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gators-aid · 5 months

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decode (pt. 2) - toji f. x reader

previously titled: leave us

masterlist.

part one. | part three.

you and toji fushiguro have been in an on-again-off-again relationship all throughout high school. over the summer break after graduation, you find out you're pregnant. too bad toji has already skipped town after your last breakup.

tags: fem!reader, gun violence, harassment, physical violence, mention of domestic abuse (not between toji & reader), teen pregnancy (reader and toji are both 18-19 range), mentions of abortion, mentioned that toji sold drugs, americanized setting, non sorcerer universe, 00's setting, reader is megumi's mom, toji initially denies megumi is his, i aged up gojo, geto, and shoko so you can have some frens, exes to lovers (eventually), their relationship is toxic rn, not beta read we die like toji :(

wc: 2.7k

4 years later..

You pull Megumi’s hat over his ears to protect them from the cold and squeeze his body closer in your arms. “My mom can’t watch him today, she’s got a doctor's appointment. Shoko and Geto are working right now, too! I promise he won’t cause any trouble. He can sit in a booth while I’m working. Pleeeease, Nanami! You know he’s a good kid!” You beg your boss. He looks down at you and your son, contemplating which rules this would violate.

It’s Gojo who comes to your defense.

“Come on Nanamiiii, I can help her keep an eye on him! You won’t have any problems, my Megumi is the sweetest little thing, aren’t you baby? Aren’t you?” He leans over to squeeze Megumi’s cheek until Megumi turns his head into your chest to escape Gojo’s teasing.

Gojo had taken up working at the diner with you after he dropped out of college on account of, “My family has enough money for me to never have to work again. Why would I waste it in college when I can spend my youth working a minimum wage job for fun?”

You and Shoko had punched him in the face for that one.

“Any disruptions to the customers and you’ll have to figure something else out, Y/N. This is a one time thing. Gojo, don’t let the kid be a distraction to you. You need to stop forgetting you have tables all the time.” You smile and give Gojo a victory high five. “Are you excited to spend the day with mama, Megumi?”

Megumi had turned four a couple of weeks ago. You two now lived in your own modest apartment. It was close to your mother’s house and your job. Usually your mother would keep Megumi for you during work hours, and when that wasn’t available Gojo, Geto, or Shoko would help you out. With all four contenders busy, there was no choice but for you to bring Megumi with you to work. Babysitters and daycare were out of the question on your salary of shitty tips. You could barely afford the apartment. The only way you could get furniture into it was on a loan from Gojo (which he refused to let you pay back).

You, Nanami and Gojo walk into the back of the building through the kitchen to punch in. “Our little Megumi’s gonna be joining us today!” Gojo announces to the kitchen staff, mainly comprised of high school students and Hakari. You hear various coos as you walk Megumi through the kitchen. “Can you say ‘hi,’ baby?” You whisper to Megumi through his knitted hat.

He pulls his face from the interior of your sweater and meekly waves to the staff, who all burst into bright smiles. There had been a few times your mother had brought Gumi to the diner to see you during hours, meaning the staff had not only heard of, but had seen Megumi around quite a bit.

Megumi, unlike his father, was incredibly shy and quiet even for his young age. He was one of the best babies you could ever ask for. He cried of course, even had a nasty case of colic when he was little, but on average he cried far less than a normal kid. For a while you were concerned, bringing him to every doctor your insurance would allow to get second opinion after second opinion. Their conclusion? It’s just his personality.

"It seems like he cried all his tears out during his first couple of weeks!" One doctor had joked. Yeah, so had you.

Every time you looked at Megumi, you saw Toji. Their resemblance was undeniable. Sometimes it felt as if he hadn’t inherited a single genetic trait from you. Some days, it made you more sad than others. You hadn’t seen any baby pictures of Toji, didn’t think his family even owned any, but if you had to guess, Megumi had to be the spitting image. You’d see old classmates you hadn’t talked to in years only for them to comment on how much they resembled each other. Not knowing about you and Toji's dramatic breakup.

You and Gojo punch in and take off your coats to hang them up on the rack. Yuki, one of your newer coworkers, bursts through the door with a few empty water glasses. “Agh, thank god you two are here!” She exclaims, setting them down by the sink. “I’ve got this table of guys that are driving me batshit. The kitchen guys don’t get it. I need a freakin’ break.”

You giggle at her and take off Megumi’s hat from where you’re holding him on your hip. “I can take the next one!” You hang up Megumi’s hat next to your coat. “Just let me get him situated.” Yuki gasps and runs over to you. “Hi Megumi! I’ve heard so much about you! It’s nice to meet you, I’m Yuki! Oh my god, Y/N he’s so freakin’ cute!” She exclaims.

Gojo and Yuki get to talking shit about her table while you walk out onto the floor to choose a booth for Megumi to sit. You choose the one furthest from the door and closest to the kitchen and set him down on a side where you’ll be able to see him clearly for the majority of your shift. “Okay Gumi, I’m gonna be working but I’m gonna come over and check on you a lot too, okay?” You set your bag next to him and pull out a few toys and a coloring book. “I’ll get the kitchen guys to sneak you some food, okay?” He nods and grabs a blue crayon from his half empty box. “Okay, mama.” He replies in the sweetest voice you've ever heard.

You give him a kiss on his forehead and move a piece of his hair behind his ear before moving to the other side of the booth and adjusting your waist apron. “Y/N, you got table three.” Yuki announced. You looked behind you to see Gojo and Yuki approaching Megumi’s table. “Megumiiiii! What are you coloring?” Gojo slid into the seat next to Megumi and his toys.

“How many?” You asked Yuki. “Just two.” She responded, “The one guy’s hot, maybe you could get laid tonight.” You scoffed. “First of all, don’t say shit like that on the floor when we have customers who may hear you.” You give her a pointed look, “secondly, you’re too young to be talking about intercourse. You’re like twelve.” You smile at her and turn around to go greet your table.

“I’m literally 18!” Yuki exclaims as you walk away.

“Exactly the point!” Gojo responds for you.

You pull out your server book as you approach your table and click your pen. “Hi, I’m Y/N, welcome to-” when you look up, you freeze.

First, you see Jinichi, Toji’s brother. When your eyes move over to the other side of the booth, you see him in the flesh for the first time in five years.

He’s looking down at the table, so you can’t see his face, but from his build alone you can see he’s almost doubled in muscle mass since you last saw him. His hair is longer, bangs falling over his eyes, and he sports a black muscle tee to show off how much he has bulked up over the years. He's intentionally avoiding your gaze.

All the feelings you’ve felt over these five years, anger, rage, resentment, loss, pain, sadness. They all come rushing back at once. Five years of wondering what he was up to while you stayed up with Megumi as a newborn when he had colic and wouldn’t stop crying for almost a month straight. As you operated on auto pilot and almost cried when you saw him smile again. As you cared for him through his first flu, which you had eventually caught too. Rushing him to the hospital for a slight rise in temperature as your mother convinced you over the phone that everything would be okay and you sobbed hysterically. When Megumi took his first steps, when he said his first word. You always thought of Toji.

How would he have reacted? You may not have trusted him, but you don’t think he’d be a particularly bad father if he were to put in the effort. Every time Megumi smiles, every time he frowns, it looks like Toji has walked right back into your life. When you two talked about kids, it was never very serious. You always talked about the idyllic. How many you’d have, what their names would be, if you’d move out to the countryside so they’d have space to play. You never discussed how you wanted to raise them, how you two would afford it, if Toji would stop dealing.

“Well, well, fucking well!” Jinichi starts. “This is just fucking hilarious!” You can see Toji tense up where his elbows rest on the table. Jinichi leaned back in his seat looking back and forth between you and Toji. “High school fucking sweethearts! Look at this shit, Toji, that's your girl right there! Hey Y/N-” Before Jinichi can finish his sentence, Toji bangs his hands on the table, making the condiment bottles rattle loudly, and bringing the entire restaurant's attention towards the three of you. Toji mumbles something under his breath that you can’t pick up. You’re still physically frozen in place.

Jinichi had always been an asshole. Toji didn’t like you to go over to his house for multiple reasons relating to his family, but one of the major ones was because of his brother. Jinichi always had a smart mouth. Liked to put dumb ideas in Toji’s head, one of which was the one that eventually got him shot and bleeding out on your bedsheets.

“Ahh, come on little brother. You’re so intense nowadays. We’re here for a good ol-”

“We’re here for fucking business, Jinichi. Shut the fuck up. We don’t want nothin’.” Toji says, finally addressing you without even looking your way. You feel someone grab onto your shoulder and quickly turn to see Gojo. He gently pulls you away from the table.

“I- I didn’t-” you begin, before Gojo can even get you five feet from the table, Jinichi is back at it. “Hey, what the hell, don’t take my waitress! I ain’t ordered nothin’ yet! Hey Y/N, you look good by the way! Usually girls get ugly after they have babies!”

It’s so sudden and quick that if you weren’t five steps away, you wouldn’t have seen it at all. Toji leans over the table, somehow calmly and aggressively at the same time, to grab his brother by the collar of his shirt. “That’s enough. Don’t make me fucking tell you again.” He says, his tone quiet and deadly.

All you can think about is Megumi, where the fuck is Megumi? He’s your priority right now. Your head whips toward Megumi’s table, where you see Yuki with her hand on Megumi’s shoulder as he watches you intensely.

“Fuck. Gumi.” You whisper to yourself.

You pull away from Gojo’s grasp to race toward your son. “Mama..” he whispers as you reach him and pull him tightly into a hug. “It’s okay honey. Don’t worry about it.” You firmly grasp the back of his neck to ground yourself. This is exactly why you had said all those things you said to Toji all those years ago. You didn’t want your child growing up in an unstable environment. You didn’t want Toji’s issues to be a cause of stress for yourself or for Megumi. It'd be slightly different if these were two random guys in the diner. Sure, you'd shield Megumi if it got intense, but the fact that one was his father made the hair on the back of your neck stand up at the slightest movement.

“You look sad mama. Did the big men hurt you?” You laugh at his innocence. “No, baby. They didn’t hurt me.” They did hurt you. In a deep emotional way that you didn’t feel like explaining to a four year old right now. “Let's go honey, little kids shouldn’t see this.”

“I’m a little kid, right?” He asks. “Yes, you are.”

“What the hell is going on?” You hear a booming voice come from the kitchen door and see Nanami walking towards Toji’s table. “Nothings going on!” Jinichi yells. “You know how the little brothers are, always got a goddamned inferiority complex goin’ on or somethin’!” Toji still has a grasp on his shirt as Jinichi is yelling at Nanami.

“I’m going to have to ask you two to leave.” Nanami says calmly. “I ain’t fucking leaving. I came here for some fuckin’ service from my brother’s old-” Suddenly, Jinichi’s head is being slammed onto the table, and a collective gasp is aroused from the restauraunt.

“Come, Gumi.” You pick him up in your arms. “Yuki, can you pack his stuff up for me please?” You ask as you contemplate your next move. “Of course, of course.” You can’t head to the front or kitchen door without Gumi potentially seeing more violence. You would have to rush past in the hopes that nothing else happens while you’re moving by. The kitchen door is closer from here, less potential for Megumi to see anything.

“Ok, Gumi. Can you close your eyes for me real quick, baby?” You ask, rubbing his back. “Ok, mama.” You move Megumi so that his face is pressed to your chest and book it toward the kitchen door. You hear more commotion as you pass by, but will yourself not to turn around and check. Gojo and Yuki follow you in from behind with your bag. When you’re in the kitchen, you’re quick to set Megumi on the ground to grab his hat and secure it on his head.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, I never would’ve given you that table if I knew.” She apologizes as she hands you your bag. You laugh. “It’s not your fault Yuki. By the way, remember what I said about no intercourse? You wanna implement that policy because of fuckers like him-” “Mama!” Megumi chastises. “Sorry, bad word.” Yuki lets out a relieved sigh.

“I didn’t even see them walk in, Y/N-” Gojo starts. “Oh my gosh guys, it's not a big deal! Seriously, I’m just worried about Gumi seeing anything.” Even as you say this, your hands shake as you attempt to zip up Megumi’s coat. Gojo gives you a knowing look and grabs your own coat off the rack for you.

“I just, um, need a little break. I can’t afford to lose out on the money tonight.” You say, grabbing your coat from him and sliding it on. “I’ll cover you-” Gojo starts, but you interrupt. “I’m not taking money from your family, Gojo!” You pick up Megumi and hold him on your hip. “I’m not saying that. I’ll split the tips from tonight with you. My apology for not seeing them before.”

“No, Gojo.”

Nanami walks in the kitchen door. “Take the day off,” he says to you before walking back to his office. “No, Nanami I’m ok I’ll just take him to my mom’s really quick-”

“You’re too shaken up to do anything else today. I’ll schedule you more next week to make up for it.” Nanami supplies. “Thank you.” You say, silently relieved. Was your distress seriously that obvious? You would have to tone it down in front of Gumi.

“Wooow Nanami you’re such a good manager-”

“Can it Gojo, you’re gonna have to pick up the slack tonight.”

You’re already making your way out the back of the building when Gojo responds with a whine.

“Hey what the hells going on out there?” Hakari asks as you walk by. “Some bullshit.” You respond. “Mama!”

You weren’t even in the building for thirty minutes today, but it feels thirty degrees cooler when you walk out. The trek to the bus stop is gonna suck.

It's a ten minute walk from the diner to the bus stop. You cling onto Megumi for warmth, making sure he's buried not only in his own coat, but in yours. When you get to the bus stop, you realize it’s gonna be another fifteen minutes before the bus comes. Megumi isn’t one to complain, but you can feel him shivering under you. “Just a little longer baby.” You soothe him, rapidly rubbing his back and arms in an attempt to warm him.

It must be some sick joke for an old pickup truck to pull right in front of the bus stop and roll its window down.

“Do you need a ride?” Toji asks.

You've gotta be fucking kidding.

part two is up! thanks so much for all the love on the first on! 70 notes is crazy!

pls send requests or questions to me! and also let me know if i missed anything in the tags!

thank you guys !!!

(i'll make a masterlist maybe when pt 3 goes up but im too lazy rnnnnnn)

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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deliciousbasementtrash · 8 months

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Playing Nurse for the Batfam

From Injustice Gods Among Us Year 5 #15

Summary: you are a nurse working for Gotham General Hospital. Batman has offered you a job. Will you take it?

Pairing: Slowburn Jason Todd x reader, (maybe a why choose with Dick Grayson as well?? Idk tell me what you guys want)

Warning: Adult language, parental abuse, parental neglect

Word Count: 1.6k

Note: These characters are not my own they belong to DC. The only character that is 'mine' is the reader. I am going to be as nondescript as possible for the reader as well for physical attributes. This is a continuation series; I’m not sure how long it will be. Also for some reason, my replies to comments are not showing up. I’m not ignoring your comments Tumblr won’t let me respond :( But please, please comment I live for it

Part One, Part Two

Part Three: Skip-Bo and Chess

My mind raced as I went over the contract. Everything seemed too simple, too easy. The only terms and conditions I had to abide by were that I wouldn’t reveal his identity and that I would need to essentially be on call from the hours of 21:00 to 7:00, but roughly 24/7. The pay was a ridiculous amount. The insurance was crazy good. I didn’t realize it was possible to get that much coverage. But this went against everything I have represented in my life. Would I be betraying the people of Gotham, my patients, and my fellow coworkers, by taking this job? Would I be betraying myself and my past history?

Gotham City: 16 Years Ago

My father and I stood over my mother’s grave. It was strange. My mom was a woman who breathed life into everything. She never wore a dull color, she danced whenever she could, and she sang horribly and off tune. She wore her hair in two long braids with colorful ribbons. She wore sweet perfume. She wore red lipstick. She wore so many necklaces and bracelets she jingled when she walked. She snorted when she laughed. And now when I looked at her all I saw was dirt and a gravestone. Her colorfulness, her loudness, her laughter, her joy, all of it was gone. I knew I couldn’t cry though. Not in front of Dad. He got so much meaner when I did. Sometimes I wonder what my beautiful, colorful, caring mother saw in this cruel bleak man. But I guess his bitterness was supposed to balance out her sweetness.

But without her, it felt like I was choking on the disgusting taste of my reality. We were grieving. We had no money. And the debt just seemed to be getting deeper and deeper. I tried selling homemade cookies at school to help out. I raised about 22 dollars. I came home with a smile on my face and handed my father the money. He pocketed it without another word. It was almost worse when he was like this.

It felt like he was a teapot that was brewing and I was just waiting for the wrong thing to set him off.

Some days when I came home from school he was home. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t look at me. Other days he wasn’t there. I had to scavenge the house for food or walk to the convenience store with what little money I had scurried away.

It felt like my life had become black and white without my mom. Everything seemed so hopelessly bad. Then one day my dad came home with a smile on his face. My first instinct was to tense my body and avert my gaze. I didn’t know what he was going to do.

“Sweetie, come with me. I have an idea,” my father said, grabbing my wrist and pulling me out the door with him.

He drove like a maniac and pulled up towards a seemingly abandoned building. My blood ran cold with anticipation.

My father practically ripped me out of the car and dragged me inside. Inside there were about twenty men all pretty beat up. All of them looked at me. I picked at my hangnails and looked at my father.

“Y/n, these gentlemen need to be healed. Be a doll and heal them.” My father’s words were clipped, and my pulse raced. I merely nodded and healed man after man. It became clear to me, even at my young age, that these men were a part of a gang. Who’s? I had no idea.

That was until a fat man in a tuxedo and a cane walked up to my father. He handed him a bundle of cash, they whispered some hurried words and the grotesque man leaned down towards me.

His short fat finger booped my nose, and the man tilted his head back and laughed at my reaction. I wanted to bite his finger off. I wanted to go home. I wanted my mom.

For the next two years, my father did business with anyone that could pay him. Our life went from living by the penny to living in luxury. All due to my power. The richest of the rich, politicians, businessmen, criminals, and villains, all used my services. And eventually, they tried to buy me.

That’s when I decided to run away. Or die trying.

Gotham City: Present Day

I sat across from Sam, my best friend, and nurse colleague. “What do you think I should do?” She was the only one that I trusted enough to tell everything to. Of course, I left out the whole, ‘My boss would be Batman thing.’

“Girl, if you don’t take this job I will kill you,” Sam said, taking a large bite of her pasta.

“Do you think I’m betraying my younger self? I promised I would never be bought. I would never work for a corrupt man.”

“Maybe you should discuss with Mr. Wayne, that you would like to remain a nurse part-time. That way you ease your conscious about everything but still live in a fucking MANSION and make BANK, you dummy head. And this way you’re reclaiming your past. You get to choose. You’re not trapped.”

I mindlessly pushed my food around my plate, lost in thought. “That’s not a terrible idea.”

“Of course not, I never have bad ideas. Take one more night to think about it. But I think you have your answer.”

That night I tossed and turned in my bed. I grabbed my phone, the bright screen making me blink.

[I accept your terms, but I do have a few remediations to the contract. Signed, y/f/n y/l/n.]

One week later.

“How are you taking to your new living situation, Miss y/l/n?” Alfred asked as he expertly julienned an onion. I not as gracefully diced several cloves of garlic across from him.

I looked up at him, smiling, “I’m still getting used to it, to be honest.” It had become a silent routine over the past week. When I wasn’t working at the hospital, or patching up Batman, I got bored. So, I started helping Alfred with cooking.

He taught me how to play chess. I taught him how to play Skip-Bo and dominos. I had grown quite fond of the man over the short period. It most definitely was my daddy issues clinging to the first nice man I saw. But Alfred Pennyworth seemed truly kind to me.

I hadn’t met any other members of Bruce’s family, but supposedly they were all meeting for dinner tonight. For some reason, my pulse spiked at the thought of meeting them. My past gave me anxiety when meeting new people I didn’t know.

As if reading my thoughts Alfred asked, “How are you feeling about meeting everyone tonight?”

I cut a piece of garlic a bit harshly, “I’m– I’m fine. Do you know if I am to meet them after the dinner or before?”

Alfred’s eyebrows quirked, “What do you mean? You most probably will meet them at dinner. You are attending are you not?”

“I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to eat with the family or not,” I stated, hesitantly.

I heard a twang of metal as Alfred set down his knife. He gave me his full attention as he said, “Master Wayne may seem abrasive, Miss. But I assure you, he would never have to eat separately unless that is what you wished.”

Abrasive was one way to put it. He often reminded me of a feral cat when I tried to heal him. He would practically hiss that he was fine. I had to politely remind my employer a few times that this was what I was here for and to let me heal him.

We cooked in silence for a while, when out of the blue I asked Alfred, “Alfred, are you happy?”

Alfred always holding his poise answered calmly, “Happiness is something that fluctuates in my life, Miss. I will say that knowing that Master Wayne and the rest of the family are in your capable hands is reassuring me as of late. I also have been enjoying your company, no matter how many times you beat me in Skip-Bo.”

I laughed, a true genuine laugh. “Hey, you win every time we play chess!”

Alfred smiled softly, “Miss I have been playing chess since I was five years old. If I lost I think I would have to revoke my Englishmanship.”

After my laughter died down, another question popped in my head, “What are they like? Mr. Wayne’s family?”

Alfred smiled, “Those children are loud, argumentative, loyal, funny, stubborn, etc. I love those children with everything I am. You will too, Miss y/l/n.”

An unfamiliar sense of warmth bloomed in my chest, “Thank you, Alfred.”

“Thank you, Miss y/l/n.”

As I was getting dressed. I could not pick out what I wanted to wear. Did I want to go casual with a tee shirt and jeans? A bit more formal with a dress? Semi-casual with a skirt and sweater? I decided on the last one, with some tights on underneath. I wanted to make a good impression. It felt like the first day of school. I made my way down the stairs. No one had arrived yet. I took a seat next to Alfred, my leg bouncing.

Alfred patted my shoulder when we heard the door open, “It will be just fine.”

The loud oncoming footsteps mimicked my thundering pulse.

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anonymous-dentist · 4 months

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As promised, at long last!!, here's the Spiderbit Spideypool au!! :D

The sun sets over Quesadilla City, breathing its last for the day.

Similarly, the guy at Cellbit's feet is also breathing his last. He's got a machete stuck through his windpipe cutting off his air, and that's probably what's making him choke. It's either that, or it's the gloved hand choking him right beneath his chin, or it's the thumb- his own- lodged in the back of his throat.

Once upon a time, this dude was one of the Federation's finest insurance sales representatives. He, just like every other disgusting piece of shit on the Federation's payroll, made a living off of scamming widows and orphans and puppies and whoever into selling their souls for mediocre insurance policies that just so happen to never apply. He has a list on his Notes app filled with all the people he's fucked over, and there's one name right at the bottom of the list that single-handedly made him a target.

Sometimes Cellbit really loves his job.

"What?" Cellbit taunts, leaning in real close to the asshole's face. He removes his hand from the man's throat and slowly moves it up to the man's mouth. He pries the man's lips open and pinches his slimy, blood-covered tongue between his pointer finger and thumb.

Smiling beneath his mask, Cellbit tilts his head just slightly- just enough to be noticeable in the dying light of the sunset- and he asks in a low, mocking voice, "Cat got your tongue?"

He laughs at the way the man's eyes widen in sheer terror.

The asshole's hand twitches; his phone, with the Notes app open, is just inches away from his trembling, spindly fingers. It's focused at the bottom of the list, and the name there:

Roier Brown

Roier is a very wealthy man with a dead son and a good-for-nothing husband. Well. He used to be a wealthy man, but then the Avengers smashed his house in with his son in it and he lost everything in the lawsuits that followed. Hence the cheap, terrible, scam insurance. It's all he can afford.

Personally speaking, Cellbit is of the opinion that Roier deserves better. But since he can't afford better on his crummy journalist salary, Cellbit torturing and murdering the man that scammed Roier out of his hard-earned money is just going to have to do.

Cellbit clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "You should know better than to try that."

'WOW, WHAT AN IDIOT!!' Voice A laughs.

'show him who's in charge around here' Voice B orders, and Cellbit lives to serve.

He twists his machete, slow.

The man gurgles at him, pale in the face and very much on death's door.

(Unfortunately for him, Cellbit has met Death himself, and She's a very nice woman. This man won't get a chance to see the Other Side, not if She has anything to say about it.)

They're on top of the roof of an abandoned gas station somewhere towards the Favela, so it really isn't surprising when there's a very annoyed whoosh of air and the soft thumping of someone landing on the roof behind Cellbit's back and tripping over his own webbing.

'SPIDER-MAN!!!' Voice A exclaims.

'my hero <3' says Voice B with all the adoration in the world.

"Shut up," Cellbit annoyedly mutters; this is his conversation with Spider-Man, thank you!

The man's eyes brighten, hopeful. Hah! As if Spider-Man would help someone like him.

On cue, a sticky thread of webbing attaches itself to the handle of Cellbit's machete just above his fingers. A tug, and the machete is yanked from the man's throat, finishing him off with one last bloodthirsty shink!!!

'finally'

Cellbit stands up and twirls dramatically, hands flying to his cheeks. His eyes, and the white eyeholes of his mask, widen in put-on shock and horror.

"Spider-Man!" he gasps. "You just killed that man!"

Spider-Man, of course, is not amused. His eyeholes narrow. Arms crossed, hip cocked... oh, he's angry.

'UH-OH!!!'

Cellbit tries not to wince at Voice A's terrified screech. Instead, he clears his throat and drops his hands to his sides, swinging them until they end up behind his back. He clasps his hands together, shrinking into himself even though he really knows that this won't work.

"Deadpool," Spider-Man coolly says.

"Spider-Man."

"What did I say about murdering people."

"...Not to do it without you?"

"Then what the fuck is this, culero?"

Spider-Man gestures towards the corpse with both of his hands... and with the machete, still loosely held in his webs over by the body. It scrapes across the roof, scuffing it up and kicking sparks up and making Cellbit actually visibly flinch.

'our baby...'

'HE NEEDS TO PAY!!!!!'

Choked, Cellbit says, "He's- it's fine."

Spider-Man, of course, knows that Cellbit isn't talking to him, so he continues his angry rant, slipping into Spanish that Cellbit only halfway pays attention to. But can you blame him? Spider-Man's suit is skin-tight, and Cellbit is a very weak man.

'HE IS FORGIVEN!!'

'our angel...'

"Muy guapo," Cellbit agrees. He sighs dreamily as Spider-Man paces around the rooftop ranting at the top of his lungs, uncaring of prying eyes. Why should he care? Anybody stupid enough to spy on Deadpool is as good as dead, everybody knows this.

Suddenly, Spider-Man rounds on him and points an accusing finger.

"And!" he snaps, back in English for the sake of poor Voice B. "You missed dinner, you piece of shit!"

Okay, this Cellbit does feel sorry about.

His eyeholes droop sadly. His shoulders sag, and he scuffs the toe of his boot against the roof.

"Desculpe, guapito," he says, and he really means it.

Spider-Man points for just a second longer before relaxing and slumping to the ground by the dead man. He picks up the man's phone, sees the name at the bottom of the list, and lets out a long, drawn-out sigh before groaning loudly and flopping onto his back on the rooftop. He holds the phone above his face, scrolling up through the list.

Cellbit takes a seat opposite him. Out of respect for the deceased, he takes one of the man's hands and covers the gaping, bleeding, rotting hole in his neck with it.

'that should make the reporters happy' Voice B comments.

'BUT IT'LL MAKE CUCURUCHO PIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSED!!!' Voice A cackles, way too excited over something that's probably actually going to give Cellbit a bigger headache than he already has thanks to his voices being annoying little shits today.

"Cucurucho won't find this guy until it's too late," he tells the voices.

A pause.

"It's already too late," he adds. "So they'll just find him later."

"If they find him," Spider-Man counters. He carelessly tosses the phone to the side and drops his hands onto his chest, watching the sun set above him. "Man, I wanted to kill this guy."

Cellbit frowns. "I didn't think you'd mind..."

"Nah, don't worry about it. It's fine. Just let me get the next one, okay?"

There are countless Federation employees. Some are agents, like the mysterious new "Agent Jabberjaw" wreaking havoc by the docks. Others are white collars, like the dead man by Cellbit's knee. And others are heroes, like the Avengers.

'i hate those guys...'

'THEY LITERALLY SUCK'

'i miss bobby...'

Voice B breaks down into sobs, and Voice A starts shouting for them to shut up and stop crying because crying can't bring the dead back to life but revenge will so they're going to get revenge obviously and Roier's gonna be right there with them and he's gonna get to choke Cucurucho with-

"Gatinho," Spider-Man says, pulling Cellbit out of his head, "help me clean up the body before the cops get here. You're supposed to be retired, remember, pendejo?"

Cellbit rolls his eyes. "I'm doing them a favor."

And Spider-Man rolls his own eyes: "I know, but they don't."

Of course they don't. The Avengers, under Cucurucho's instructions no doubt, labeled Deadpool a villain years ago back when Cellbit was more active. And then he met the love of his life and he retired from mercenary-ing to try and build a real home life for the first time in his (memorable) life.

And then Bobby died, and not even a superhuman healing factor could keep Cellbit's then-boyfriend from almost dying in the ambulance.

"Maybe we should do it out of costume," Cellbit muses.

He looks down at his costume with a small, thoughtful frown. He designed it years ago for easy movement and easier repair, but he's also gotten older. He can stab a guy, sure, but it's a little too hard to raise his arms above the shoulders for Cellbit's tastes.

Spider-Man raises a teasing eyebrow; Cellbit can't see his face, but he knows him enough to know exactly what his face is doing at all times.

"You know that I'm naked under here, right?" he asks.

The voices stop shouting at each other long enough to start giving very detailed descriptions of what they think Spider-Man looks like under his suit.

Very detailed descriptions.

"Uh," Cellbit says, voice cracking, "or we can just do it now!"

"What, you don't want to see me naked?"

'is he offering????'

'I HOPE HE IS!!'

"We get to see him naked all the time," Cellbit says, though he also knows that Spider-Man has never seen him naked. (As it turns out, Spider-Man sleeps naked, and he chose not to mention this until the honeymoon.)

Spider-Man's eyeholes crinkle in amusement. "Well, if they want to see me naked..."

He makes a grand motion with his arms before reaching for the hidden zipper on the back of his costume.

'yes!!!!'

'OH MY GOD YESSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'

Cellbit flushes the same shade of red as his costume and covers his eyes with his hands. He likes Spider-Man's body, but he does not want him stripping on a roof for just anybody to see.

Spider-Man laughs. "Calma, calma, I'm teasing you, gatinho! Una broma!"

Cellbit peeks out between his fingers and sees, indeed, a fully-clothed Spider-Man.

"I knew that," he tells him. The voices call him an idiot, and so he repeats it louder: "I knew that! I knew it was a joke!"

"Ah-huh," Spider-Man says, not believing him whatsoever.

He stretches his arms above his head, groans, and hops to his feet. He stretches again, cracking his neck and shoulders.

"Guess dinner tonight is takeout," he comments.

Cellbit wrinkles his nose. "He tastes bad."

"You haven't bitten him yet, have you?"

Spider-Man sounds mildly disappointed; if anyone heard him talking like this, he'd be labeled as a villain by the end of the week. But, then again, he and Deadpool have been known for their... unique relationship since before Deadpool's retirement. They tease. They joke.

Cellbit shifts uncomfortably. "Well... no."

They have dinner together every night.

"Then how do you know he tastes bad, eh?"

Spider-Man reaches across the corpse and lightly baps Cellbit on the back of the head disapprovingly.

"We're taking him," Spider-Man tells him. Of course, Cellbit doesn't argue. How could he?

So Cellbit stands, and he goes to get the man's phone from where Spider-Man had thrown it earlier. Behind him, Spider-Man picks the man up from off of the roof and slings him over his shoulder.

God, he's strong...

'STRONG AND SMART AND HANDSOME AND BEAUTIFUL AND KIND AND'

'and generous and muscular and sweet and caring and'

...and perfect.

If Cellbit didn't know any better, he'd say that he may, in fact, have a bit of a crush on Spider-Man.

And isn't that funny?

(Roier slips into bed shortly after Cellbit does. Fresh out of the shower, he smells like Cellbit's body wash: vaguely mango-y.

He curls around Cellbit's body like a quotation mark, slotting in behind him perfectly. He holds Cellbit close, eyelashes fluttering against the back of Cellbit's head.

"You were right," he admits, words muttered into Cellbit's hair. "He tasted horrible. I brushed my teeth, like, a million times, what the fuck?"

"I told you," Cellbit says. He squeaks as he gets a pinch to his side for his troubles, ouch. "Hey!"

'do it again...'

'DUDE WHAT THE FUCK?'

"Let me pick next time," Roier says. "My turn."

"Fine."

As if Cellbit could ever tell his husband no. He deserves everything and more... though all Cellbit can offer is killings in his honor. That's all he can give, but Roier deserves more. But it's what Cellbit can provide, and so it will be what he gives him.

Cellbit can't die. He's tried, and Death has sent him back to the world of the living with a tired sigh every time. Immortality is cool and all, but...

But Roier almost died in that ambulance. Bobby did die in the house. Richarlyson could die in the next great Avengers battle. Pepito...

Once upon a time, Spider-Man was a hero. But then his son died, not that anybody outside of a select few knew that, and he stopped working with the Avengers entirely.

Blood is crusted on Spider-Man's suit, hung in the secret panel in the bedroom closet right next to Deadpool's suit.

Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, yeah, but his home life is something entirely different.

"Stop thinking," Roier orders. "I'm trying to sleep."

Cellbit smiles into his pillow. "I'll try."

It's the least he can do.)

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#cw violence #idk how i feel about this one?#but can you tell. i read some of the comics as a teenager #trying to get both the deadp00l stuff and the cell stuff mixed together just right was HARD okay??

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cazzyf1 · 11 days

Text

Some facts about Niki Lauda

Five years since he left us today 💔

As a kid, he was bullied for coming from a well-off family and for having an overbite. He and his brother would be chauffeured to school, and Niki would beg to be dropped off around the corner so the kids wouldn't see him arriving in the car.

Niki failed his school degree but forged the certificate so his parents wouldn't know he had failed.

Niki's first job was working at a garage, but he was demoted to 'food runner' when he accidentally broke part of an expensive car. All the mechanics would chuck things at him from then.

One of his first cars was a car his friend's dad owned that he went out joyriding in and then crashed. He knew he had to buy the car before his friend's dad found out so ran to his grandma and told her if she didn't give him the money, he would go to jail.

Niki was always at odds with his grandad as he felt his grandad was very hypocritical. His grandad didn't want Niki to be racing and actually stopped one of the banks giving Niki money for his racing career but Niki got around his grandad in the end. Sadly his grandad died before Niki achieved any big success in Formula One.

He met his girlfriend Mariella skiing, when he fell down a slope and ended up lying in a star fish position beside her. As soon as he got up he invited her to a dance. They arrived and found the dance rather boring and left not long after.

As soon as he could, he moved out of his parent's house, determined to try and make his way in life without their help. This meant going into debt to try and fund his racing career. He even took out life insurance on himself.

After driving for March, he was let go and he felt incredibly depressed because he was in a lot of debt with no seat. He knew of a dead end road with a brick wall near to where he was driving and he debated driving into the wall but quickly got rid of those thoughts. He thankfully got a seat with BRM.

Niki would joke with his receptionist, where he would ask if Ferrari had called. One day the receptionist told him they had.

Mariella was popular among the driver wives, and she got along with Helen Stewart and Bette Hill, though she never really liked the sport and believed once Niki had won his world championship, he should retire to focus on things that would actually bring in money. Niki had no intention of retiring. When Niki suddenly broke up with her, the other drivers' wives tried to conspire to get Mariella and Niki back together, though he was now dedicated to Marlene.

Niki got along really well with Luca Cordero di Montezemolo and even named his first son, Lukas, after Luca.

Niki was raised with manners which included kissing a ladies hand. When he won the Monaco gp for the first time he kissed Princess Grace's hand which wasn't allowed. He was very confused as to why everyone was making a fuss about it.

Niki was attempting to dig out ground with a tractor for his own swimming pool when he accidentally flipped it and got crushed under breaking three ribs. From this he was introduced to Willi Dungl who told Niki he would have to travel to Vienna to be treated by him. Willi didn't believe he would but when Niki did turn up he agreed to treat him, and there, their friendship started which would be useful for when Niki had his bad crash at the Nürburgring because Willi helped him recover quickly

Niki has no memory of the crash after he left the pits, but when he was being transported to hospital someone ran up to him with a phone and asked him to give an interview for a Brazilian show. He has no idea what he said.

Niki didn't like the fact that people kept staring at his scars rather than at himself when they spoke to him, and so Willi grabbed a hat and put it on Niki's head. Niki then realised he could earn money by getting sponsors to pay him to wear a hat with their logo.

After 1976, the Ferrari team were trying to push Niki out as they felt after the crash he wouldn't be as good. But he had already signed the contract and made sure he was going to race for 1977, won the world championship and then left as he didn't want to deal with Ferrari's politics. It would take a few years before he and Enzo Ferrari reconciled.

Niki Lauda and James Hunt were friends and had lots of fun together. Niki invited James to a party and then offered to fly James to the GP practise the next day. James almost missed Niki's flight as he was still up partying in the morning.

When Niki Lauda retired, Marlene was so happy that when she found out the first thing she did was call Niki's grandmother to tell her and then went to the local bar where they lived and paid for all drinks to celebrate.

Niki is one of the few drivers that read the new terms for the 1982 super licence and organised to go on strike. He was one of the main leaders and one of the older drivers reassuring everyone else.

He wasn't happy when John Watson was let go and Alain Prost came in for Mclaren. He was suspicious on how nice Alain was and how fast he was but eventually he warmed up to Alain taking a mentor role.

Willi Dungl put Niki on a strict diet for his racing and overall fitness which is where Niki's obsession with having strawberries and yogurt every morning. Niki would try and cheat the diet all the time though including running across fields to his neighbours house to have schnitzel.

Dr Sid Watkins once caught Niki cheating his diet by having an English breakfast. When he confronted Niki, Niki replied 'Do you want me to die hungry?'

It was a close battle between Niki and Alain Prost but eventually Niki won. Niki could see Alain was upset though and told him this was his year and next year would be Alain's year.

Niki didn't care for his trophies and gave them to his local garage for free car washes. He eventually got them back when the man passed away, and his son Lukas sold them on eBay to earn money to fund his younger brother Mathias racing career.

When he first started working at Mercedes, him and Toto Wolff did not get along as there was a power struggle. They were called in to talk to the Mercedes bosses about it, and before the meeting, Niki confronted Toto in the toilets, and they agreed to get along.

Asshole was Niki's favourite word. He became known around Mercedes for saying the catchphrase 'Give it assholes'

During Lewis Hamilton and Nico Rosberg's rivalry, Niki invited them to his home in Ibiza and tried locking them in a room together to discuss their issues.

Niki once went to Toto when they were at a hotel complaing about the pay for view at the hotel not working. Toto had to show Niki how he could get 'action movies' on his phone.

A reporter once asked Niki how he prepared for the film 'Rush' he replied that he had prepared the barbecue.

On my Instagram account dedicated to Niki Lauda, @niki.lauda.tribute, today (20th), on my stories, I am hosting the opposite to submit anonymous messages about Niki Lauda. If you would like, you can send anything, like your thoughts on Niki, what he means to you, what an impact he has had on you, ect.

#classic f1 #niki lauda #f1 #formula one #formula 1 #rip niki lauda

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lemmetreatya · 1 year

Text

Change and Her Consorts — Miguel x Fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: 13 Minutes. 13 minutes was all it took for Miguel to (metaphorically) loose everything. Getting back onto his feet wasn’t easy, especially when life was changing and all he felt was stuck. But once you come back into his life, Witty, Hot and everything in between, Miguel wonders that maybe it was the change in others he needed to witness first before he could even consider making change for himself.

WORD COUNT: 5.6k+

CONTENT: modern au, childhood friends, afab reader, mature themes of death, grief, mental health issues, slightly angsty, hurt/comfort, is it a comedy? it’s a comedy, fluff, smut, sex, male penetration, mating press, blowjob, protected sex, nice ending i promise!!, i wouldn’t say reader is oc but she has a character for definite, also miguel is very??? difficult in this and his character can also be classed as ooc but its modern au and he’s been through it so bare with

Miguel knew he had to change.

Ever since he lost both his wife and kid to childbirth, it’d been so hard to piece things together again.

It’s honestly all bullshit. Finally thinking things were going good for him just for life to chew him up and spit him out like a fleshy plum seed all within the space of 13 minutes felt dehumanising to say the least. It left him fist fighting Depression, backing liquor shots of Sorrow and occasionally sharing a bed with Anxiety. That would fuck anyone up mentally and emotionally — And it did that to Miguel for a long time. He’s just grateful he had a good enough support system to crutch him through to the other side.

He sold the house he brought with his late wife and moved back in with his parents around eight months ago. That was a whole thing in itself. Left his job and hasn’t worked full-time since. He had a whole phase where he ‘no longer had anything to work for’ and therefore just…didn’t.

His parents were nice about it for a bit. Said he always had a home under their roof and that he could use the money he got from the insurance payout and house to cruise by while he healed. But then after about 3 months of Miguel taking the absolute piss with being unemployed, heartbroken, undriven and essentially a‘bum’ (Jessica Drew’s exact words), he found work in the local dairy produce factory as the ‘Payroll Guy’.

Despite none of this being his ideal picture of how life was supposed to look at this point of time, Miguel knew he had to change in order to survive. Having being so wrapped up within his own world, he knew that moving on in some capacity was his next step. Getting comfortable with the shell of a life he had now and the things he once knew were true would help with that.

The only issue is that Miguel forgot that others changed too.

An oof leaves Miguel’s mouth as his stomach is suddenly burdened with a paper sack to it. He looks down at his mother, more than a foot shorter than him, who’s passing him a bag of coals.

“I need this done.” She vaguely says.

“For the grill?”

Miguel asks it as an inquisitive question but he’s implying it more as disbelief that he’s been asked. His mother catches on and therefore explains her reasoning.

“I wouldn’t usually (‘ask you’, she implies but doesn’t say) but your fathers quickly gone to the shop and we need to start putting things on the grill. People will be arriving any minute now.” She dusts her hands before already moving elsewhere within the garden.

Miguel jogs the bag of coal in his arms and stagnantly turns his body in his mother’s direction; like a sunflower to the sun.

“Then I don’t have to do it?” He tried.

His mother gives him a quick look. It was sharp but she didn’t follow the intention through.

“I would like to start grilling things soon.” She stresses.

Miguel doesn’t reply right away since he’s been told he needs to think before he speaks. And so he thinks, hard, about what his mother was asking him and then answers accordingly to how he thinks he should.

“So I don’t have to put the coal in now?” He slowly enunciates.

“Ay, coño— Si! Si, Miguel! You have to put them in now, I’m telling you to put the charcoal in now! Vamos!”

Miguel lets out a haggard sigh.

He doesn’t like how he always get in trouble for these sort of things. He was bordering thirty and still had trouble depicting what his mother actually meant when she made implicit remarks.

The doorbell rings and so Miguel’s mother is shooting off back inside to open up for the guests, all not before giving Miguel certain The Nike Slogan eyes and a jabbing finger point towards the barbecue.

Begrudgingly, he gets a start on filling the bottom of the grill with sooty rocks.

As he’s detaching the rack, Miguel can hear high pitched welcoming and multiple voices towards the front of the house. He faintly hears someone ask for him, followed by his mother directing them towards the backyard where he was. At that, Miguel groans.

It’s not like he hated gatherings, but Miguel would definitely prefer a phone call or the occasional text message. Or just no communication at all.

But to his avail, he had no way of avoiding this. His parents were adamant to host a casual cookout of some sort and they knew he had nothing better to do so by default he had to be present. There wasn’t even a reason for the function. Just Something about opening up the home and having more laughter flow through it. Sounds cliche but Miguel didn’t care much for laughter anymore. Not that he never laughed — there were some humorously dark memes either Peter or Jess would send him that were subjectively funny and occasionally earned a breathy snort out of him. But it was no question that joy was definitely void in his life. It was hard to look forward to things and the days seemed to drag on and lack meaning.

No matter what way he looked at it, life was dull. There just wasn’t shit to be happy about.

“Miggy!”

Miguel perks up.

He recognises that voice anywhere.

He didn’t know you were coming but it definitely made sense for you to be here. His parents were making a bigger than usual deal out of this gathering so of course old faces would be present.

Miguel hears your voice call him by that juvenile nickname over and over again as you venture throughout the house. It’d been well over a decade since he last saw you but he knows both your parents keep in touch. Because of that, he doesn’t immediately turn around to address you once you enter the garden because he’s not expecting much and he’s still trying to evenly set up the coal rocks at the bottom of the grill.

“Miggy.” You say with perky tone.

The man’s sighing as he brings his head up, dusting his hands and wiping the apple of his cheek with the smudge of his palm.

“Till this day, what’d I tell you about calling…me...”

Miguel’s words are cut off short as soon as he turns to see you.

He opens and closes his mouth several time but nothing comes out. He’s adamant he looks so stupid right now but his shock is so genuine that he doesn’t blame himself for the reaction. Honestly, awestruck didn’t even cover half of what he was.

There you stood, in all your adulthood glory, a finer woman than he could have ever imagined you’d turn out to be.

Nothing about you was the same to how it was over a decade ago yet it was all so classically you. Or, whatever that meant. He’s not sure. If you’d given him creative direction over what he’d envisioned mid-20s you to look like, he definitely wouldn’t have come up with this.

Fuck, not like it matters what he thought. Why would anyone give him creative direction over anything? No, he’s not trying to say he wanted to control how you grew but he is saying whatever did, did a good job.

Oh, Miguel hates trying to justify things to himself. He knew what he wanted to say but he just didn’t know how to say it and it was pissing him off because this was all happening inside of his head and God, he probably looked crazy to you right now but he just couldn’t compute this change.

To put it plainly: You were hot now.

A soft tinkly chuckle leaves your throat as you notice the man’s frozen reaction.

“Hello to you too, Miguel. Everything okay out here?”

Miguel’s still freaking out mentally because man, even your laugh was the same but it was just so different and maturer and older and hot.

You amusingly side eye him, no longer calling him Miggy and cautious of his behaviour. You take a few steps round the back of him which ultimately puts you outside of his vision and peripheral. You end up on the opposite side, hands on your hips and face curious as you inspect the barbecue.

As soon as you’re out of his eyesight Miguel snaps out of the trance. His mind starts to catch him up to speed and he’s stuttering like crazy when he turns to you to try and explain himself.

“I—Ee—I…yeah. I…I’m setting up some rocks. For the grill. Not…Not just any rocks, like actual— actual charcoal, coal rocks that you…that you light barbecues with and…yeah.”

“I see.” Your tone is sarcastic, lightly teasing even, and Miguel has to curse himself for acting so lame.

He blinks at you a few times (Hot.) before casting his eyes back to the grill (Not hot. Yet). He occupies himself with the task.

“Of course. You know what coal is...” He mumbles the last bit to himself, a reminder that you weren’t an incompetent bristling teen anymore to whom he had to explain everything.

Miguel spends the majority of the barbecue in your company.

Not like he had much choice; you two were the only people around the same caliber. Everyone else was either middle aged, a couple, or a bustling child weaving between adult’s legs.

Chatting to each other wasn’t all that bad. You both nursed several bottled drinks between you and straddled garden chairs towards the bottom of the yard as you caught up with each other’s lives. Whilst he would have preferred hulling up in his room, having someone new to talk to as opposed to the same two people was rejuvenating.

Over the duration of your conversation, Miguel finds out that you’re a Data Analyst and it somehow makes him feel insecure about his crappy Payroll job. You however assure him that it was nothing to be ashamed of (“You’re a Finance Bro and I’m a Finance Girly. We go hand-in-hand!”). He also opens up about how he’s attending group therapy sessions — through which he met Peter and Jess. He also, speaks about Peter and Jess, but he quickly found out that apart from Peter and Jess, there wasn’t much else for him to talk about.

But surprisingly it was enough for convo because you always had new discussions to talk through with him anyways. Some were silly, (“Come on, you’ve got to admit it! The Teletubbbies having kids is just weird.”) some were trivial (“Cats or Dogs? — And be honest!”) and others reminiscent (“Remember how we tried to build a secret hide out in this very tree?”).

Miguel also found out that you were single.

“I know you mentioned you’re doing therapy and stuff but…how are you holding up? Like, really holding up?”

An automatic groan leaves Miguel’s mouth. There it was — three hours into the conversation. The million dollar question.

He hates gatherings and functions for this very reason. No matter how much people smiled in his general direction or pretended that they weren’t tiptoeing eggshells around him, they would always ask how he was in relation to That event in his life.

Not like they cared. If they cared, they would go out of their way to ask him, routinely check up on him, and not just when he was conveniently in front of them. They only asked because they were aware of the situation. Aware of his misfortune.

The guy who lost everything in 13 minutes.

The survivor of a freak accident.

Someone you’d pity from a far but thanked whoever that the situation never happened to you.

For that reason alone Miguel always lied and said he was ‘fine’ or that he was ‘holding up okay’. They’d give him pitying eyes, tell him that ‘things will get better’ and then kept it pushing. Usually, when it came to these questions, Miguel’s automatic response is to lie. But there was just something about you; Changed yet The Same you, where Miguel felt that he owed the honest and naked truth to.

“Honestly?” He drags a hand down his face. “I’m barely holding up at all. Everyday I feel like shit and if one day I surprisingly don’t, I know it’s a fluke and that I will definitely feel like shit tomorrow. It’s just a constant state of feeling off and never truly yourself.”

There’s a slight pause. It’s comfortable.

During that pause, you’re both privy to the music of party life. Chortling men, gossiping woman, squealing kids. It’s bittersweet because it kinda reminds Miguel of what he could have had.

Taking a swig of your drink, you make a humming noise before you’re replying to his triad.

“Damn. That’s rough, buddy.”

Miguel snorts.

Not because he likes how you’ve brushed off his miniature melancholy rant but because he gets the reference. Throughout the course of the barbecue, he thinks that’s one of his favourite things he’s noticed about you.

You both fall into another comfortable silence, before you’re adding:

“You know, being a widow kinda suits you.”

Maybe he spoke too soon about what his favourite thing about you was because now Miguel’s choking on his cider and wondering whether this too was a pop culture reference.

“I— wha— you can’t just say that kinda shit!” He turns to you and exclaims.

You scoff before rolling your eyes.

“You know I don’t mean it like that. Not that I like what’s happened to you — Rest in Peace to them — but as in the reverence that’s come with the trauma? It suits you. It’s matured you.”

You lull into another short pause but Miguel knows you weren’t finished. He also wonders if you’ve always been this harsh.

“Not sure if you’re aware but you were a real tool growing up, Miguel. Utter pure, soft, sheltered muck. This whole thing? It’s pushed you to survive. Moulded you. Given you a bit of character building, if you like.”

Your voice is much more calmer but it doesn’t change the fact that you just landed him with the most self-dismantling piece of information he’s heard in a while.

And yet it’s so bizarre because Miguel can’t help but find himself laughing.

Not one of those nose snorts when the group chat send subjectively funny memes or when he watches silly animal videos on his phone. No, Miguel’s caving over, free arm clutching to his stomach as he lets out a hefty guffaw. It doesn’t last long though. After about several seconds he completely stops laughing and sits back up regularly.

Initially, you think he was about to tell you it was all an act and what you said was in fact highly offensive. But it’s when he reverts back to his original position and continues to let out small huffs of laughter that you realise he’s just not used to reacting to things he finds extremely funny.

Which you’re questioning because nothing you said was a joke, but anything to get the sad man to smile, right?

But alas, seeing as he found humour in what you said, you let out a dry accompaniment of a laugh.

The two of you probably looked crazy, or at least drunk, as you each mildly chuckled away, weakly swaying side to side. When you both found it funny enough to stop laughing, Miguel spoke up first.

“Character building…” He huffs before taking another swig of his cider. “Well, that’s one way to put it.”

You turn your body in the man’s direction and he knows you have something profound to say. Miguel realises within some meta existence outside of himself that your company is oddly easy to keep.

“How else can you view it?” You warmly reply. “That it was meant to be? That you simply have bad luck? I dunno but every other option is just too demeaning and lifeless to live by. With this explanation at least it gives you a reason to carry on.”

Miguel nods solemnly with a pondering look on his face.

“I never saw it that way.”

“Of course you didn’t. You were grieving.”

There’s a pause but it’s not like the others you’ve shared so far. This silence was slightly uncomfortable, uncalled for even. Miguel didn’t mind it because he feels he’s already gone pass the point of feeling embarrassment with you but he could tell it put you in a compromising position.

Looking over to him, your face vacates something undetectable.

“And about that…”

You softly clear your throat. Miguel is about to take another swing of his drink, but it’s when he sees a glint of something in your eyes, that he decides to slowly lower the bottle neck from his mouth.

“I’m sorry for not being there for you. In all honesty I was around when it happened and definitely knew what was going on I just…I didn’t know how to approach you about it. We’d grown apart for a bit and it was just…it felt strange to give my condolences after being distant from you for so long.”

There’s a tingling sensation scratching at the cage of Miguel’s chest.

He doesn’t know what the feeling is. All he knows is that he hasn’t felt it in awhile. But then again, Miguel hasn’t felt a lot of things in awhile so he’s not questioning what it is. But most of all, Miguel is surprised that he’s feeling things for once. He’s not sure if he wants to confront himself about them but he knows that they’re influencing his thought process.

Miguel tries to take a sip of his drink, but suddenly the liquid felt foreign in his mouth and his throat seemed unwilling to gulp it down.

He contemplates backwashing it back into the bottle but he’s suddenly subconscious about his image in front of you and how you perceive him.

Weird.

He forces the cider down.

“It’s whatever. Shit happens.” He says while squeezing the edges of his lips clean.

You make a noise of disagreeal. You used to make it all the time as a teen. Miguel wonders if you continued using it after all these years or if you just redeveloped the habit having being in his presence. He also notices how your chair seems to be a lot closer to his despite you never moving once.

“I know.” You say with slow and downward enunciation. “But either way, I’m sorry. I should have done better by you.”

You’re trying to stress something to him. He knows that now for sure but Miguel doesn’t know what you’re putting down or what he’s allowed to pick up.

He watches over at you with firm determination to find out what you’re insinuating but once he sees the way your eyes reflect the fiery dances of ambers, oranges and borderline crimson reds, he turns his head forwards again and clears his throat.

“I hear it. I appreciate your honesty.”

Miguel doesn’t know how he got into this position.

Actually, he does. He very clearly remembers how he asked you if you wanted to carry on talking inside, within his room specifically, and how he smooth talked you into getting on your knees.

But in all honesty, he didn’t mean for it to turn out this way (or maybe he did). Yeah, he may have walked up those stairs with his dick lurching colourfully within his pants at the insinuation, but his initial intentions was to give you a safer space to talk. He’s honest when he says his invitation was powered by a lot more than just pure unadulterated lust.

“Fuck…” He hisses once you scrape your bottom teeth ever so lightly against his shaft.

Miguel doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He doesn’t think animalisticaly stuffing them in your hair will do him any good and he thinks a hand on the cheek is too intimate. All he can find appropriate is to splay his hands behind him and slightly lean back to watch you work.

It’s almost alien seeing how your cheeks hollow over his cock and how your eyes fluttered shut as you manoeuvre your mouth up and down the length of his member, your hand helping you with what your mouth couldn’t reach.

Miguel doesn’t think there’s anything dehumanising about this.

He was so sure you were giving him the eyes back in the garden. And with the way your lips quipped to one side when he invited you into his room? Yeah, you were big people now. Adults. These sort of things weren’t like hushed secrets or tales of promiscuous old — these were You Either Do or Don’ts — and you both decided to Do.

“I-I’m close.”

No, there was nothing dehumanising about having your now super hot (and single!) childhood friend suck your cock within your childhood bedroom whilst your parents backyard party went on just outside your window.

Whether it felt right or not was for Later Miguel to worry about.

Despite his heed, you were still working your mouth over his cock. Your lips were so prettily spaced around his girth — almost a perfect fit, and Miguel knows he could easily finish this way but he’s making an active decision not to.

He wants to be mildly selfish and ask for more.

“I-I said I’m…nrgh.” Miguel sits forward before laying a few fingers to your forehead. “I don’t want to finish like this.”

You release Miguel’s cock from your mouth with a pop but you don’t leave him hanging dry. Your hand continues to stroke at his wet shaft and fuck, the way your lips glisten with your spit and his precum is legitimately going to push him off the edge, but he has to refrain himself.

“How else did you plan on finishing?” You quip.

Miguel seems to freeze as he gives you a look of expected understanding, and at first, he’s so sure you were going to make him spell it out but as predicted, you caught on quick and your eyes widen in realisation.

“Oh.”

Your hand discontinues stroking Miguel’s cock and he mildly panics at your response.

That didn’t seem like a good ‘oh’. Miguel doesn’t mean to be an enemy of his own progress but trust for him to end the day with a fractured friendship and blue balls. Suddenly, Miguels backpedalling on his initial stance of being selfish and getting what he wants.

“We don’t have to. I—Only if it’s okay with you, if you’re comfortable with it.”

“No. It’s fine.” Your tongue pokes out to swipe at your lips. Fuck. “Might as well get something out of this.” You quip.

Miguel wonders whether he should have been cautious of how rusty his pipe game had gotten. He hadn’t been intimate with anyone since his late wife and even then, he stayed off of her most of her pregnancy. Either way, as he’s thrusting his cock in and out of you, all he can think of is how forward you were with telling him about himself outside in the garden.

It’s not like he was a masochist or into degradation, but there was something about the way you were so bold and open in highlighting his flaws despite the satellite silence for well over a decade.

“How’s this for maturity, huh? For character building?” He grunts into your ear.

Okay, so maybe Miguel’s sex talk has gotten only a bit rustier, but with the way whimpering whines dribble from your lips, he knows he’s got you wrapped around his finger like a promise string. He folds you into a deeper mating press, your feet cuddling his upper back and his body pressed against the warmth of your breasts.

“M-Miggy.” You moan into his collarbone.

The nickname causes an innate and deep annoyance to sprout from Miguel’s chest — so much so that he replies inadequately.

“Shut up.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he notices your stilling against his body and he immediately regrets his words. He however continues to fuck into you.

“S-sorry. I di-didn’t me—“

“Miggy.” You moan again, this time with even more intentional lust and immediately he knows what you’re doing.

“Don’t.”

His warning is solid, and inertly tinged with concern, because Miguel’s unsure how he’s supposed to look you in the eyes after this. You’re playing devious games, dangerous ones as you nail at his back.

“T-t-touch me, Miggy.”

Now, you’re really testing his patience but also his limits because Miguel is taking everything in him not to go all out.

And so he complies. Despite him knowing that it was going to rot at his brain for eons and eons to come, that he wasn’t going to be able to back away from this now that he’s had a taste, that he couldn’t go back to be being just Childhood Friends with you, he complies.

One of Miguel’s hands reaches down between the both of you and once he wedges it close enough, he allows his thumb to swipe at the meat of your swollen clit.

The mewl you let out is instant and makes Miguel’s dick hiccup inside of you and suddenly he’s seeing stars. Had you no concern for the party still very much going on? The possibility of someone hearing you? The issue of getting caught?!

A devious grin finds its way onto Miguel’s lips and he’s pressing wet open mouth kisses just below your earlobe.

“You’re so fucking dirty.” He breathes.

Quite frankly he’s lying through his teeth.

There is nothing about this experience or your request or your wanton reaction that was dirty. It was all in fact very sexy, lucrative. Hot. Miguel would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying every wet second of it.

The man can’t help but look down and watch as he bounces his hips harder against your seeping cunt. White froth forms around the base of his dick and he can’t deny that the sight arouses him.

“Is this who you really are, huh? All this time…all this time.”

It’s implicit what he accuses that you’re so called hiding, as if you haven’t been transparent with him this whole time. A breathy laugh leaves your throat.

“You’re…pro-projecting.” You mutter.

All Miguel can moan in reply is:

“I know.”

It doesn’t take long after that before you’re cumming around Miguel’s dick and him into the wryly rubber of the condom.

“Where do we go from here?”

Miguel is first to speak.

The two of you have been chilling out in silence for the most of twenty minutes. He was kind enough to let you stay underneath his covers. You were comfortable as you used his bed as your own, scrolling through your phone with one hand underneath your head and your feet rubbing like cricket legs. There was enough room for both of you to lie under there but you said something about not wanting to touch him just after sex.

Miguel deadpanned and then proceeded to call you things like spoilt and bratty in Spanish, but he still let you have your way.

Now he was sat at the foot of his own bed (can you believe!), back against the wall as he idly played a game on his console.

His phone had been buzzing all day; Peter and Jess ultimately amusing themselves in the group chat all whilst occasionally asking where Miguel was and whether the social interactions of the barbecue had killed him yet. He could respond now, but he’s saving the reveal of what went down till after you’re out of his hair. That way he can fanboy in the peace of his own company.

But now that the two of you were silently sharing a space, Miguel is starting to wonder whether he wanted his own isolated company now so that he could think properly. It’s when he’s failed to complete a level for the fifth time in a row (because his minds occupied on you) that he decides to lower the controller and therefore ask you that question.

Your eyes continue to stay glued to your phone screen as you answer him.

“We don’t have to go anywhere.” You mumble plainly. “Don’t have to put a name on anything.”

Miguel sighs loudly and he’s rubbing his face with both hands. His dramatics pass over you.

“Fuck, no, no. I’m not doing that. It’s either we are or wes isn’t. I haven’t got the capacity for any of that situationship, fuck buddies, friends with benefits bullshit people’ve got going on.”

Miguel is scared for himself once he says the words because it’s only after they tumble out his mouth that he realises they were kinda harsh — which, technically shouldn’t be a problem concerning that was this evening’s whole weird theme.

But he feels even more afraid because as stupid as it sounds, he can’t lose you. Another staple in his life. Despite him only reconnecting with you for the past few hours or so, Miguel has grown very attached to you and would be an idiot to deny that you meant a lot to him.

He couldn’t afford to lose you over one fuck.

Either way, Miguel doesn’t regret those words. They were a direct reflection of how he felt, of what he was thinking whilst he was fucking into you not even half an hour ago. He knows that this one canon event has caused a split trajectory for the both of you. Miguel thinks whatever happens after this is just another testament to how life continuously deals him rubbish cards but he can’t figure out what’s worst: having to let go of a possibly good thing or deal with the change that will now inevitably come with the relationship.

However you, clearly not as turmoiled as Miguel, slightly lower your phone screen from your face so that you could stare at the man.

“Then ‘wes isn’t’ anything then. Simple as.”

It was so obvious this was affecting Miguel internally because there’s that screw up face he does when he’s inadvertently tickled by something he’s heard. He use to do that a lot growing up.

“How can you be so calm about this?” He asks.

“Because it’s not that deep.” You shrug.

Now Miguel’s leaning closer to you, voice seeming to seethe but as a clear defence mechanism.

“Whaddyou mean it’s not that deep?!” He spits.

Because he’s acting like this, you now have to lock your phone and place it down onto the bed so that you can give him your utmost attention. You’re even thinking to back track your earlier words about him having matured. It was obvious that he was still that same young boy who sought to always get what he wanted.

In a weird sense, it was comforting.

“Not in that way, dummy.”

You force yourself to sit up against his headboard, the blanket sliding down to expose your naked chest.

“I didn’t see sex with you as casual, Miguel. It was definitely something. But I’m just… Mm. I don’t wanna say I’m not in a rush to label anything but, it’s you. Lil o’ Miggy from two doors down. There’s too much to us and who we are, how long we’ve known each other, how much we’ve experienced each other to let sex completely change that.”

You can tell he wasn’t expecting your words because his face falls and his eyes widen. He’s so unaware of his facial expressions that it’s cute.

With a huff of laughter you shake your head before slouching backwards even more. The way your eyes doll over him was surely a testament to your lack of will power when it came to him. Always has and always will be.

“I love you but in a much bigger way than just platonically or romantically or sexually. You mean a lot to me and I’m grateful we were able to have that experience to strengthen that.” You say softly.

Miguel finally closes his mouth. His eyes still bore holes into you but you can see his skin start to redden in the embarrassment from the chest upwards.

You’d figure it’d be a lot for him to take in. Granted — because hearing your childhood friend say they loved you in a much larger capacity than anyone ever could — despite having not seen each other in years, straight after sex, was definitely something. And you figure that part of it was you trying to express to him that you really were sorry, so you realise your triad can almost be viewed as borderline manipulative, but you wasn’t lying.

You loved the man in a bigger way than fathomably possible, and that was the truth.

Finally coming to his senses, Miguel leans back against his bedroom wall again, picks up his controller and resumes to play his game. Initially, you think he’s taken your words the wrong way and misunderstood you, but then he starts mumbling something as he’s watching the screen with a hard stare and blotchy crimson skin.

“That’s unfair.” He mumbles, the click of the controller working in between pauses. “You can’t tell me you love me whilst showing me your boobs. It’s cheating.”

And you laugh, because what else can you do? As hard-headed and brash as he was in his earlier days, this was who Miguel was. It’s the first version of him you ever fell in love with and didn’t stop loving. It’s the version you’re carpingly in love with now.

Lifting up a corner of the duvet, you give the man permission to join you in his own bed.

“Miggy, just get underneath the blanket and stop pouting at me.” You say, and he can’t but help instantly crawl over and dutifully comply.

#miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099 #spiderman #across the spider verse #across the spider verse smut #atsv smut #atsv x reader #atsv x black reader smut #atsv x black reader #atsv

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potol0ver · 7 months

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Ask; Hello, I read you have your request open, and I really like how you write about Erik. So, if you feel in the mood, I like some scenario (GN or AFAB) in which y/n starts to work ato Opera House like an skilled effect artist and one night, when y/n finally has some time free and alone, Erik found her playing something like ROxxanne tango with the cello, because she play it but only for herself.

Tags; Fluff, GN reader (you and yours),

A/N; Hey, I’ve been silent for a while and I’m sorry for that. I wasn’t motivated to post any fics and was in writers block. Now I need to focus on my health because a serious health concern has come up for me, so I apologize for continuing to be radio silent. I’m a little out of it while I’m writing this so I’m sorry, Please injoy this fic, it will most likely be the last for a while. (You may continue sending asks just be warned I might not be able to get to it for a couple of reasons.)

With a heavy sigh you put aside your art peice, a stage mask that just wasn’t holding up to your standards. You’ve painted over your dried paint and wiped it off to many times to count already. Your hands had become shaky long ago as you sit at your desk that was in an obscure corner of the Opera house.

You push your chair back that gave a screech and sluggishly walked back to your small room in the Opera house. Thankfully it looks like none of your roommates are in the room which means you can properly relax and wind down. Most importantly in your mind, it means you can practice your cello without disturbing anyone.

Quickly you set up your space, adjusting your chair, setting up your music stand, making sure your bow has enough rosin. Flipping to your favorite cello peice you take a breath and start playing. Letting your fingers and how move on the strings fluently, you we’re getting entranced by your cello. Unknown to you, you weren’t the only one being entranced.

Somewhere deep in the Opera house, the Phantom can hear your playing faintly thanks to the echoing of the monumental walls. Intrigued, Erik quietly yet softly made his way to you until he could hear you clearly. Leaning against a wall he let his eyes shut and get wrapping up in your music, loving where you crescendoed and adding your own flare.

When you got to the end of the piece and pause your playing to find another to play, he finally peeked a look at you. He thought you would’ve been apart if the orchestra, but he didn’t recognize you, it also looked your your cello while well kept, was quite old to. Erik became very fascinated by you now, he started by “testing” you. Slipping new and harder pieces for you to try, and if you did play them he’d be happily surprised with how well you make the notes come to life.

Next, after you passed his “test”, he worked hard to see if he can find you a proper newer cello. Only the best for his new found talent, that day by day he was slowly falling for. The more he became infatuated with you he got more determined to find a cello to match your one of a kind soul.

After a while he did find a very good cello, a one of a kind, just for you. So, Erik made quick work to insure it’s yours. He personally polished and cleaned it, making sure no scratches were on the instrument. While you were working hard at your props job for the play, he made diligent work to set up the present in your new room. That of course was also a present from him. How could he let his musical muse share a room with a bunch of strangers?

Leaning the cello against the bedside table he placed a rose and a note next to it. Despite watching you for so long and being so devoted to you, he never got to the courage to say anything to you. Hopefully the grand presents will be a good first impression.

Groggily you walk back to your room, only to be told you don’t sleep there any more. Which after the long day you had of making props wasn’t good for your anxiety. As you followed the directions to your new room, you think about how you could’ve gotten on the bad side of someone to get an even more run down place to sleep in than what you have already had.

All of those thoughts quickly got washed away when you opened the door to your new room. It had everything you needed to live alone, a small kitchen/living room, a nice bedroom with a decent sized closet, even a space to practice your cello. You were so stunned at what you did to deserve this new room that you didn’t question how everything you own was already there.

Quickly, your eyes caught the sight of the luxurious cello next to your new bed. Gently you caressed it, looking over all of the fine details, it looked like a masterpiece that was specifically catered to you. The red rose next to the cello caught your eye next, along with the letter that had a skull stamp.

Carefully opening the letter you scanned the words, a mixture of your emotions sitting in your stomach as you read.

“My dear, I have heard you playing for a while now, and I must say the way you make the notes come to life is hauntingly stunning. You have caught my interest in the best way.

I know you haven’t seen me or heard me before, which is why I hope your new room and house warming gifts are a good first impression. If you wish, I can also arrange a seat for you in the opera’s orchestra so you don’t have to continue working in the messy arts department.

P.S. If it’s not to much to ask, I would like to hear back from you, so please consider us to be pen pals now. Also, if you ever need a quiet place to practice you can always come to my lair to whine down, maybe that way we can play music together.

~Yours devotedly O.G.”

A single thought ran through your mind as a mixture of unease and swooning butterflies ran through you…

What have you gotten yourself into?

#erik destler #erik poto #phantom of the opera #erik destler x reader #erik x reader #phantom x reader #phantom Drabble #phantom of the opera x reader

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randomshyperson · 2 years

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Beach Weekend - Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: A chaotic and disastrous weekend with your lovely family and group of friends has some issues: Steve Rogers should not be left to take care of the accommodation, everyone has lost their jobs and Wanda is a very jealous wife. || Based on a Brazilian movie.

Warnings: (+16) attempt at humor, chaotic domesticity, lots of cuteness and jokes, established relationship, mentions and innuendo of smut and mentions of homemade artificial insemination, explicit language (cursing) || Words: 6.004k

A/N: I was talking to abimess about the lack of Brazilian representation in basically everything, and she had the brilliant idea of a special collection with stories with a Brazilian Reader. However, none of us would have the time to do it, still, I plan to write some loose stories about it. This story for example is based on a very famous Brazilian comedy film, hope you all like it.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad |

--//--

Being an adult usually had only two meanings: Not having the time or not having money. And both could happen simultaneously.

Yet, with the mass resignation of the Bishop Security Company after the owner's exposure of felony evasion, you and your co-workers and closest friends, Maria Hill and Steve Rogers, decided that the insurance money would be a good opportunity to have decent summer vacation for once in your life.

Convincing your wife would be the tricky part.

"Absolutely not." Wanda spoke with an indignant expression as soon as you finished counting. "We need to save money, Y/N. You still haven't received any feedback on the resumes you sent out, and we're not going to waste our savings because Rogers wants to have beers on the beach." Wanda declared seriously, but at that moment, the twins were coming down the stairs, and Tommy let out an excited exclamation.

"Are we going to the beach?"

"No, Tommy-"

But if there was one thing Wanda had a problem doing, it was saying no to her boys' puppy dog eyes - and coupled with your kisses - she rolled her eyes and eventually agreed.

So, you left New York in a pickup truck with your family headed for the seashore.

"Who took care of the lodging?" Wanda asked from the passenger seat - she looked, in your humble opinion, stunning in her sunglasses.

You turned down the radio a little to answer her.

"Steve. He said something about an old friend who had a boat and a beach house." You answer and Wanda hums in agreement, half distracted with her cell phone. You look through the rearview mirror at the twins, also focused on electronic devices, and sigh. "You know, it would be nice if we tried to disconnect a little from the Internet this holiday, don't you guys think?"

No one even hears your question, and you roll your eyes before turning the radio back up.

You stayed on the road for almost three hours because of the traffic, but everyone was very pleased when the sea became visible. The joy lasted only for the next 20 minutes.

"Are you sure we are at the right address?" Wanda asked with a grimace as soon as you parked the car in front of an old gate, a considerable amount of moss covering the bricks, and grass growing everywhere.

You were equally confused, and got out of the car with some hesitation, looking around. It was a somewhat isolated area from the rest of the houses, but the yard led to the beach. From the beam of the gate you could see that there was also a swimming pool.

Taking your cell phone, you dialed Steve's number while your family waited in the car - Wanda leaned into the back seat to calm the twins who were already starting to get restless.

"Rogers, I think we missed the entrance or something. Are you here yet?"

"No, I'm about ten minutes away. Send me your location and I'll pick you up."

But apparently, you were in the right place. And when Steve Rogers parked his car next to yours, you were just as annoyed as Wanda.

"You said you were going to take care of the lodging!" You accused the blond who held up his hands in surrender.

"Hey, I said I knew the owner, that's different!" He defended himself. "Sam said the place is nice, you haven't even been in and you're already making judgments." He argues. "And stop yelling at me in front of my fiancé, it's bad luck." He whispered the last part, taking advantage of Bucky getting out of the car, and you rolled your eyes impatiently.

The place was not nice. It was a surprise that it was actually standing.

You only didn't choke Steve because Maria arrived on a motorcycle with her girlfriend and she looked like she was going to do it first.

"Rogers, I promised her an incredible weekend and you put us in this hole!" Maria grunts between teeth as the three of you are supposedly checking out the kitchen, your families waiting for you in the living room.

"Look, the value was really good! I had no idea the place was in this condition." Steve defends himself. "Sam told me it was his family's house, and that they haven't been here in a few years..."

"More like a few centuries." You retort rubbing your forehead. You can hear Wanda's voice asking the kids not to touch anything, acknowledging that pitch of anger, and you can already imagine the lecture. And honestly, she's right.

"I'll call Sam." Steve says, sounding like he's more about running away from the discussion than solving something.

To add to Wanda's irritation, you had also suggested that she invite Pietro and his family, figuring that your friend would have picked a really nice place. So when the twin arrived with Monica and little Luna, you knew that the thin ice had burst.

Pietro let out a laugh when he saw the state of the room.

"It looks like a hurricane came through in here." He commented dropping one of the suitcases on the floor, his wife holding her daughter as if afraid she would catch some disease from the floor. "Well, I'll take the larger room!"

Pietro's sentence caused a commotion. You shuddered at the look Wanda threw you before she ran to catch up with the boys who went to dispute the room with their uncle, and you sat down on the old couch with a grunt, a migraine forming.

"Sam said he'll be here in fifteen minutes." Steve informs you and Maria as he returns to the living room with a cell phone in hand.

Apparently, it was the housekeeper's fault. Sam was a nice guy, and really didn't know that the house wasn't being taken care of properly. It took him almost 30 minutes to arrive however because he brought several pieces of cleaning equipment to help improve the appearance of the house.

"Amazing, guys! I go to the beach with everyone who has nothing to do with the choice of lodging and the rest of you are left in charge of cleaning." Wanda declares to the room and no one has the courage to contradict her.

And so you spend the rest of your afternoon trying to get mold out of the inside of a pool.

"Natasha seems nice." Steve tells Maria a few hours into the cleanup when the three of you are taking old bottles out.

"She's amazing." Your friend retorts with an excited sigh. "I was a little unsure about this open relationship thing, but we're doing fine."

"Wait, does that mean you two can sleep with other people?" Steve asks surprised, and Maria giggles, shaking her shoulders as the three of you make your way back inside, at least three rooms with plenty of cleaning to be done yet.

"If we are in agreement, yes." Answers the brunette.

"Damn I could never do that." Steve comments and you hum in response.

"Just the thought of Wanda sleeping with someone else makes my skin itch."

"I didn't know you were the jealous type, Y/N." Maria comments and you give a short laugh, your hands busy moving the pillows to dust them off.

"Have you seen my wife, Hill? No, wait, don't look at her like that." You joke making all three of you laugh. "I'm not really, just truly monogamous. Believe me, Wanda is jealous of this relationship."

Steve laughed in agreement. "Oh, I recall that. Before you joined the company, Maria, Y/N trained a new girl, I think her name was Carol or something. Wanda looked ready to rip someone's head off every time her name was mentioned."

"I thought it was cute."

"It was scary." Steve contradicts making you laugh.

You get back to cleaning the house between conversations about work and side scares, and as the place gets cleaner, the anger about the inconveniences eventually takes a back seat.

Wanda and the others don't return until late afternoon, the kids running in dirty with sand and making a huge mess in the shower.

You are testing the waters calmly, but realize that a day at the beach with the twins seems to have relaxed Wanda a bit. You try to improve things a bit by promptly offering to take care of the twins, cleaning up all the mess and making sure they were in their pajamas and ready for dinner without delay.

Wanda smiled at you in thanks before heading to the kitchen and that made you sigh with relief.

"She's mad." Tommy warns you as you dry his hair and you look at your son with a grimace.

"Are you sure?"

"She smashed the volleyball." It is Billy who answers, and you sigh with slight panic.

"Boys do you have any suggestions?" You ask them, going to dry the other's hair.

"A new house." Tommy mutters taking an elbow from his brother.

"Foot massage, mommy. And you could buy some chocolates too." Billy suggests and you smile at them.

"You two are the best." You say kissing the head of each before letting them run into the kitchen.

—------—------

Everyone was tired from the trip and the beach, so plans for the barbecue and pool would be left for the next few days. The children were put in one room, and you, Wanda and Maria and Natasha in the other, while Steve and Bucky took the couches. The hammocks for Pietro and Monica.

"Did you girls get to know each other well?" Maria asked when the four of you were in the room. You were sitting cross-legged on the bed, waiting for Wanda to finish drying her hair and get into bed, while Natasha was grabbing bath items to use after Maria who had just left the shower.

Wanda and Nat exchanged gentle smiles. "Yes, Natalia is a sweetheart." Your wife commented, causing Maria to smile. "She mentioned that you guys almost went to St.Petersburg, but ended up choosing the beach. I imagine the regret must be bitter." Wanda joked, and although Maria and Nat laughed, you knew it was a warning that she hadn't forgiven you yet.

"I don't know, Wanda, trading thick coats for the chance to see this goddess in a bikini seems like a good game." Natasha flirts with her girlfriend, stealing a kiss on the way to the bathroom, and as soon as the door closes, Maria grunts with excitement, ignoring the giggles from you and Wanda.

"God, that woman is going to kill me." Hill said.

"Doesn't it make you want to keep her all to yourself?" You tease just to torment her, and Maria chuckles, raising her middle finger at you. Wanda watches the scene with confusion.

"What do you mean?" She asks, and Maria quickly tries to explain about them being in an open relationship. "Wow, that's... modern."

You give a short laugh, which Maria follows. "Come on Maximoff, you can say you think it's a crazy idea. Steve does."

But Wanda shrugs her shoulders, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "No, I think it's nice. If it works for you, and it's something you like, then I really don't see why it would be a problem. In fact, it sounds interesting, I imagine you guys must never get bored."

Maria laughs, commenting that boredom has never been a problem, but you frown in hesitation.

"In fact, girls, I think Nat forgot her soap and I would never want her to have her bath marred by that little triviality..." Maria says a moment later, ignoring the rolling of your eyes to run to the bathroom and you turn your attention back to your wife lying on the bed beside you.

"Hey, pretty girl, since when do you think an open relationship is cool?" You ask, moving to the edge of the bed without delay, your hands finding Wanda's feet to place them in your lap. She gives a confused giggle.

"What, I'm not allowed to?" She retorts half sarcastically, the irritation over the events from earlier still fresh in her mind.

You sigh. "You can think whatever you want, Wanda. I was just surprised. And that talk about being bored..." Your voice grew a little unsure, causing Wanda to frown in curiosity. "It wasn't about us was it?"

Wanda giggled incredulously. "By God, honey."

"What? It's an honest doubt." You defend yourself with flushed cheeks, and Wanda bites back a smile. She would like to be irritated with you for more than a few hours, but you make the job so difficult.

"Baby, we have sex almost every day."

"Yeah, but you could be getting tired..." You mutter upset, your fingers massaging Wanda's feet and she grunts softly.

"I promise I'm not."

"So you wouldn't want to open our marriage?"

"Babe, don't make me kick your pretty face." Wanda warns causing you to chuckle. She closes her eyes to enjoy the massage better and you smile affectionately as you watch the soft sighs that leave her lips in appreciation of the touch.

You lick your lips a minute later, stopping your movements to lean down and kiss her thighs, making Wanda open her eyes.

"What are you doing?" She asks almost tense, her gaze going to the closed door. You only press a hand to her stomach to get her to lie back down, and the other pulls the comforter over you.

"Making sure there's no boredom." You retort, fingers climbing up into her nightgown as your mouth kisses the inside of her thigh and up, making Wanda shudder softly.

"Baby, the girls could be back any moment..." She reminds you with the last remaining bit of sanity, but you only laugh softly against her skin.

"Adrenaline makes everything better, don't you think?" It is your last comment, and Wanda will not argue any further.

–//–

The second day is infinitely better than the first. Apparently, one orgasm is enough for Wanda to forgive you for a bad weekend, and when you join everyone on the beach, it's really fun.

The only inconvenience is Pietro mistaking sunscreen for suntan lotion and turning all the kids into shrimp, which stresses the mothers out to a considerable degree.

You end up going back early because of this, and you offer to go to the pharmacy to get some ointment for them, being joined by Natasha in the car as the woman also wanted to buy some items.

You chat a bit on the way, she has a sarcastic humor but is pleasant company. She also flirts a lot with the natural way in which compliments escape her, and the interaction leaves you feeling a bit awkward.

The problem is that for your wife, you arriving with easy smiles and a flushed face with a beautiful woman like Natasha is not exactly the best thing in the world. So her passive hostility from before returns and you have no idea why.

You focus on soothing the burns of the three naughty children on the couch for the moment though.

Wanda, on the other hand, is quite interested in finding out why you arrived laughing with Natasha, and once the redhead joins Steve and Bucky in preparing the barbecue, the shorter one is trying to sound as casual as possible.

"[...] your wife is really very nice, that's all." Natasha assures amiably, her hands busy grabbing a cold beer. "I told her about not knowing New York very well, and she told me that with the company's trainee program she ended up getting to know the city like the back of her hand and that if I were in Queens sometime, we could schedule a coffee. She is very helpful."

Wanda forces a smile. "Yes, very helpful. Lovely." She commented, the sarcasm being missed by Nat, who wasted no time in continuing the conversation.

You didn't understand any of the murderous looks you received from Wanda every time she took a sip of beer while talking to Nat, but honestly, you were afraid to ask.

The barbecue gets livelier as Pietro gets the radio and speakers working, and you proudly fill the pool that you have successfully cleaned.

While the kids are playing in the water, you approach Wanda from behind, hands on her waist, but when you go to kiss her, she turns her face away and you end up just brushing up against her cheek.

She takes a long swig of beer, prologuing the lack of explanation and causing you to raise an eyebrow.

"What's wrong?" You ask in a whisper, holding her by the waist while the others are busy dancing and talking.

"Nothing." She retorts between teeth, returning the bottle to the counter in front of her, leaning her ass against you.

"Wanda." You insist, appreciating the warmth, but worried about the way she is acting.

Your wife just turns her face to you, an innocent expression that doesn't match the way her eyes are shining. "It's nothing, honey, I just heard about you being the best tour guide in New York."

You frown in confusion. "What...?"

But Wanda slips your hands away as she spins her body around, hands finding the collar of your shirt. "So helpful with other people's girlfriends."

You sigh as you understand. "Wanda, I was just trying to be nice..." You try, but she leans her face against yours, brushing your lips together and making you lose your line of reasoning. Wanda kisses you softly and suddenly bites your mouth just on the limit so as not to hurt, the gentle pain being a clear reminder of her annoyance, and you grunt softly as she pulls away. " No need to be mean."

She gives a naughty little laugh, licking her lips and attracting the immediate attention of your eyes.

But your interaction is interrupted when Steve announces that the couple he befriended on the beach earlier was at the gate. Tony Stark, his wife Pepper, and their daughter Morgan had brought more food and drinks for the barbecue, and you whispered that you were going to be as friendly as ever just to tempt her.

The barbecue continues throughout the day. Everyone gets to know each other, and around three, you decide that you would also like to join the pool, and having gotten busy you were not yet in your swimsuit.

You went inside to change and found the bathroom empty. Since everyone was outside and you were only going to put your top on, you didn't lock the door. As soon as you took off your shirt, someone came in.

Nat closed the door and turned around, surprised to find you without clothes.

"Oh, sorry, my bad." She apologized without any shame, just regret that she had intruded. The problem is that when she went to open the door, the old doorknob made a noise and fell to the floor. "That's not good."

You put on your T-shirt in record time, moving to the door as well.

"Shit." You grumbled, trying to push the door open but to no avail. You immeasurably started to knock, but the loud sound muffled it. "No, no, no."

Natasha gave a confused giggle at your reaction. "Look, that sucks, but I promise I'm not the worst company to be locked up with." She jokes, a little unsure, after all, she was the girlfriend of one of your close friends and just wanted to make a good impression.

You gesture to her quickly. "Oh, no, it's not you. I just need to get out of this bathroom before my wife dreams that I ended up in a small space with a beautiful woman."

"Well, thank you." She retorts and you grunt in embarrassment, but Nat seems to be finding the whole thing amusing. She leans on the wall next to the door, pulling out her cell phone and you sigh impatiently, trying to slam the door again.

Shortly after, you hear footsteps and knock harder.

"Hey, we're stuck!" You warn.

"Mom?" it's Tommy's confused voice, and you sigh in relief.

"Yes, honey, Aunt Nat and I got stuck in the bathroom, try calling Uncle Pietro without alerting anyone and-"

"MAMA! MOMMY GOT STUCK IN THE BATHROOM WITH AUNT NATASHA" Tommy shouts into the hallway with a mischievous laugh, and you feel your body freeze. Even Nat laughs softly at your reaction.

Wanda moves so fast out of her seat that the pillows hit the floor. She reaches the door in a rage and starts knocking hard.

"Y/N? OPEN THIS DOOR NOW!"

You shudder, taking a step away. "Wanda, honey, the lock broke..."

Another loud knock. You heard other footsteps, and the music slowed, so it wasn't hard to deduce that the whole group was in the hallway.

"What happened people?" Pietro asked confused.

"Pietro, Natasha, and I got stuck in here." You replied from the other side and wanted to dig yourself a hole for giggles.

"Everyone out now." Wanda speaking tapped her foot, and you heard footsteps and giggling children, signaling that the children all ran to the pool again. "Y/N, open this door right now!"

You sigh wearily, looking around. Natasha moves as well, grabs a toothbrush, and pats you on the shoulder to make room for her.

"Maybe if we shove this in here..." She comments but is interrupted by a loud exclamation and laughter from the other side.

"SHOVE IT IN? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" Wanda questions explosively, and you grunt softly.

"Look, sestra, from the sounds of it it must be good stuff." Pietro sneers, and you hear a slapping noise and another chuckle.

Natasha seems to be having a hard time holding back her laughter, offering you a frown by Wanda's reaction, but all you do is sigh and sit down on one of the little stools by the door.

"Wanda, relax, I'm sure it's fine in there." Steve tries to reassure her.

"Yes, I'll go look for a screwdriver." It is Bucky who speaks and you hear his footsteps getting away.

"Of course, it's fine, by the way, it's a great opportunity for a bonding hour." Pietro teases getting another chuckle, but you sink your face into your own hands, grumbling in frustration. "Wow, I think they've even started."

The snickering makes you blush with embarrassment, but soon you jump in fright because Wanda gives another loud knock on the door.

"Y/N, I swear to god if I hear any more strange sounds..." She warns between teeth, and you swallow dryly, not even daring to breathe too loudly.

Natasha gives up trying to open it with her toothbrush, seeing that it wouldn't work and leans back on the wall.

"I don't know about you, Wanda, but sometimes silence can even be worse." Monica joins in the tormentors, and you hear Pietro laughing as well. "who knows what the mouth is doing other than talking"

"Y/N!” Wanda calls immediately with her voice trembling with rage. “Speak! Now!"

You roll your eyes and Natasha answers for you, "Guys, stay calm, everything is under control in here."

"Yes, Wanda, we're just waiting." You say.

"Yeah, Y/N, keep talking!" Your wife warns.

"What's the use of talking, we don't know where her hands are..." Pietro adds making Monica laugh. You place a hand over your face in disbelief.

Wanda's shaky voice calls out to you again. "What are you doing with your hands? Clap them!"

"My god, that's ridiculous." You mutter.

"Clap.Them." Wanda repeats between teeth, her voice laden with irritation, and you sigh impatiently before obeying. "That's it, keep going. I better know where your hands are!"

"Wanda, I won't be-"

"I swear to god Y/N-" She interrupts you and you don't have to command again before you clap your hands again. "That's it, good. Now speak, or sing."

Fuck this.

Pietro and Monica start laughing, and Natasha also gives up on holding in her giggles. Luckily, Bucky comes back with the screwdriver.

About ten minutes later, the door opens, and you only have time to stare at Wanda in confusion before the woman leaves in a rage and dragging her feet away.

"If she kills me, I will haunt you both." You warn Pietro and Monica, who just laugh at your distress before you follow the same path as Wanda.

Although it is not really your fault, you feel very bad to find your wife on the verge of tears, with her arms crossed and sitting on the sand, a few meters away from the house.

You sigh softly, making noise with your steps to announce your arrival before sitting down beside her.

"Sorry." You murmur and Wanda shudders, keeping her gaze on the ocean. "I should have, um, locked the door before the doorknob broke."

"I'm not mad." She grumbles. "I know it wasn't your fault."

You look at her with concern. "Then...why are you crying?"

"I don't know." She answers with a soft sniffle, wiping her tears away quickly. "It's stupid."

You sigh, moving one of your fingers to give the strap of her shorts a gentle tug, "Come on, talk to me." You insist sweetly, and Wanda takes a deep breath, her gaze on her own feet.

"I just... it's stupid, but sometimes, I have these thoughts. About you, finding someone cooler or I don't know, hot. Someone who does things more fun than cleaning the carpet or preparing kids' breakfasts. Or I don't know, some of the incredibly interesting people you meet every day who actually go places instead of spending the day writing about it." Wanda blurts out, and you sigh deeply.

She has never said these insecurities to you. Not since college at least. And because you were so sincerely in love with her, the possibility that Wanda might feel insecure never crossed your mind.

"Hey, come here." You call out to her, bringing your hands to her hips. "Where did that come from?"

Wanda hides her face in your chest, her cheeks burning. "I don't know, it just did come." She mumbles against your skin.

Before, when you were younger and more hesitant, you would often reassure her. But after marriage, god, after children, you just assumed Wanda knew she was the love of your life. But she apparently still let her insecurities get the best of her. And it was okay.

"Sometimes I think you'll meet a super literature genius and forget about me." You confess to her as you hold her, and Wanda gives a confused little laugh.

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm." You mutter. "Remember when you won that writing contest last summer, and that handsome professor came over to ask for your number?"

"And I said I was married?" Wanda asks raising her gaze to you.

"Yep, that's the one." You say. "I was so insecure all night because all my head could think about was you moving on with someone far more intelligent and well resolved."

"That's ridiculous, I love you."

"I know, that's exactly my point." You retort with a chuckle that she accompanies. "Besides, that night you couldn't even wait for us to get out of the car so you obviously were crazy about me-"

Wanda smacks you in the ribs, laughing along with you. "Idiot." She says, sliding her arms around you.

"Sorry for making you clap your hands." She asks then, and you laugh softly.

"It's okay, baby." You say. "Do you want to go back inside?"

"Can I get a kiss first?" She asks with a pout raising her eyes to you.

"Hmm, as many as you want." You whisper back, leaning in to meet her mouth and feeling her smile against your lips. Wanda slides her tongue against yours slowly, and you move your hands down to squeeze her ass, pushing her against your hips and getting an affected sigh. "Just for the record, Maximoff. You are the hottest woman in the world." You compliment with your eyes ajar, smiling at the way that although she rolls her eyes, her cheeks turn pink.

–//–

The last day of the weekend had everything to be perfect, so it was the most disastrous of all.

Someone - you prefer not to accuse, although everyone knows who sleeps in the living room takes care of those things - forgot to close the windows, and the early morning rain got half the appliances on the countertop wet and damaged. Pietro was quite grumpy without his coffee.

The children have become even more energetic in the last day, and almost impossible to keep up with. You lost sight of Tommy for the fourth time and were trying to help Billy get his arm out of a jar when you heard the sound of something falling.

The whole house heard it, actually, and in record time, it was the whole group outside, where Tommy had just fallen off an old ladder trying to climb the fence.

"What are these kids taking?" Steve asks half startled, but you are busy going to check on your son who has apparently twisted his wrist.

"Mommy's hurting." Tommy whimpers as you sigh nervously, grabbing his arm to check.

"It doesn't look broken dear. Come on let's put some ice on it."

Aside from Tommy's injury, apparently, Wanda couldn't decide whether to stay on good or bad terms with you this weekend. As soon as she finished checking for the tenth time that her son wasn't forcing his injured hand, she sent you one of her angry glances on the way to the bathroom and you sighed in confusion, the sound attracting the attention of Monica, who was preparing lunch next to you.

"Everything okay there, Y/N?" She asked gently, and you forced a smile.

"Yeah, it's nothing." You mumble, but meet Monica's gaze and sigh. "It's just Wanda."

"Are you two going through a crisis?" she teases but you widen your eyes.

"What? Why, did she say something?"

Monica gives a confused giggle, "No, Y/N, I'm just teasing you." She assures you still smiling, and finishes throwing some of the vegetables into the pot. "Is this about the house? Cause it all turned out to be fun."

"God, I have no idea." You gasp softly in frustration. "She keeps having these mood swings, one minute we're in paradise and the next she looks ready to jump at my neck."

"Oh, but that makes sense for someone in her condition." Monica mutters and you frown in confusion. Seeing your face, the other woman hesitates.

"What condition?"

Monica gives a nervous little laugh, shaking her head. "I meant, I imagine she was nervous about the dismissal from the company and-" She starts to reel, but you cut her off:

"Monica, what condition?"

The woman sighs in defeat. "Sorry, Y/N. I didn't know Wanda hadn't told you yet." She says twisting her fingers. "She found out she's pregnant."

You give a short laugh, thinking it's a joke. But Monica's face doesn't have a trace of humor in it.

"B-but we haven't been trying for months and-" you stammer but shut up when you realize that the possibility is quite possible. Because you had tried, a lot, to increase the family a few months ago with the whole homemade insemination and donation sperm, until the layoffs at Bishop started happening and as the tests kept showing negative, you and Wanda left the idea for later. But, apparently, it had worked.

"I'll get you some water." Monica says as she sees your pallor, but you turn around, shaking your head.

"No, I'm fine. I need to talk to my wife." That's what you say before you drop the food knife and leave the kitchen.

Wanda is packing the boys' bags in the last room when you run into her. Everything would be fine if she weren't sniffling softly.

You close the door gently, sighing so she won't be startled, and she quickly wipes her face.

"Hey, sweetheart." You greet her by moving closer and sitting down next to her on the bed, knee to knee. "Why are you crying?"

Wanda gives a tearful laugh. "I have no idea." She replies making you smile affectionately, one hand moving to intertwine with hers in her own lap, and Wanda smooths out one of Billy's t-shirts with the other. "I was just packing up the boys' things and it occurred to me how fast they grew up, and before I knew it, I was crying."

You hum in understanding, moving your face to kiss her on the cheek as Wanda closes her eyes for a minute, trying to control her own emotions. "I'm sorry." She murmurs, and you shake your head, playing with your fingers.

"Don't apologize." You whisper back. "I would never be angry with you for that. I would never be mad at you for anything."

She lets out a soft laugh, turning her face to you. "Not even for accidentally recording Bewitched over your The Office?"

"The keyword is accidentally." You retort good-naturedly, making her laugh as well. Wanda leans against you, and you drop her hand to slip an arm around her shoulder, kissing the top of her head. "Baby, is there something you wanted to tell me?"

Your question makes Wanda tense up, but your gentle caresses with your fingers along her arm make her sigh and relax eventually. It takes a few minutes, but she finally says:

"I found out last week." She confesses, and you sigh softly. "Who told you?"

"Monica."

"I'm going to kill her." You laugh, and so does Wanda, pulling away to look at you. "I'm so sorry-

"Stop apologizing, Wanda." You interrupt her tenderly, rubbing your noses together affectionately for a moment. "We both wanted to and did it together."

"But that was before-"

"I know." You cut in with a soft chuckle, using your other hand to tuck loose strands of Wanda's hair behind her ear, meeting her worried emerald eyes. "We're going to be fine, darling. I know it's a scary time, but we'll manage. We always do."

Wanda sighs, looking at you for a second. "I love you."

She confesses, making you smile affectionately.

"And I love you." You assure, resting your forehead against hers. Wanda breaks the distance to give you a sweet kiss, smiling against your lips. When she pulls away, you exchange passionate glances. "How many weeks?"

Wanda gives a short laugh. "Almost four months, darling."

You gasp in surprise, pulling back. "No way!" You comment, moving your hands to her blouse, and lifting it up making Wanda laugh at your enthusiasm. You place your hands on her belly. "She's been hiding..."

"She?"

"Oh, yes, definitely a girl. I can feel it." You murmur, moving your hands to Wanda's hips, who raises an eyebrow at the sight of you adjusting to lay her down on the bed and be on top. "I wonder when we made her..."

Wanda bit back a chuckle, feeling you fit a leg between hers. "Well, four months ago, I was working from home every day."

"Hmm, so I guess it was right on your desk, sweetheart." You retort to her as you lower your lips to her neck, and Wanda gives a soft little laugh, remembering all too well how many times you almost broke her office desk. Your hands are coming down dangerously, but the sound of the children outside makes you sigh in frustration against her neck. Wanda feels hot and shares your dissatisfaction at having to stop. "We need a vacation for just the two of us, Wanda."

"I agree." She comments with a smile, kissing you more tenderly.

You knew things were going to be okay. You had Wanda. And it would only take a week for you to get a call from Eternals Inc, and another two for you to get back to work. And less than a month later, booking tickets for a cruise on your anniversary.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #marvel imagines

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paletigers · 1 year

Text

Some Stardew Valley redesigns/reimaginings!! these pics were about a week apart from one another so theyre in two different styles lol

some explainations below the cut!

For Context: A lot of these headcanons are based off of my own personal lived experiences! They're also just my preferences for their characters in general. I have only romanced Sebastian in-game but looked at Alex's Wiki page for context on the background for his character. I don't really know much about him canon wise, I've only read fanfics with him in it LOL ANWAY!

Sebastian: -25 yrs old + Transman + Gay/MLM -I really liked how he had a motorcycle in-game but thought that there wasn't much to say about it, so I wanted to make it apart of his core as a character! He's a sport motorcyclist as a hobby. He loves high speed racing.

-He's still a programmer, but he's now a Game designer! This is mainly because my lovely boyfriend is a game designer irl and he's like my muse and I love cramming his traits into my favorite characters.

-He plays bass istead of keyboard in Sam's band. I dunno, I think keyboard is fun and all (i actually own two keyboards and played piano in hs) but like. cmon. Bass would suit him so much better.

-I gave him a battle jacket he wears over his normal hoodie. I feel like he has a couple of these from over the years that are DIY with his ever growing music taste. Battle jackets are such a staple in the alt music scene I felt like its a crime he doesn't have one in game. Sebastian you would love battle jackets.

-His motorcycle is a sportsbike instead of a standard/chopper. His helmet also resembles a cat, but definitely not on purpose! Definitely not.

-He has a LOT of scars. Some self inflicted (but he's recovering), others from surgery! He has top surgery scars designed to resemble spider webs, a phaloplasty skin graft scar on his left arm, and gnarly huge scars on his ribs down to his legs.

-He suffered a motorcycle accident resulting in his bike being damaged as well as giving him a limp. He's constantly fixing up his bike since then, wanting to ensure another wipe out won't happen again and that his bike is reall okay to ride again.

-HIS PIERCINNGNSSSSS he has a shit ton of piercings! Not shown, he has a Jacob's ladder piercing. :3c

-His personality doesn't really change much from in-game. I'd personally prefer if he was less bitchy and more just a rarely speaking type. The kind to keep his comments to himself. Bitching about your step sibling and your step dad gets stale, bro

Alex: (Sorry to any alex fans, I changed him a LOT)

-27 + Cismale + Closeted Bisexual

-An ex-pro hockey player (goalie). I don't really care for "gridball" since it's just a couple of sports mixed together (from my understanding) so I decided to just give him a real world sport to play. Plus, hockey just kind of suits him for some reason?? I dunno

-Moved back to Pelican town after the news of his Mother's condition worsening and his Father jumping ship. In my version, he got recruited straight out of highschool to go pro for hockey. He had reservations about leaving his Mother with his Dad, but decided it was the best solution to the shitty situation. This way, he'd have more money to help her medical costs since his Dad's insurance was shitty anyway. A few years go by with constant health updates from his Grandparents, when one day his Dad just calls it quits on caregiving, deciding he doesn't want to waste his life away caring for his wife, and leaves. Without physical support from his Father to help around the house and help his Mother, Alex makes the choice to move back home and become his Mother's caregiver. He struggles with the emotional weight of this job ontop of how extremely demanding it is, but does his best for his Mother. She dies, and now he's taking care of his Grandparents. -I really wanted him to be a caregiver to his grandparents because my family were caregivers to both my Mother and my Father's parents LOL we spent all 23 years of my life taking care of them, so i thought it would be fun to think about. I imagine Evelyn and George to be my grandparents and constantly give them their favorite gifts in-game. (mainly george. i love him) (hes not homophobic hes just OLD and STUPID i LOVE HIM !!!!!!)

-Alex is constantly worried he won't be the same after caregiving for this long. He's worried he won't be able to go back to pro-hockey without reliving the stress of his mother's death. He's been having trouble keeping asleep at night, often waking up every few hours and being completely restless. He'll decompress at the sauna at unbearable hours of the night just because he can't sleep.

-He's the town helper! I thought it would be cute if he's the guy the town usually went to if they needed serious physical help with something, like setting up festival decorations, fixing fenceposts, shit like that. He loves helping out the town and INSISTS sometimes to be the one to fix a problem. When the farmer first comes into town and starts being the more dependable one, he starts feeling hopeless and easily emotionally distant. It's hard being the one everyone depended on to suddenly not being needed anymore. (It's not all entirely in his head, but he gets really worked up sometimes about feeling useless)

-Still an arrogant little shit! Instead of dreams of stardom, it's kind of a "washed up" celebrity kind of arrogance. He thinks he's hot shit because he travelled the world playing games for a couple of years. This backfires in his face, he'll sometimes sit for too long on his "glory days" and spiral, getting depressed about not playing anymore and his role as a caregiver despite loving his grandparents immensely.

-This headcanon is just silly but i think he likes to fish. He's so arrogant that he thinks hes amazing at it but fish rarely bite his line and when they do, they drag him into the river or sand at the beach. It's even more embarrassing because he thinks he's fine and continues to fish despite having sand and dirt all over himself.

-He's covered in moles! I also gave him freckles in places where his skin sees the most sun. (He's also got chest hair bc yall know i love hair on a man LMAO)

anyway. Long post! My bad. I was thinking of writing some Stardew Valley fanfics while working on some other stuff bc I want to explore my versions of Alex and Seb, and also maybe they explore each others bodies???? Let me know if that's something you'd guys like to read/offer up suggestions!!!

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