wide smile on his face, you smile again and laugh softly when he envelops you in an even warmer hug.

After a couple of weeks of your stay in Memphis, your happiness has shot through the roof. You do so many fun things and before when you were in Switzerland, you often dreaded what the day would bring but now everytime you wake up, you’re craving for something new, especially today. You don’t know what it is about today but you feel like something you won’t expect will happen.

“Bookie, how bout you come ‘long with me to Sun records?” Scotty asks whilst grabbing his electric guitar from the corner of the living room and bending over to pick up his cable and amp.

“Sure, why not?”

Taking a peek inside, you shyly make your way into the recording studio as Scotty holds the door open, guiding you towards another door that takes you into a padded room, he introduces you to the small group of people in front of you which not even a minute they all happily greet you with hellos and handshakes.

“The name’s Billy”

“Oh hello sweetie, my name is Marion”

“Sam, nice ta meet ya”

Then as you shake hands with who you think is the owner of the studio, you turn your head to a boy who looks to be around your age. Your heart skips a beat at what you see.

“Hi, m-my name’s Elvis”

Boyish, dirty, blond, styled hair.

Lightly tanned, pimply skin.

Small crooked shy grin.

Pretty blue eyes…

This is the thing you were not expecting to happen today…

…

You’ve just met the boy of your dreams.

“...Hi”

[mothiepixie]

Hi~~! I'm going to go delusional here, because I couldn't resist the urge to throw what just crossed my mind after staring at that last Motti piece for the past 15 minutes or so 👀

About Goddess Motti specifically, I was quietly admiring her (very respectfully, gorgeous woman, muah) when my mind started to wonder: what if she has followers in the pure style of Ancient Greece?? With a temple made in her honor and priestess walking around in silk robes, singing prayers to her, all with cheerful and mischievous personalities (much like their goddess)? Sounds pretty lively, I already want to be one of them 🙏✨

People outside the temple would pray to her and leave offerings too, probably. Asking for prosperity and a rich life full of happy moments (or something like that, didn't do my homework about proper goddess adoration oops) and... Well, if you want to have an excuse to make Reaper jealous, I'm sure the Goddess of Mirth has so many fans throughout the mortal world that would call for her attention more than they deserve hehe

Sidnsofnekfnekdkrnddk you and i have same brain!!!!!

So, this will be covered in her lore but ya got me amped up so I'll share something since this pretty spot on!!!

Goddess Motti's strength correlates to how well-kept her shrine is and how strong mortal's beliefs are of her.

Being a Goddess she doesn't tire/weaken unless her shrine becomes neglected or if morale becomes too low and makes it harder for her to distribute mirth. It can be done, but extremely strenuous for her.

Winter is the hardest season for Motti when mortal have to stretch their reserves. She will be at her shrine to provide extra food, shelter and warmth. All the offerings that Motti received are actually preserved and distributed out for this very reason.

This is why her appearance is human than the other Gods so she can walk among them and make them feel at ease.

Reaper definitely gets jealous because he has to watch from the shadows and witness others touch her for blessings. He also stuck watching others trying to court her or make her their wife.

He usually sulks and has a hard time facing her when she comes to visit him because he can't get the image of other touching his little goddess out of his skull.

He should be the one with his head resting on her plump thighs being fed grapes. 😤

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Sky Full of Stars - An Adrien Brody/Jade Burton (OC) Story.

Lord help me, besties. We're starting this, and we're starting it now because I cannot wait to reveal it to you! I did say I wouldn't write RPF again as it feels too personal a line to cross, so please bear in mind that while I have tried to remain true to who Adrien appears to be, he is a little fictionalised, too. The same goes for his family and friends as well. I have created them as OC's because it feels much too intrusive to his life to write them otherwise.

Well, the first chapter is mammoth, so please do make sure you're sitting comfortably with a drink and some snacky snacks before you embark. I cannot wait to hear your thoughts!

A huge thank you again to my beautiful @jemmalynette for the lovely photo manip she created for me, and to Angelina Jolie for serving as Jade's face claim! If you want to know Jade's voice claim a little better, here. This is the scream she hit Adrien with upon first meeting him! - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a98LI-arNS4

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 5,614

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

“Tell us something about your wife that people would find surprising.” 

He mulls it over for a few seconds, looking to his side at her, laughing as he takes in her raised eyebrows. “She’s actually quite introverted, unless she knows the people she’s with well. Then her volume and mischief amp up considerably,” he begins, which I must say is perhaps the last thing I expected him to reply with. “No, no. It’s completely true, she is. She’s often quiet, an extreme juxtapose for how she appears up on stage with a microphone in her hand, but yeah. The Jade you see performing live is a completely different entity to the woman she is away from it, and I found that out pretty quickly after we first met.”  

It is a stark contrast to the public persona of Jade Burton-Brody, a woman known for rarely shying away from being outspoken and controversial, whether it be her fiercely penned lyrics, or her opinions on the subject matters she holds dear. She was, after all, the woman who advised legions of young female rock fans to, and I quote, “Burn the patriarchy to the goddamned ground.” 

Before me today, though, I do see a much softer side to the screaming hurricane of a woman I familiarised myself with through the scouring of YouTube videos, a woman more than happy to let her husband lead in the questions, always looking to him to reply first. She has spoken in the past of him being her unequivocal strength and support, and I take her back to that, the moment she first met the man she would marry just six months after their first meeting. 

“Jade, you’ve spoken about your first meeting a couple of times in the past, but for the record, would you care to share it again?”  

She laughs loudly at my question, leaning into her husband a little, combing her fingers through her hair as she remembers fifteen years into the past. “I screamed in his face, he liked it, and the rest is history.” 

Indeed, such a meeting did seal itself into history, the moment the iconic pair met captured by a photographer pointing his camera in the right direction at exactly the right time, immortalising the moment where the formidable first lady of metal took to the barriers at the Rock and Iron festival, grabbed the hand of the Hollywood heavyweight, and proceeded to scream like a harpy about an inch from his face. “She blew my eardrums out,” Adrien speaks of the moment, “I had never heard anything that loud in the whole of my life!” 

Indeed, like it he did, the first stages of their fledgling relationship captured on film while a documentary team were following her and the band, shooting the footage for the 2010 documentary, “The Devil you Don’t Know.” As the footage shows, the actor found himself with a rare two week break between projects, one of those weeks spent living on a tour bus with the band, unwilling to be parted from the woman he’d struck up such an immediate connection with. 

“I called my manager and told her to shift all my interviews to telephone, rearranged everything for the following week before I flew out to Hawaii to begin shooting Predators, and yeah, lived on a bus with five insane, but adorable women for seven days.” He smiles a little shyly, his eyes warm as he views her. “Didn’t want to let her go.”  

When asked if it was love at first sight, he elaborates a little further. “I’ve never believed in that. Too many components have to fall into place for love to bloom, so I don’t think it can be so spontaneous as to simply view somebody and feel such a powerful emotion right off the bat. After that week I spent with her, though. Yeah. I departed from the tour knowing I’d left behind the girl I was going to marry someday.” 

And for Jade? “I knew. He was my person. Still is fifteen years on, too.”  

Just viewing the natural ease the couple have around one another cements that, after battling with so much over their years together. They both freely admit they rarely saw one another for the first two years of their marriage, their relationship plagued by media scrutiny, storms of paparazzi, accusations of their romance serving purely as a manufactured PR pairing for publicity, others stating that it was to give Jade greater leverage as she further embarked upon her acting career away from the world of music. One only has to watch the woman on screen to see that she carries enough weight from her own talents to not need the bolstering of her husband’s surname to snare her hard-earned successes.  

Indeed, the pair have weathered many storms and come through them stronger, standing as one of Hollywood’s most illimitable power couples, yet the term is somewhat lost on them both. “We’re complete dorks,” Jade laughs, “we really are. We set one another off all the time being absolutely ridiculous.” 

“It’s true,” her husband confirms, beginning to chuckle right on cue. “Nobody makes me laugh like her. It’s so corny, but truly, she’s my best friend. Deciding to get on that bus fifteen years ago was one of the greatest decisions I ever made.”  

It can be witnessed quite easily, too. It takes only a few glimpses into their respective social media accounts to see the humorous ease they tease one another with, but always with incredible affection. ‘Baby love! <3 Love you too, Morticia!’ Adrien commented on a heartfelt post his wife recently shared to Instagram, a throwback picture of the pair kissing at the 2016 Oscar’s ceremony, where his beloved won best supporting actress for her role across from Robert De Niro in the 2016 blockbuster, Five Marked Men. 

“It took him about a month to get over me with black hair instead of blonde, so I was Morticia for four straight weeks instead of Jade!” she laughs, obviously taking his teasing with good humour.  

“I was so damned proud of her, even though I couldn’t get used to the black hair,” he laughs taking her hand in his. “Always have been. She’s incredible.” 

And truly? Adrien wasn’t wrong in what he stated about boarding that tour bus in the interview for a very well-known media outlet, who had come to their home for a rare glimpse into their private life together. Yet for Jade, it began much earlier than that, at a time when perhaps she was least willing to hear what her future had in store for her. 

San Luis Obispo, CA, 2007. 

“Come on, Skippy. No dragging those feet.” 

Jade did nothing to conceal the force of her huff, pulling back from the beachfront steps of the home she was being dragged to by the enthusiastic, blonde whirlwind that was her closest friend and drummer in their band. Jen had always put a lot of faith in psychics, Jade not so much at all, living in a world of regret at agreeing from sheer relentless nagging only to go and have her tealeaves read.  

“You have to stop calling me Skippy. One day, this day, actually. Enough!”  

Jen grinned, a flash of bright white teeth widening her mouth. “Maybe when you don’t make clicking noises like the little kangaroo in your sleep, I might.” Skippy or Skip, it had been her much-begrudged nickname since they’d struck up a friendship as teenagers upon Jade’s arrival from the UK to America. 

Entering the home, they were greeted warmly by Cerise, the lady of the tealeaves, tarot cards and all things mystic, Jade politely giving her a little hug before they seated themselves at the large, round table. All around, large canvasses ode to the divine and spiritual covered the walls, candles flickering, incense burning, casting strong plumes of eastern fragrance into the air.  

“Her first!” Jen spoke enthusiastically as the tea was poured, drumming her hands rapidly off the table.  

Cerise jerked her head to the left, viewing Jade with a warm smile. “She’s always tapping, this one, isn’t she?” 

“Typical drummer,” she confirmed, winking at her as Cerise went about her tea preparation, the women making pleasant chit chat as the brew was drank. 

“Now, you don’t have to tell me anything, darling. I’m not one of those charlatans who cold reads situations to feed it back to you. What I see, I see it without being told anything from the person I’m reading from.” She truly doubted the validity of that, but nodded politely, passing her cup into Cerise’s outstretched hand. “I sometimes get extra information from my spirits as well, so if they have anything, they’ll pipe up. They usually do.” Staring into the cup, she began studying the pattern of the grainy tea, humming to herself. “The man you’re with right now? He isn’t the one. It’ll be the one after him.” 

Immediately, Jade found herself feeling prickled on the inside, mildly incensed that anyone would say that the man she’d spent three years with happily would not end up as the one she would stay so blissfully in love with. How dare she even suggest!  

She wouldn’t unleash that indignance, though. “How can you tell?”  

“Trust me, darling. I can tell. Oh, my spirits are in good voice, hold on.” Closing her eyes, she appeared as if she was listening, shaking her head and waving her hands. “One at a time, for the love of...” Jade’s face of utter disbelief earned her a soft foot to the shin beneath the table, Jen tightening her lips and widening her eyes. Cerise nodded, humming in confirmation before casting her eyes back to the cup. “Okay, I have more information. The man you’ll end up with, well you’ll know for sure when you meet him, sweetheart. You’ll scream at him. He also has the same name as your dog.”  

“I beg your pardon?” Jade coughed, her beloved Great Dane appearing in her mind’s eye. “I’m meeting someone called Brodie, who I’ll scream at? Right. Okay.”  

“He’ll spell it differently, darling. Oh, and his eyes. You’ll love his eyes, because you will never have seen green like them before. Yes, most certainly, he is the man who will come into your life and never leave it.”  

She had to bite her cheek to prevent herself from laughing. “Alright. Thank you.”  

While a much more willing Jen had her tealeaves read, Jade went outside for a cigarette, calling her boyfriend to relay the ridiculous message she’d just been given. 

“Um, she said what?” Ivan snorted, his laugh booming down the phone. “Uh-uh, no fucking way. Like I’d ever let you go.”  

The Russian born, but American raised Ivan Kuznetsov had been her absolute everything since meeting him three years previously, watching him win his bout at a UFC fight in Las Vegas. Because of their schedules, Jade and her seemingly endless long hauls of touring, also parlaying her talents into the acting world, and Ivan locked in rigorous training, they didn’t see as much of one another as they’d have liked, but they made it work.  

Until they didn’t. Until it broke, or rather, until he and his famously ferocious temper broke it completely, almost twelve months on from the tealeaves message she’d received, and quickly forgotten all about. She’d have been lying if she’d claimed she hadn’t seen the red flags, Ivan’s steroid use growing completely out of control, cheating urine tests in order to keep juicing, growing ever bigger through the use of the banned substance. It wasn’t just his muscles and performance that had dramatically grown. So had his temper.  

Roid rage, they called it. It was never something she thought she would bear witness to, until she found herself on his kitchen floor, being throttled and punched, her only saviour her dog, the Great Dane bitch jumping on his back and sinking her teeth into the meat of his trapezius at seeing her human being so viciously beaten.  

The combined effort of a valiant rescue dog and a woman determined not to die at her fiancé's hands got him off of her, Jade grabbing Brodie’s collar and her bag as she ran from the house, dived into her car and drove away as quickly as she could.  

She never returned.  

Ivan was arrested and subsequently charged for the sickening assault that disgraced his name in the sporting world, discharged from the UFC and sent away to serve a five-year prison sentence. It was a pitiful excuse for justice, especially when he’d probably be freed after three if he behaved himself. Jade knew the outcome likely wouldn’t see him put away for any longer, as she’d been advised by her legal team prior to giving evidence at the trial. Domestic violence victims rarely did receive the adequate recompense where the punishment of their abuser was concerned.  

A victim. It was a role she’d sworn never to play, speaking on the event many months afterwards. “I am not his victim. I’m the one who had the sense to get away as soon as he raised a hand to me. There’s nothing that correlates to victimhood there.”  

Some doubted her stance, thinking her to be in denial over it, claiming she needed to seek therapy to get herself through her ordeal. In Jade’s mind, her therapy was her music, one of the tracks from her band’s seventh album, entitled Nomad, serving as cathartic release over the attack. It also got her through the passing of her beloved Brodie, the dog dying at the grand old age of eleven six months after she’d parted ways with Ivan. It was almost unheard of for the breed to reach such an age, and if Jade was thankful for anything, it was having an extra three unexpected years with her faithful old girl. 

She felt lonely if she let herself sit still for long enough, so kept busy through the machine that was her life, driving her from movie set to stage to recording studio, long hours and hard work elevating her status in both worlds, her band, Seventh Gate releasing Nomad to a huge success and taking to the road in early two thousand and nine, complete with a stint moving from one summer festival to the next.  

One such date upon that stint was the Rock and Iron show, something all the girls in the band had been looking forward to playing. It had been a longstanding one-day festival held in California for the past eleven years, the band playing it a couple of times before on the smaller stage.  

This time, though, playing the prime afternoon spot of 3pm-4pm, they walked out on the main stage at the open-air show to eighty thousand screaming rock fans, Jade feeling sick with nerves, as usual. It didn’t matter an ounce that the rock press hailed her as the first lady of metal, who praised her huge vocal range and coined her as one of the first to combine both powerful, clean vocals and blistering, guttural roars. She still felt like her legs were about to give way every time she climbed the steps and walked across the stage, ready to view her kingdom.  

Or queendom, as it was. Because to the thousands of people who cheered at the sight of her, she was their monarch. Some viewed her a little differently. 

“Oh man, there she is!” Lewis piped up, clapping his hands above his head. “There’s god!”  

Adrien turned to view him with mild incredulity, shaking his head. “Man, you’re something else with this fanboy thing you have going on.” Whatever he might have followed that with was obliterated by the noise that came from the speakers, the roar of guitars, drums like canons, and a scream that sounded like something he could only liken to a creature being spat up from hell for being too aggressive. “Damn. She’s got some pipes.”  

Lewis didn’t reply, too busy getting into the first song of their set, Adrien feeling himself furtherly crushed right up against the barrier. He was trying to have a good time, he truly was, but metal wasn’t really where it was at for him. A die-hard hip-hop connoisseur, being dragged to an open-air rock and metal festival hadn’t been his idea, but Lewis’s girlfriend had bailed on him, quite literally, ending their relationship just one month prior. Conveniently, he had a rare two weeks off work, so had allowed his friend to talk him into it.  

As his chest was shunted hard against the barrier for what felt like the four hundredth time that afternoon, he once again sorely regretted it. However, looking up at the stage, he couldn’t help but view the women performing upon it with genuine curiosity. They were perhaps the tightest in sound of anyone he’d seen that day, their energy enigmatic, especially the swagger exuded from their front woman.  

She was like a supernova personified, commanding a crowd of thousands, her presence much larger than the tall, yet slight frame it inhabited. Although the music wasn’t to his taste, he had to admit she impressed him, having the vocal range that allowed her to sing powerfully delivered harmonies one minute, and roars that sounded not of his earth the next. Her talent completely blew him away. 

Also, her adoration for her fans was clear, sending the security into a frenzy when she jumped down off the stage between songs, embracing a few people reaching for her on the front row as the next song began to filter through the wall of speakers. The crowd screamed along with the opening lyrics, Adrien watching as suddenly, the blonde whirlwind strode in his direction at speed, jumping onto the barrier, grabbing his hand, and bellowing out a scream a mere inch from his face. He laughed, Lewis nearly fainted, and Jade winked at him before she was gone again in a blink, returning to the stage.  

“Do you know how goddamned lucky you are? Dude!” Lewis yelled, mouth hanging open. “Dude! God just screamed right in your face!” 

Adrien continued to chuckle, looking up at the stage. “Yeah,” he spoke, his heart fluttering, “guess she did.” While her music mightn't have been to his taste, seeing her so close up, he had to admit the way she looked definitely was. God, she was sexy. Very, very sexy “I think she blew my fucking eardrums out!” 

Lewis was in fits at his assertion, clapping him on the back before continuing to enjoy the show. At the next break between songs, Jade found herself beckoned for by Katie, their lead guitarist, her eyes wide as she jumped up and down with her usual zany energy. “Bro! You just screamed in Adrien Brody’s face!” 

“Who?” 

“Adrien fucking Brody! The actor!” 

Jade was still none the wiser. “The hot guy with the dark hair?” 

“Yes!” 

“What’s he been in?”  

Katie could have slapped her. “Um, only your mom’s favourite movie.” 

Finally, the penny dropped. “Oh shit, the guy from The Pianist?” 

“Yes!” 

“That’s him?” 

“Yes, you massively blind douche! God damnit, you never know who anybody is!” 

Her eyes almost came out on stalks for not actually recognising him. 

“Oh my god!” Having a very large crowd to entertain, she couldn’t say anything further on the subject, but she kept her eye on him for the rest of their set, calling over one of their roadies a couple of songs later as she ran to the side of the stage to grab her flask of herbal tea. “I take it you know who Adrien Brody is, right?” she asked, letting the herbal brew sink down her throat and coat it in an effort to not feel like she’d swallowed a chainsaw. 

Sunni smirked, stroking his beard. “Yeah, boss. The guy whose face you screamed in.” 

“Give him and whoever he’s with backstage passes. I wanna meet him.” She watched as Sunni scuttled off to go and locate a few of the prized lanyards that gave people access to the coveted backstage area, before launching into the next song. Out of the corner of her eye, she was able to see Adrien and the guy with the blonde hair he was with jump the barrier, being escorted stage right to watch the remainder of their set from the wings, along with the rest of the Seventh Gate road crew.  

While there, they were approached by a woman who introduced herself as Hazel Bernstein, the tour manager for the band, asking since they were currently being filmed for a documentary about Jade’s life and career if they minded being on camera. They confirmed that no, they didn’t mind at all, Hazel having them sign a couple of release forms before another member of the crew ushered them backstage.  

The area was made up of large tents dotted around for each band to reside in before and after their performances, the guys shown in and furnished with beers as they sat down on one of the couches provided.  

Adrien looked to his side, watching Lewis as his eyes darted around. “You look edgy, man.” 

“I’m about to meet one of my favourite bands, and I don’t even have a fucking clue what the hell to say to them!” he exclaimed, gulping back his beer. 

He couldn’t help himself. “Hello might be a good place to start.” 

“Noted, Captain Sarcastic.” Looking at him, he burst into a snorting fit of laughter, wishing he had a fraction of his very famous friend’s effortless cool. Alas, he did not. The first of the women through the tent made his mouth drop open, Katie going to the cooler and pulling herself out a bottle of bourbon, emptying an eye watering amount into an ice-filled red solo cup before she came right on over.  

“Hi guys! How you doing, you having a good time? Damn, it’s fucking hot, right?” She talked rapidly, like a machine gun going off, shaking their hands with the exact same enthusiasm she spoke with, Lewis looking like he was about to burst. 

“Katie Gilmore, just coming over, shaking my hand, asking how I am, like I’m fucking anyone at all,” he spoke in a daze of disbelief, Adrien shaking his head. 

“Ignore him, he’s a little... yeah.”  

She chuckled, lifting her cup to him. “And you’re one helluva actor, my guy. I could be obvious and praise you to hell for The Pianist, because damn, that movie was outstanding, but I fucking adored you in Summer of Sam! You make a cute punk, bro!” 

“Thank you,” he smiled graciously, “and in turn, you’re a hell of a guitarist. I don’t know much about rock or metal, but you make what I guess is real difficult look incredibly easy.”  

They were then joined by the force of nature that was Jen, the band’s drummer, the tall, rail thin blonde approaching, pointing at Adrien. “Can I sit on your lap and get a picture with you, dude?”  

He smiled, patting his black denim covered thighs. “Sure, hop on.”  

“Billy!” she roared, moving to throw herself down, “get over here and do the clicky, clicky!” A man holding a professional camera ambled over, Jen smiling as she wrapped her arms around him, and then promptly licked his cheek. “Man, you taste delicious!” she shouted, Adrien laughing, a little taken aback at her brash behaviour, but somehow quite charmed all the same. “What is that?” 

“Sweat and beer,” he confirmed, Jen throwing her head back and roaring before she got up.  

“My favourite things! See you guys later, I gotta go see some other people!” Sweat and beer, also cocaine, if her eyes were anything to go by. He knew high as hell when he saw it. 

“Hey, you boys like tequila? I got a load in the cooler, let’s get some shots in, huh?” Katie spoke, grabbing a hand a piece and hauling them up. There, they were introduced to rhythm guitarist Charlotte, who was much, much quieter than the other members of the band they’d met so far, very reserved and polite. Still, Lewis was firmly stuck in starstruck mode, trying hard to find some semblance of cool, but losing it completely. 

And then she walked on over. 

“Hi,” she chirped in a voice that sounded much too sweet ever be able to conjure the ferocious roars she was famous for, Lewis looking like he was about to pass out. Jade wasn’t looking at him for long, though. “How are you?” 

“A little deaf,” Adrien admitted. 

“Sorry about that,” she cringed, laughing softly. “One hearing test owed to Adrien Brody. Noted.” Oh, she was witty. He liked witty.  

“Yeah, that’s one hell of a set of lungs you have,” he complimented, Jade moving past where her girls stood, pulling herself a bottle of water from the cooler, sinking a shot Katie thrust in her direction. 

“Mm, yeah,” she hummed quietly, unscrewing the bottle cap, cocking her head as a confident smile shined through. “I like to think so.” God, the man had the most gorgeous green eyes she’d ever seen in her life, Jade feeling herself pulled in by them, trying not to feel awkward at the fact that she was standing there talking to a man whose fame eclipsed her own in shades. She could feel her internal monologue beginning to flounder at what to say to him next, relieved when Adrien pointed to her t shirt. 

“Rough Trade, that’s about my favourite record store in all of New York. Spent entirely too much time and money in there during my youth,” he noted, Jade gesturing to the couch. 

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” she spoke as they sat down, sipping her water. “I used to work there on a weekend before the band blew up and took off.” 

“Yeah? What part of New York did you live in? I take it from the accent that you moved over, right?” Of course, she did. Duh. He could have kicked himself, but she didn’t react in any way other than to politely answer. 

“I did. I’m from Tottenham, London, but moved over with my parents when I was thirteen. I lived in Harlem. What about you? You sound New York born and bred, and apologies if you think I might be one of those people who knows everything about you already, but I really don’t!”  

He watched the embarrassment crease her face as she cringed, reaching to gently squeeze her wrist. “No, you’re fine! God, it’s refreshing, actually, to talk to somebody who doesn’t know anything about me already!” he began, very much enjoying that she truly was a little clueless over him. It made weeding out those with a genuine interest in who he was away from his famous persona much easier. “And yeah, Queens born and bred.” 

“Do you still live there?” 

“In New York, yeah, but further north. I’ve a house in Oswego County, right out in the middle of nowhere. It’s a mess still, long term restoration project, but I like it. I like not being bothered while I’m not working. I have a place here, too, but only a rental. How about you?” 

“Couple of places,” she began, noticing the documentary guys hovering, pointing at them discreetly. “Don’t mind, do you?”  

“I don’t. Your tour manager already came and asked us.” 

She nodded, continuing. “So yeah, I have a house out in California and an apartment in the West Village. I just bought a property over in England as well, gorgeous estate in Buckinghamshire that the Laurel Canyon house is shortly being rented out to afford.” 

Rock music was lucrative, it seemed, for her to own three homes. “That’s smart, renting. You’ll get more for it long term, too. Especially with the association of living in a rock star’s house.”  

“Certain would-be renters’ll probably think I have cocaine stashed all over or something,” she snorted, “which is hilarious as I don’t do hard drugs. Used to, but it messed with my ability to perform, so I knocked it on the head.” 

He loved how candid she was, not hiding anything for appearances sake. She was also entirely too beautiful for her own good, with the prettiest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen in his life, eyes he couldn’t look away from for a second. A parade of naked women could have walked into the tent right at that moment, and he wouldn’t even have turned his head.  

They continued their talk, seemingly oblivious to the merriment going on around them, finding out tentative bits of information about one another, their families, their interests and passions. They had one in particular that surprised the hell out of him. 

“Get the fuck out of here! You’re into hip-hop?” 

“No, you get the fuck out,” she teased, gently pinching his arm as she laughed. “Yeah, I am! I’m into so much music, but growing up in the areas that I did, it was such an ingrained staple. I was the only white girl amongst all my friends and just absorbed the hip-hop culture like a sponge. I got to listen to so much in the store too. It had its perks, working at Rough Trade.  

“I still nearly died on the spot when Method Man came strolling in one day. Wu Tang had released thirty-six chambers the year before, and I couldn’t stop playing it, so yeah, I was completely dumbstruck. He walks up to the counter and I’m just like, “no way, you’re Method Man,” to which he smiled, looked at my name tag and said, “no way, you’re Jade. Whassup, girl?" We became friends, he’s such a cool guy. Comes by my place whenever he can when we’re both back in New York. I cook him pasta and he plays me new stuff he’s been working on. I got a lot of time for Clifford, he’s real straight up.” 

“Yeah, I know him a little, too. I’m more friends with RZA, though. I got into making beats in my teens and he’s acted as a mentor to me. Cool guy,” he replied casually, Jade grasping his arms and giving them a little shake. 

“You make beats?” she cried, her eyes widening, “play me something! Do you have anything on your phone?”  

He shook his head. “Nope, it’s all at home on my laptop. But I will one day, though.” She made a sad face, Adrien pulling his arms from her soft grip, linking his fingers through hers. Oh... too forward, he suddenly panicked. When her fingers squeezed his hands, he realised it wasn’t. Her lit-up face told him it wasn’t, too. God, it was like a thunderbolt had just cut through the tent and hit him square atop his head. “You’re too cute, you know that? I definitely will let you listen to some of it. I plan for us to meet up at the same time in the same place again, for sure.”  

“Not many people call me cute,” she admitted, stroking her thumbs in circles over his palms. “Lots of other things. Loud mouthed bitch, profane whore, evil cock tease, but rarely cute.” 

The way she looked at him, licking her lip, oh fuck. Yep. He sensed something quite predatory lurking beneath the surface of the quiet, charming woman he was enjoying the hell out of getting to know. What was more? He liked it. “I think the latter is probably fairly apt, isn’t it?”  

She leaned forward, her lips tickling the lobe of his ear. “Might show you one day.” His face must have said it all, betrayed the barrier he tried to rapidly build to conceal the fire she’d stoked, licking his insides in a blaze.  

Holding eye contact with her, he lifted his chin slightly, his smile growing. “Might let you.” They held each other’s gaze, almost defying the other to look away first, Jade playing with his hands, running her nails up and down his long fingers, licking her lips. Oh, she was so, so sexy. “Might just tease you back twice as bad.” 

He winked, and her stomach exploded with butterflies, dropping her gaze for a moment, her internal monologue stuck on excited screaming mode. “It’s so loud in here. Do you want to go someplace quieter?” 

“That’d be good. Is my boy gonna be alright, or are your girls gonna eat him alive?” he spoke, nodding over her shoulder, seeing Lewis looking very well settled, drinking and laughing with Katie and Charlotte. 

“Yeah, the lesbians will look after him well. They’re together, if you didn’t know. Most don’t unless you’re a fan of the band,” she spoke, Adrien only noticing it then, the understated way they had their pinky fingers linked together. Cute.   

“Ahh, he’ll know, then. Save himself the embarrassment of trying to give his usual awkward advances toward two girls who don’t bat for his team.” They got up, exiting the tent without being noticed, although Jade was called out to by a few peers and industry folks as they walked down towards where all the busses were parked a short way from the entrance to the backstage compound.  

As he walked, Adrien couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so excited to spend time with someone who wasn’t a friend or family member, the people much missed as his hectic life whirled around him. He had no idea how much time he’d have with this utterly charming woman who turned to smile at him, but god, he hoped the minutes began to tick backwards with every step he took. 

[freakartack]

hmmmm any volt head canons

VOLTAGE TIME ok so obligatory Papa Volt retread just to get him out of the way. OK now that Papa Volt is done let's move on to the other guys.

18-Volt

-Doing him first because he's my favorite. Anyways 18-volt is an awesome kid because

-Like most other children in Warioware, he has kind of a lonely family situation. He's only ever talked about his mom, who is away a lot as he is able to play video games late into the night unsupervised (unlike the ever-vigilant 9-volt). So it seems like he is kind of a latchkey kid most of the time.

-As a result, he ends up sleeping over 9-volt's house a lot, and he's also kind of glommed onto 5-volt as a friend to boot ("Hi 9-Volt's Mom"). They both canonically have a passion for gardening, so I can imagine they bond over that and she gives him gardening advice and whatnot. Maybe if NINE VOLT wasn't afraid of getting his hands dirty he could join in the fun but alas

-Because of his growth condition, he's gotten a lot of shit in school in the past. As such, he is extremely quick to come to the defense of kids in need; he stood up to 13-amp when she was picking on ralphie, and then extended an olive branch to 13-amp when he realized she was just a troubled kid. This also mirrors how 9-volt befriended 18-volt when no one else would, so it is kind of beautiful in this way. These are some stand-up kids!

-Is way less adventurous than 9-Volt; he went skateboarding with him exactly once and hated it

-Mains Captain Falcon in smash and says "FALCON PUNCH" out loud

5-Volt

-I love that her character card in g&w says "age unknown" and then immediately tells you that she grew up in the 80s

-I also think that the rest of her wardrobe was similarly radical. I've been meaning to draw Young 5-Volt for a while so you might see her soon

-Was the apex predator of her local arcade back in the day

-Contrary to her moveset in Get It Together!, I don't think she has any supernatural powers beyond being scary as fuck. Pay no attention to the woman behind the TV

-Mains ROB in smash and kills people with him in real life

9-Volt

-The entirety of his retro game collection was inherited from his mother; he doesn't know what eBay is

-Has grown his adult front teeth in since Mega Microgames

-Has said "FIRE" so many times that orbulon accidentally picked up on it in smooth moves

-Mains Pikachu in smash and spams down+B the whole match

Fronk

-Unlike Orbulon and the space hares, I can't even begin to speculate on what the fuck he is. I think he has an exoskeleton. I think he is ovoviviparous. I think his distant ancestors were from space and he comes from a long line of rapidly-reproducing alien animals that somehow gained sapience along the way. It is extremely hard to keep up with Fronk Lore because they are constantly dropping bombshells. Do you know he has a wife and kid

-Mains Marth

[justenjoythegossip]

Will Chris’ “psychotic” fans be held responsible for the end of the shitshow?

Recently an article regarding Abba’s near ”abduction” story resurfaced, or I should say was reposted. It seemed pretty random of course. But was it? Because you see, this story hints at an original trauma that she might have suffered as a kid. If you combine this (real or fictitious) traumatic experience with the narrative that Chris’ fans are psychos who really can’t stand to see him in a relationship, well then you have created the perfect storm for their separation. Will that excuse be used to explain their divorce which couldn’t come soon enough by the way? 

So many breadcrumbs pointing to Abba being scared… 

The narrative that Chris’ fans are crazy and don’t want to see him with anyone has been going on for years. His brother Scott alluded to it not so long ago during an interview. Yvette Nicole Brown tweeted about it as well, in a very over-the-top and unhinged way just after Chris and Abba made it official with their first papwalk. So there have been many crumbs pointing to his fans’ problematic behavior being the cause for concerns. And indeed, there have already been several articles pointing to Abba being scared for her safety. Here are a couple of examples.

https://www.thenews.com.pk/amp/1119789-chris-evans-jealous-fans-pose-safety-concerns-for-his-wife-alba-baptista

Recently, that excuse has been used to explain why Abba couldn’t attend an event for Warrior Nun.

We all know of her extraordinary professionalism. She has promoted the show so much so that we can only imagine how terrified and heartbroken she must have felt to turn down this event. (read sarcasm) And it probably explains why she refused to talk to the media at the GQ event. You see she was not being rude and a diva, she was just being shy and afraid…

Also remember during Chris and Abba’s last papwalk when they allegedly had dinner with Rob Pattinson, Suki, Adrien Brody and Harvey Weinstein’s former wife, they were escorted by Guillermo who is Chris’ bodyguard. Sure it was meant to sell that they are a very famous and popular couple but maybe it served another purpose. Maybe it was meant to sell the narrative that she is terrified of Chris’ fans and needs the protection of a bodyguard. So the question remains: will they be blamed for their divorce?

The ending of this shitshow isn’t likely to happen soon…

Crumbs and hints are in place but that doesn’t mean the end of the shitshow is near. In fact, I would be very surprised if he doesn’t mention his “wife” during his next con at Seattle on March 2nd. Indeed this con is overseen by the same company that did C2E2 and NYCC last year, and let’s remember the NY con was used to confirm the 2 kinda of ceremonies and to show off his ill-fitting ring. We can suspect this company is one of their sponsors, just like the jewelry brand or airline company. But I am just speculating. 

It’s safe to assume there will be similar shenanigans in Seattle anyway. Will she actually be there? It’s a real possibility. Especially, since the Oscars’ ceremony is on March 10th. Like for the Golden Globes, it’s a time when celebrities try to be seen. And it will be one of their last occasions to make a splash for a while and have their names in every publication since Chris is supposed to start shooting a new movie in March as well. Unless we get pap pics of them on his movie set. They haven’t done it yet and it would be another box to check off in their PR games.  

The manufactured psychotic fans…

For sure there are some crazy fans out there. But I have little doubt as well that most of his crazy fans act this way on purpose because there are plants on the payroll. Even recently, we have seen a ridiculous fake drama around Dodger. An account even published an old picture of Dodger at Daycare. So this mod either hacked into the security cameras of the dog daycare center 6 years ago. Or by some off chance, a crazy stalker fan who worked at that center leaked that pic and sent it to that mod? I should probably specify that this account also got the exclusive (and very believable) story that Renner and Hemsworth told two strangers that they were in Boston for Chris’ wedding. Obviously the most logical explanation is that this blog was fed real info (and that pic) by his team or is working directly for his team. But officially they will pass as crazy fans who crossed the line… And this narrative has proved quite useful in the past.

Playing the victim card is unlikely to get them any sympathy… 

I personally think that this strategy won’t benefit either of them. 

Particularly Abba. First of all, people are unlikely to believe she needs protection because nobody knows her in the first place. We all remember that ridiculous cringe moment at the Ghosted premiere where a paid actor pretended to be her fan and screamed her name. Also and I don’t mean any disrespect but she is not only unknown to the public but she is also totally unremarkable. She is so unremarkable in fact that when that influencer got the video of them at Walt Disney (the video where you can hear the influencer say at the end: “got it”) she had a pic of Abba’s back tattoo on her screen to make sure she recognized her. 

As for Chris, blaming his fans for the end of this shitshow is unlikely to gain him any sympathy either. We have seen so many fan pages disappear, so many fans leave. He has alienated so many loyal fans and a part of the general public with this relationship that isn’t on brand for him. It wouldn’t be wise to alienate the fans that have stuck around. 

Also playing the victim card is just not as popular as it once was. First of all, most normal people have troubles feeling sorry for out of touch celebrities. And why should they? They live in the real world and have real problems. Like having to hold on to their low-paying job, to take care of their kids or to put food on the table. Look at Harry and Meghan. Most people can’t stand them anymore. So Chris’ team would be wise to look for another exit strategy. They have time…