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trickphotography2 · 6 months ago

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Two Lines

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x female!reader

The last thing Jake expected to see first thing in the morning was a pregnancy test in the trash can. And he definitely didn’t expect a debate with his wife about what those two lines meant.

Word count: 1.5K

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It took a lot to shock Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin.

Not only had he made it through a military academy, he was a combat pilot who’d seen action in two war zones and had medals to back up his claim that he was one of the Navy’s best.

But the sight of the pink-capped test in the bathroom trashcan had him choking on his toothbrush.

Adrenaline shot through him, waking him up from the half-stupor he’d been in. It was still early before your alarm went off. But you’d been restless all night, tossing and turning and grumbling about what a stupid idea it was to get your work-mandated flu shot at the same time as your COVID booster.

“Not sure why you did it,” he’d teased, brushing the hair from your eyes. “You always feel like crap after.”

“I know,” you whined, curling closer to him even as your body ached and your stomach clenched. “I just needed to get it out of the way, and since I don’t have any clients tomorrow, I figured I could call out sick if I needed to.”

But that didn’t explain the pregnancy test in the trash.

After just under a year of marriage, you weren’t actively trying to get pregnant, but neither were you trying to prevent it. Both of you were in agreement that you’d be happy to have kids if it happened, but you were also satisfied with it being just the two of you for a while, or even forever.

Your period being late wasn’t uncommon, especially when you were stressed. And with the clinic officially understaffed and you taking on a larger client panel while trying to balance groups and to promote to a leadership spot, Jake knew you were stressed. For the first time, he’d seen you working on the weekend to catch up on session notes and submit consults, making sure your clients were getting connected to the services they needed.

The test was probably just for peace of mind, he reasoned, forcing himself to finish brushing his teeth while keeping his eyes on the trashcan. It wasn’t the first time you’d taken one, but it was the first time you hadn’t told him about it… that he knew of. And if you’d thrown it away, it had to be negative. You’d stumbled back to bed just an hour ago after using the bathroom, waking him as you collapsed back onto the mattress and declaring that you were calling in sick. When he’d pulled you to his chest and kissed your forehead, he’d felt your low-grade fever.

Just like he’d expected. It was why he’d stopped at the Commissary on the way home from work, grabbing bananas, applesauce, and bread to make sure you had something to eat while wallowing on the couch between naps.

Besides, he knew he’d be joining you on Saturday - he had his appointment to stop at the base hospital and get his mandatory annual flu shot, too. While it didn’t take him out like it did with you, he’d never pass up an excuse to have a lazy weekend.

With a forced nonchalance that he didn’t feel, Jake put away his toothbrush before reaching for the pregnancy test. Turning it, he saw two lines.

Two lines.

Jake stared, mouth dropping open. His eyes darted from the lines to the diagram on the side of the window, explaining how to interpret the results, feeling a strange sensation of excitement and terror at the confirmation.

Pregnant.

You were pregnant.

Confusion tempered his joy as he set the test on the counter and took a step back, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes to scrub away any lingering sleep. But when his vision cleared, there was no denying it.

Two dark lines.

Grabbing the door handle, Jake forced himself to take a deep breath before walking back into the bedroom. You’d dozed off again, breathing even and face half-hidden by your sleep mask. He’d bought you the first one as a joke when you’d moved in after a week of grumbling when he turned on the lights to get ready for work. While you both left the house at the same time - him to head to the base, and you to the hospital - he enjoyed taking his time with his morning routine, while you preferred hitting the snooze button as many times as possible before sprinting to get ready and out of the house on time.

You groaned when he sat at your hip, planting one hand on the mattress and reaching up to nudge the mask to your forehead. Refusing to open your eyes, you slapped at his hand, “Lea’me alone,” you grumbled.

“You got something to tell me, sweetheart?” he asked, forcing his voice to be even. While he was excited about the pregnancy, if you’d thrown the test away, you might not be.

“‘M not goin’ to work,” you sighed, rolling onto your side and hugging your pillow tightly.

“I know. Anything else?”

“Love you, have a goo’day.” Your words slurred as you started to drift again. When he said your name, a hint of exasperation creeping into his tone, you sighed and rolled onto your back. Kissing the tips of your fingers, you held them up for him. “I feel gross and don’t wanna kiss you in case it’s not the shot.”

“Is that why you took the pregnancy test?” One eye cracked open, and you saw your husband smiling down at you, a slightly manic gleam in his sea-green eyes.

Shrugging, you yawned, “Kinda. But it was negative.” Jake was silent for a long moment, and you felt him place a hand on your stomach.

“Darlin’… the test wasn’t negative.”

“It was.”

Jake barked a laugh. “There are two lines!”

“I know.”

“Two lines is pregnant!”

“Two lines is negative.”

“No, it’s not,” Jake argued. Huffing, you opened both eyes to glare at him.

“I read UAs twice a week at work, Jacob. I know what a negative result looks like.” As the person in charge of the Contingency Management program in your clinic, you administered and read urine drug screens, knowing with a quick glance if there were prescription or illicit substances in your client’s sample. If the two lines popped up for a negative result for their targeted substance - meaning they’d been abstinent - they earned the opportunity to draw for a prize. A single line meant that they had traces of the substance in their system, providing a positive result.

“Maybe for drug tests, but obviously not for a pregnancy test.”

“Move,” you grumbled, bumping your legs against him to get out of bed.

“Where are you going?” Jake asked.

“To prove you wrong.” Chuckling, he stood and smirked when you threw your sleep mask onto your pillow and brushed away the hand he offered to help you out of bed. The bathroom light was still on, and he followed behind you as you picked up the test he’d left on the sink, holding it in front of his face. “See? Two lines. Negative.”

Taking the test, Jake put his thumb over the Not Pregnant example and held it in front of your eyes. “See? Two lines. Pregnant.” He could only smile as your gaze shifted from glaring at him to squinting down at the test - you hadn’t put your glasses on yet. He watched your eyes widen with shock, darting from the instructions to the result window. Your lips parted, but no words escaped as your eyes rose to meet his again. “Say somethin’, sweetheart.”

“Why the FUCK are my POC cups the only damn thing that has a single line as positive?” you demanded.

That startled a laugh out of him, and Jake tossed the test back onto the counter and tugged you into his arms. Your fingers dug into his back, and he could feel you shaking. “You alright, darlin’?”

You were silent for a long moment before sighing, “Just realizin’ that I’m gonna be triple-checking results for a while. It’s gonna make my appointments run so much longer.”

Chuckling, Jake pulled away just far enough to meet your watery gaze. “What about this one? You gonna triple-check it?”

“I mean, you’ve pretty much done it.” An embarrassed smile flit across your mouth. “Is this where you say ‘I told you so’?”

“Pretty sure this is where I say I love you,” Jake replied, leaning down to kiss you softly. Carefully, he backed you up until your ass hit the counter and lifted you onto it. Your legs wrapped around his hips, arms draped across his shoulders as his hands slid under your shirt to wrap around your waist.

“Love you too. You ready to be a daddy?”

“Hell yeah. You ready to be a mama?” The question made you pause, but the steady confidence your husband exuded made you smile. Even if you weren’t quite ready, he would be there to help you get there.

“Yeah,” you said after a moment.

It would take you a couple of weeks to feel confident interpreting the UA results with a glance again, but you even chuckled when you started telling people about the pregnancy, and Jake boasted that he was the one telling you that you were pregnant.

After all, how many fathers got the chance to do that?

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Author's Note: This little fic has been on my mind since yesterday when I had to fill in last minute for our CM clinic when a clinician called out sick, and had to administer and interpret 2 UAs in 30 minutes, then do brief counseling with the gentlemen before going. I've laughed with my friends before about how our POC cups (the same ones in the graphic above) are one of the only tests where two lines is negative.

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wandaslovey · 4 months ago

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ᴀ ᴡʜᴏʟᴇ ɴᴇᴡ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ; ᴀ ᴋɪɴᴋʏ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴋɴᴇᴡ

➺ dom!wandanat x sub!fem!reader

word count ~ 5.3k

authors note: part two is here!! let me just say, thank you all SO so much for all the love you gave me for part one 🫶🏻. there’s a little treat for y’all at the end 🤭 comment to be added to the tag list! this is not proofread.

authors note: for part three, i’m probably going to do a time skip where the contract has been signed and their relationship has begun. don’t worry though, it will still be in the beginning stages!

content warning(s): legal age gap, dom/sub dynamics, in-depth discussions about bdsm and bdsm contracts, kissing, brief mentions of masturbation

venturing is inevitable: masterlist

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you pop in your wireless earbuds, scrolling on your phone to one of your comfort playlists. it was saturday and you were currently in a taxi on your way to the maximoff-romanoff household. it felt so surreal being in this situation. the more you thought about it, the more nervous you felt, so you opted for listening to some music to calm your nerves.

they’d texted you their address the day before, and you were surprised to find out they lived outside the city in the suburbs. not just any suburbs though—the rich suburbs. scarsdale to be more specific. it was just over 20 miles out of manhattan, so the drive usually took between 30-40 minutes, depending on traffic.

you found yourself feeling grateful that mrs. romanoff texted you early in the morning, telling you she insisted they cover the cost of the taxi as when you glance up at the meter halfway through the drive, it was already almost $100.

you’d thought a lot about your coffee “date” with the two married lawyers. you’d taken it upon yourself to do some of your own research on google the afternoon after returning home, but you quickly regretted it as all the images of people tied in uncomfortable positions frightened you. it didn’t help that the majority of the websites listed first were amateurs who didn’t truly understand bdsm dynamics or relationships—but you didn’t know that yet.

there was something else that made you uncomfortable. well, rather something that made you feel shamefully hot in a way you weren’t familiar with. you think back to a few days ago at the coffee shop, noticing all the little ways both mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff gently asserted dominance: they both waited outside, the door was held open for you, they ordered and paid for you, mrs. maximoff guided you gently through the shop, mrs. romanoff hailed you a cab and they both saw you off.. it was all in the little things. all those little things which were carefully calculated and amounted to you feeling safe—cared for. you never imagined you would notice, let alone care for someone to take charge in that way, but you did. you couldn’t begin to imagine all the others things that were typically encapsulated within a dominant. things you were sure both mrs.romanoff and her wife possessed. how far did their dominating desire go? was there anything they didn’t like to have control of?

the cab driver turns down their street, slowing down after passing the first 3 well-spaced out houses and you look out the window to see what you assume to be their home. their house had a clean, modern vibe with some bold design elements. the exterior was wrapped in crisp white paneling, which contrasted against the deep black roof and window frames. the windows were framed with sleek black trim, giving the house a more modern/contemporary feel. the front porch had a few steps leading up to the door, and above it, there’s a simple black square awning that extends out, adding a cool architectural touch. it gave the entrance a little extra character while still keeping things minimal. to the side, there’s a driveway that leads to the garage, and the front featured a circular driveway that made for an easy and elegant arrival or departure. the layout felt both functional and stylish, and modern yet still welcoming.

it’s mrs. maximoff that comes out of the house to greet you. she was dressed in a simple black long-sleeved button up with some white wide leg jeans. her hair was up, twisted in a messy knot that still managed to look elegant. she looked beautiful.

she quickly makes her way over to the taxi driver, handing him a wad of cash without batting an eye. you couldn’t see for sure, but it looked like more than the actual fee that was meant to be paid.

“hey, you,” her greeting paired with what seemed to be her signature smile made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. she seemed genuinely happy to see you again, and for that you felt delighted. you were equally as excited to see her again, even if the circumstances were a bit nerve wracking.

you return her greeting with a small hello, feeling a little flustered when she looks you over in a not-so secretive way.

“look at you…

you know, you really didn’t have to get all dressed up for us,” she grins blithely before leading the way back through the circular drive to the front door.

“this? oh i sort of just threw it on… should i have chosen something else?” you ask shyly as you keep pace with her, walking right by her side.

you’d chosen to wear a rose taupe ruched mini dress with white high tops, and you did not in fact ‘just throw it on.’ it was the 5th outfit you’d tried on before deciding that was what you’d wear.

“i’m messing with you, dragotsennaya veshch. you look very beautiful,” she appraises you and you feel yourself blush at the attention. you remember the nickname from the last time she called you that, but you still had no idea what it meant.

she steps in front, reaching to open the door for you before you both step inside. you marvel at the interior, which was just as beautiful as the outside, however it was less bright. there were more dark tones in here mimicking that of the office at their law firm.

“wow…you guys have a beautiful home,” you muse, admiring the high ceiling in the entry way and the minimal decor.

“well, thank you. follow me.” she speaks warmly, stepping ahead of you to lead you through the house. you find yourself looking around as she walks in front of you, noticing that there weren’t very many personal touches, but they were there if you looked hard enough. in a way, their house almost look like a museum—free of dust and exceptionally organized.

she leads you into a huge open room which appeared to be a cozy living space and just a little past that, the kitchen. there were black pendant lights dangling from the ceiling above the island, which had a black and white marble countertop. you see mrs. romanoff with her back to you, pouring herself a glass of filtered water.

“natasha, our guest is here,” she announces, placing a hand on your back and gently nudging you forward closer to the counter top. natasha turns, an easy smile gracing her features.

even with just a brief glimpse, you couldn’t help but observe how she seemed to be much more at ease in her home. her usual more stiff posture relaxed and the air around her felt a little lighter than normal.

“hi there, pretty girl,” she looks you over, just as her wife did, only she does it even more obviously. “wearing another cute outfit i see,” she murmurs, but it seems like the observation was mostly meant for herself as her eyes continue skimming your figure.

“i thought the same thing! i told her she didn’t have to dress up for us,” mrs. maximoff chuckles, her wife joining in. for that moment, it was as if they were talking about you like weren’t even there, which brought back a now familiar feeling of being small in their presence.

you shrug, ducking your head forward so your hair falls into your face, covering your blush. you hear mrs. romanoff set her glass on the countertop before she rounds the kitchen island, walking until she was standing right next to you. you watch her through your peripheral vision until she’s close enough that you half turn to face her. her hand comes up to gently lift your chin, her finger curling underneath it.

“hey, we’re just teasing you. don’t hide your face from me.” her voice was gentle yet you could sense that she was being serious about you trying to hide your bashfulness from her. you nod your head very slowly, now captivated with her closeness and the air of dominance she carried over with her.

“good. i’d hate to miss seeing these cheeks blush. it’s very cute,” she adds, making your cheeks flame even hotter. she smiles at that, immediately noticing the difference in shade.

“wanda, look at her,” she muses and your eyes dart from hers to mrs. maximoff who steps over to her wife’s side, appraising your pink cheeks with a smile of her own.

“da—dragotsennaya veshch. i told you the name suits her perfectly,” mrs. romanoff hums at her wife’s comment. they both gaze at you, desire and sinful admiration gleaming behind their impossibly green eyes. you fight the urge to suck on your bottom lip, figuring it would only give them more fuel to embarrass you.

you were about to ruin their little moment and ask what name it was that wanda kept referring to you as, but mrs. romanoff suddenly drops her hand, the both of them stepping back away from you.

“do you want some water, (y/n)? are you thirsty?” mrs. romanoff asks, already rounding the counter to the cupboard to retrieve a glass.

“yeah sure,” you nod politely, reaching to grab the glass from her once she’s filled it with water. you take a swig, regardless of not actually being thirsty.

“here, come sit,” mrs. maximoff puts a hand on your elbow, guiding you into the living room area which was just a step down from the kitchen. there was a large sofa towards the center, facing a whole glass wall which stretched across the large open room and overlooked their beautiful backyard. it was so green; many trees, bushes and grass to marvel at.

mrs. maximoff sits on the couch, patting the spot next to her. you sit down, your glass in hand, which she gently takes from you and sets in a cup holder to your right. as she reaches over you, even for the brief moment, you smell a trace of her perfume which smelled something like pears, fig leaves and sandalwood. it was heavenly and somehow seemed to fit her perfectly.

“so, how was the rest of your week? how were your classes?” she asks, propping her elbow on the back couch cushion and resting her cheek on the palm of her hand. something about having her full attention on you in such close proximity made your heart stutter.

“it was good! i only go in person 3 days a week and the rest is online. the homework load was about a medium for this week, so i wasn’t too overwhelmed or anything.” as you speak, mrs. romanoff enters the living room, sitting next to her wife on the couch. she crosses her legs, leaning close to her wife so she can see you just as well.

“what does a ‘medium’ homework load look like to you?” mrs. romanoff asks with a smirk. she must’ve remembered what you’d said at the interview about loving homework.

you sigh amusedly, giving wanda a quick glance to see a touch of a knowing smile on her face. you two were fellow academic lovers it seemed like.

“2 short essays, 3 discussion boards and 1 little worksheet thing.. no big deal,” you giggle softly when mrs. romanoff rolls her eyes at your response.

“right - okay,” she mutters though there’s an affectionate smile curling at her lips.

there was a small bout of silence which was comfortable given the light-hearted tone of the conversation, but that didn’t last very long.

“so, have you thought any more about our conversation at the coffee shop?” mrs. romanoff asks. your tummy does a flip flop at the change in subject, but you knew this was ultimately what you were here for.

“a-a little yeah,” you say, not offering anything else just yet. you look down at your lap, your hands playing with the hem of your dress ending several inches above your knee.

“anything you’d like to share?” mrs. romanoff presses, her features etched with amused interest. she loved the way you instantly became more shy with the new topic of conversation.

“uhm.. well i found some stuff on the internet.. more pictures and some examples of the..um..contracts you mentioned,” you pause, your eyes flickering up from your lap to mrs. maximoff’s face and then her wife’s. mrs. maximoff nods encouragingly, wanting you to continue.

“the contracts largely consisted of rules? is that accurate—like something you guys want from me?” you ask slowly, fighting the urge to bury yourself in a hole and hide. you could feel your skin crawling from how out of your element you felt.

“yes, our contract would have rules. we only have a few set rules for each submissive, but the others we come up with will be personalized just for you once we begin our..relationship,” mrs. maximoff tucks some hair behind your ear, her hand resting just above your knee, trying to be reassuring.

you swallow, gathering up the courage to ask your new follow-up question. “what sort of rules?” your mind thinks back to the many drafted up contracts on the internet, wondering if any of the rules you saw there were ones they’d want for you.

“before we answer that—how do you feel about rules? just thinking about it right now, how would you feel if there were rules we asked you to follow?” mrs. romanoff asks, leaning forward as she rests her elbows on her blue-jean clad thighs. you ponder her question, playing out a scenario in your mind. you remember one “sample” rule you saw online: ‘always greet your dominant kneeling by the door upon their arrival.’ that one was more extreme. you thought of two others: no touching yourself without permission and always address your dominant by their honorific. those ones made your cheeks flush red again, a deep blush gracing your features that couldn’t be ignored.

“look at that blush.. now you have to tell us what you’re thinking,” mrs. maximoff gently nudges you with her shoulder, giving your thigh a little squeeze.

you clear your throat, your fingers drawing imaginary patters on the thigh mrs. maximoff wasn’t holding. “i was just remembering some of the rules..” you reply vaguely. mrs. maximoff hums, sounding unsatisfied with your concise answer. she gently lifts your chin as her wife did earlier, her pointer finger curled under your jaw and her thumb holding your chin in place.

“hey, listen to me. if talking about this truly makes you uncomfortable, we can stop right now. we don’t have to do this if it’s not something you want,” you look into her green eyes, reading the gentleness and sincerity there. your eyes flicker over to mrs. romanoff who had a similar expression, and she nodded at her wife, drawing your attention back to mrs. maximoff.

you hold eye contact with her for a few seconds, finding great comfort in the tenderness held in her green orbs. “that’s not what i want,” you manage to speak, pausing for a second to gather your thoughts. “i’m just not used to talking so openly about this kind of stuff…or having this much attention,” you admit softly, wanting to look down but wanda’s fingers hold you firmly in place.

“you don’t have to be so embarrassed, honey, though it is really cute. still.. this is a safe space. you can ask or tell us anything,” mrs. romanoff reaches her hand across her wife and affectionately traces down your nose, smiling as she does so.

“you think it’s cute?” you blurt the question aloud without really thinking to stop yourself. mrs. romanoff grins wider, a gleam twinkling in her eye.

“it is. i don’t know if i’ve ever met somebody so innocent. it’s equally as cute as it is sexy.” you smile shyly at her words, looking back from her to her wife. mrs. maximoff smiles, her eyes flicking down to your lip which you coyly sucked into your mouth. she uses her thumb to pull your lip free from your teeth, tsking gently as she does so. your breath hitches at the action which both mrs. maximoff and mrs. romanoff notice but don’t comment on.

“how about this, why don’t we start somewhere else? how about you tell us why you didn’t say no right away when we posed the question the other day?” mrs. maximoff asks. you don’t have to think about her question long before you have an answer.

“i guess i was just intrigued.. i mean i guess the thought of being able to submit in some ways is..appealing to me?” you say it as a question, unsure you’re using the correct words to communicate your feelings.

“that’s a good start, detka. tell us more along those lines. what about it appeals to you?” mrs. romanoff encourages you.

you inhale slowly, looking off to the side as you think of how to expand upon your answer. “i think similar to other people, i would like a space or time where i don’t have to have control over all aspects of my life. kinda like…like i want to be able to shut my mind off sometimes - if that makes sense?” you half shrug your shoulder, looking between the two women to see if it looks like they understood your explanation.

“that makes perfect sense, sweetheart. that’s exactly what submission does. when you turn yourself over to your dominant, there’s a sense of freedom that comes with it. knowing that there’s someone you trust that is going to take control and steer you in a certain direction—and you don’t have to think or worry about anything.” mrs. maximoff’s explanation was very appealing to you. you think back on moments when life was really stressful and realize how much more doable those moments would have been had you been able to silence your mind for a little bit.

“that does sound really nice,” you mumble, mostly to yourself, but both of the lawyers noticed. the two of them chuckle softly at your admission, thoroughly entertained by your cuteness.

mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff continue educating you on the many beauties of being a submissive. they’d told you it wasn’t just about the sex, in fact, the sex was never really as good if the dynamic wasn’t always held firmly in place in other aspects of life as well. you listen intently to their words, becoming more and more intrigued by the idea of signing a contract with them by the minute.

“(y/n)?” mrs. romanoff asks after a little bit of her and her wife talking at you.

“hmm?” you look at her curiously, her tone making you slightly nervous to hear her question.

“what was it earlier that had you so embarrassed? something about some rules you found online?” you swallow thickly, remembering the two rules that made you blush so deeply. up until this point, the three of you had all managed not to make this conversation so much about the sexual aspects of bdsm, but rather more the dynamics. your answering the question would change that.

“well…there was one about always addressing your dominant using their honorific and then, um.. well the other said..” you trail off, pressing your lips together as you bounce your leg a bit anxiously.

“it said what, dragotsennaya veshch? come on, i can see it on the tip of your tongue,” mrs. romanoff encourages, a devious smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

“nottotouchyourselfwithoutpermission,” you mumble quickly, the beginning of a blush coloring the apples of your cheeks.

“ah, what was that?” mrs. romanoff makes a show of cupping her ear and tilting her head to show you she was listening, that same wicked smile still plastered on her face. she’d heard exactly what you said.

“natalia, bud' s ney milym,” mrs. maximoff says in what sounds like a gentle scolding tone.

mrs. romanoff just laughs, reaching over and cupping your jaw with one hand. “i can’t help it, look at her!” you pout at what you now knew was her teasing.

“it really is hard not to tease you when you look like that..” mrs. maximoff murmurs in her wife’s defense, tapping your nose as she has her own more subtle version of a wicked smile.

“i can’t help it! when you guys talk to me like that, i have to blush!” you explain, a little exasperated.

“like what?? like you’re the most adorable thing ever? i could eat you up (y/n), i swear to the gods,” mrs. romanoff grins at her own words, seemingly high on the current air in the room which was very light and fuzzy. mrs. maximoff chuckles, purposely squeezing what she guessed would be a sensitive part of your thigh to get you to join in their light laughter. you shake off the ticklish sensation, stubbornly pressing your lips in a firm line as to not smile as they were openly teasing you without mercy.

“not funny..” you mutter, making a show of crossing your arms over your chest and pouting cutely.

“you’re right - we’re getting off topic. so, back to the rule about not touching yourself…” mrs. romanoff starts, her tone teasing.

“okay! we can go back to teasing me again,” you say a little too loudly, feeling less embarrassed about the topic now, but still a little nervous.

“sorry little girl, you’re not gonna wiggle your way out of this one for a third time,” mrs. maximoff pokes your side before reaching down and casually lifting your legs to drape across both her and her wife’s lap. the sudden change of sitting position and new physical contact made your tummy flutter, your attention suddenly fully locked in on the two of them.

“would you have a problem with that rule?” mrs. maximoff asks, the tone in the air quickly changing again.

“uhm..well i-“ you clear your throat, running your hand nervously through your hair. “is that one of your set rules?” you feel mrs. maximoff’s fingers begin to lightly trace a small line up and down your thigh. she and mrs. romanoff both looked so in their element and you were just here—a clueless little thing.

“yes, it is,” mrs. maximoff responds. you swallow thickly again, a dull ache beginning to settle in your lower tummy. just the thought alone was beginning to make your body heat up. what did they do if their submissive did touch themselves?

“oh…what would you do if your submissive broke that rule?” you ask curiously, unable to keep that question to yourself.

mrs. romanoff looks at her wife and you could see a brief silent conversation happening with their eyes. they both turn their attention back to you before mrs. romanoff speaks up.

“there are a few punishments we would most likely choose from: a spanking, edging or overstimulation. the punishment our submissive would receive would depend on who is delivering the punishment and also what the submissive is okay with and work within her limits.” she explains it so casually, but you find her words anything but casual. you were surprised that the thought of being spanked made you shamefully hot. it was starting to seem like they were awakening something in you you didn’t know existed.

“edging..? is that like an orgasm denial thing?” you ask the clarifying question, both of their ease and openness on the topic beginning to rub off on you a bit. it really did feel like a safe space.

“mhmm, that’s exactly right,” mrs. romanoff nods her head, giving you an encouraging smile.

“so…why that rule?” as you ask your question, the short lines mrs. maximoff was drawing on your leg turn to intricate circles. she seemed to be doing it absentmindedly.

mrs. romanoff purses her lips, her eyes gleaming with desire. “because, detka. if you agree to be our submissive, your pleasure will belong to us. every sound you make, every twitch, every thought we want to be apart of—to possess and control.” her facial expression turns a little harder as she speaks, an air of dominance surrounding the three of you like a little bubble. you feel your mouth go dry, your legs unconsciously pressing together at her words.

“are you alright, sweetheart?” mrs. maximoff asks, noticing your cheeks flush and your legs press together as they still lay across her and her wife’s lap. she knows exactly why you’re suddenly more restless, but she can’t help but tease you a bit with it.

“mhmm, i’m fine,” you squeak, your voice cracking which you try to cover up by clearing your throat. your mind scrambles to think of another question—anything to get the intense attention off of you, even for a moment.

“what do your submissives call you?” you ask, hoping their answer wouldn’t make your panties any wetter than they were already becoming.

mrs. maximoff raises a hand to the side of your face, curling some hair behind your ear as she simply replies, “mommy—they address me as mommy.” she then reaches blindly to the side, cupping under mrs. romanoff’s chin. “and they call natasha, daddy.”

you hear your own breathing hitch, their honorifics taking you back a bit. somehow, they encapsulated those names perfectly but hearing mrs. maximoff say them out loud was a different thing. you picture yourself addressing them as such, and you feel your panties becoming wetter. you mentally slap yourself. you needed to get a grip otherwise you were going to start dripping onto your thigh.

“you like that, don’t you, krasivaya devushka?” mrs. romanoff asks in a low voice, her eyes drinking in your thighs which were now noticeably pressed firmly together.

where your mouth once felt dry, it was now watering. your lips part as you exhale breathily. you look from mrs. romanoff to mrs. maximoff who was now leaning closer to you, glancing at your lips. you lick them subconsciously, leaning closer to her. you feel her hand come to cradle the back of your head, her other hand cupping under your jaw, gripping it more firmly than you’d expect. your breath is shaky as your heart begins to pound in your ears, the smell from mrs. maximoff filling your nose as she leans even closer to you until your faces are merely inches apart.

“do you want this, dragotsennaya veshch?” her voice is seductive and slow as she enunciates her words. her green eyes were hooded, her lips looking so very tempting.

you nod your head, not taking your eyes off of her lips. you see a hint of a smile there as she closes the small gap, her lips parting slightly before she presses them against yours. her lips tasted faintly of grapefruit and you instantly want more of it.

your arms reach up to wrap around her neck as she kisses you slowly but deeply. she hums into your mouth, one of her hands sliding down your arm to your hip and gripping there firmly. so caught up in the sensations of her lips on yours and her hands touching you so expertly, you let out a small whimper. mrs. maximoff gives your hip a squeeze after hearing that, her tongue tracing your bottom lip. just as you part your lips to give her access to your mouth, she pulls away, a pleased smirk on her face.

“a little eager, are we?” she chuckles and it’s only after her comment that you realize in the midst of your kiss, you’ve curled your legs up in her lap, your arms wrapping tightly around her as you cling to her body.

you loosen your hold, feeling a little shy at having so easily gotten carried away. “m’sorry,” you mumble, your legs stretching back out so they’re sprawled across mrs. romanoff’s legs again.

“oh sweetheart, you don’t have to apologize. it’s very cute,” she coos at the end of her sentence, her finger coming up to delicately trace your bottom lip. you look at her, your soft eyes full of wonder and adoration.

“i want to do this,” you announce, looking between mrs. maximoff and mrs. romanoff who had begun stroking your legs as they rest on her thighs.

they both chuckle softly at your pronouncement, finding your sudden enthusiasm amusing.

“patience, pretty girl. there’s still some things we need to discuss before we have you sign the contract,” mrs. romanoff says before continuing, “i think we’ve explored enough for today. why don’t we send you a copy of our contract, you can review it,,and then when we get together next—if you still want to—you can sign it.” she suggests and you readily agree, knowing how badly you already want to see them again and how anxiously eager you are to continue exploring this new world.

you decide to see each other again tomorrow, which was at mrs. maximoff’s suggestion, but they both seemed equally eager to spend more time with you.

they order you an uber, insisting on paying the fee. mrs. romanoff got all stern when you’d said you really didn’t expect them to pay and she told you that was nonsense and that she didn’t want to hear you say another word about them covering costs of things for you.

as they walk you to the door, you say your goodbye’s, excited at the prospect of seeing them tomorrow. you make your way over to the uber parked in the circular driveway, mrs. maximoff lingering the doorway as mrs. romanoff walks you to the car. just before you reach for the door handle, you turn to say something to her and gasp softly when you realize she’s standing very close to you. you could sense a switch had flipped in her—the one that causes her to exude so much more dominant energy.

your posture becomes less dignified, your bottom lip sucked into your mouth as you glance up at her. she leans down close to you, her finger tilting your chin up.

“don’t touch yourself tonight,” she says firmly, her eyes locking in on yours.

“wh-what?” you breath out, feeling a little disoriented with her closeness and the energy she was exuding.

“you heard me—i know you’ll want to. regardless of the contract not being signed, i don’t want you to pleasure yourself. do you understand?” her voice is sinfully sexy as she commands you in a way no one ever has before.

your cheeks blush as you glance from the front door where mrs. maximoff was still standing and then back to her wife. you slowly nod your head, swallowing harshly as your neck was still extended from your chin being lifted up.

“good girl,” she praises, closing the gap and placing a peck on your unsuspecting lips. she releases your face, stepping back and opening the door for you as if nothing had happened. you climb inside in a daze, your eyes fogged over as your mind feels a little fuzzy.

“see you tomorrow, (y/n),” she drags your name out in a slight teasing tone before shutting the door, the car driving off as you’re left sitting there stunned.

there was no way you weren’t going to sign that contract.

——————————

tag list: @poppyshuman @xenaizogie @ashadash0904 @kittnii @hayeeonn @gh0sstss @beggingonmykneesforher @natashalover3000 @msvenablesbitch @ihartnat @leesromanova @alwaysgoodnight @lowlifejuliett @azaleavolkova @caramelcat123-blog @daretodream1307-blog @ctrlaltedits @sweetmissnothing @gecko1 @karmasgxrl @marvelwomenarehot0 @elle161989 @waaayoutofline @snazzysprig @simpforlizzie @just4natasha @rosekjsses @moon3thereal @reginassecretlover @flyleaffreak @vanessashands @tigerlillyruiz @noturlondonboy @remuslupinschocolat3 @ssasa-romanoff @eccaterina1 @wandanatskitten @chiar4anna @womenarehotsstuff @luvforbills @tatesarchivee @mackenziemonday13 @reginassweetheart @sxlfishbrokenheart @wandanatbabybear @hapuchika

#venturing is inevitable: series #vii #wandanat #wandanat x reader #wandanat smut #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #natasha romanoff x you #mommy!wanda #daddy!nat

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desperatelyseekingcannibals · 10 months ago

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Telling Hugh Dancy about trans masc Will and more...

As some of you already know by now, I went to Boston Fanexpo this past weekend for another stop on the unofficial Hannibal 2024 Reunion Tour.

I had planned to do autographs on the Friday before the Hannibal panel and had brought some gifts for Hugh which included a copy of Adapt. Evolve. Become: The Genderqueer Fandom of NBC's Hannibal, which I compiled and edited last year. I also got him to sign my own copy (above).

It all moved quite quickly, but I did have the chance to explain that it's a volume by and about trans, non-binary, and genderqueer Fannibals that includes art, fics, essays, and personal pieces. He seemed intrigued and I said I hope he'd have the chance to read it and that the art isn't explicit/sexual but some of the fics are - he laughed and said he appreciated the warning.

It was all quite the whirlwind, especially after coming all the way from the UK, so I was absolutely mortified when I remembered the next morning that I had talked with a few trans Fannibals who had specifically asked me to let him know that he/Will is a trans icon. So I went back up to see him again on the Saturday morning when it wasn't too busy (and get more stuff signed) and this is what happened:

[I wrote notes down right after so this is as close an account I can get without having filmed it!].

Me: I saw you yesterday Hugh: I remember (smiley-friendly) Me: I gave you a book Hugh: I remember (smiley-friendly) Me: well, I forgot to tell you. A few trans Fannibals reached out to me to tell you that Will is a trans icon to them and we all love you for it. Hugh was surprised (in a nice way) and I was pretty much going to walk away then - job done and feeling like time for me to stop bothering Hugh lol. But before I could walk away he sort of held out his hand to stop me and said something along the lines of - I don't mean this in a disrespectful way, don't take it the wrong way... I'm genuinely curious- I get that it can be about identity- but what is the connection to Will and being trans? Luckily - my essay in the book is exactly about how Will can be read as trans, so I sort of gave him a summary of that. I explained that (obviously) both Will and Hannibal can be read as queer, and that - especially as both characters have dominant masculine and feminine traits, it's also easy to read them both as trans or in some way genderqueer. He was nodding and agreeing, so I further explained that with Hannibal, he is fully formed - he's already whatever he is - which Hugh also agreed with. But that Will is still becoming, still transitioning and therefore can be more relatable to trans fans who see that journey in themselves. So although it's not necessarily the same journey - there is enough to it that it resonates with trans people. I said that in the show there is also the added bonus of Will being seen and accepted for who he is, just as trans people wish to be. He was nodding along and agreeing with me and then he thanked me for explaining that. It was pretty quiet previously but I'd been there a few minutes so the queue was building up a little but he was so focused on me - so genuinely intent on hearing what I had to say and learning more. SO I CARRIED ON. (lols) I explained to him that it goes further than the show, that we have found a community in the fandom and that many trans people have a catalyst in their life that sparks their journey - like Will had in his friendship with Hannibal. For us it might be a person, an event, or even a TV show. I explained how the fandom are so supportive of trans people - that we are SEEN. That I for one wouldn't have been able to afford top surgery without the kind donations of Fannibals back when I was not in a good place (mentally or financially). That we all help each other and for some of us that has been life-saving. He did the hand on heart thing and said "wow" and was clearly moved. I said to him that so much of this is in the book, that I completely understand if he doesn't want to read the fanfic, but I really hope that he will at least read each of the personal pieces - that each of the fics and art also have a little write up from their creator about what the show and/or fandom has meant to them and their gender journey - how important this has been in our lives. He repeated a couple of times that he would definitely read it. I thanked him and he held out his hand and gave me the most genuine hand shake I've had in my life.

I want to really stress here how much this was instigated by Hugh. That he really wanted to know more and understand and didn't even look at the slowly growing queue but was instead intently focused on knowing more about the trans Fannibals and about why this show and the characters mean so much to us.

I then went off and spoke with a few Fannibal friends in the queue before getting around the corner to another Fannibal friend and having a bit of an emotional moment/breakdown. I can't even explain how grateful I am that he gave me the opportunity to explain all this to him. And I was especially glad I got to tell that Will is a trans icon because I'd have felt terrible if I'd have not done that after people had asked!! Thank you for trusting me to pass that message on for you!

💖

I know for many of you Adapt. Evolve. Become: The Genderqueer Fandom of NBC's Hannibal might have gone a little under the radar. So here is some more about that >>

It was compiled last year for Trans Hanni Day, edited by Max Turner of (and in conjunction with) A Coup of Owls Press - and published under Max's ACoO imprint.

It features essays, personal pieces, fanart and fanfic by and about trans, non-binary, genderqueer and otherwise non-cis Fannibals.

IT IS FREE TO DOWNLOAD, however we ask that if you do that, please consider donating to one of the linked trans orgs if you can afford to (or a similar organisation/charity of your choice).

It can be purchased on Amazon, however, as the proceeds go to charity, and Amazon only gives royalties, more is earned/given if bought directly via Max's shop.

Dearest trans Fannibals, please know that YOU ARE SEEN!

#hugh dancy #hannibal #will graham #trans will graham #trans fannibals #fannibals #fannibal family #boston expo #hannibal reunion tour 2024 #meat up

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covenofagatha · 2 months ago

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Do I wanna know? (Part 4)

The final two weeks before Agatha moves to Albany

Word count: 5k

Warnings: mentions of sex, fluff

The following Sunday, Agatha drives you to Albany so you can look at apartments with her. She found three online that she really likes and is hoping that she can sign a lease today.

Since her new job starts next week.

You’ve never exactly known what she does for a living — you never really cared to ask when she was married to your dad and once you got together, she just kind of assumed that you already knew — so you have to ask about three times for what this new position entails so you can try to work it out.

So far you’ve gotten that she advises the company on how to raise capital, financial modeling, legal and compliance issues, and general advice. She did try to explain what she does when you found her looking over a contract one night, but it went so far over your head you didn’t realize she had stopped talking until she kissed you to bring you back to earth. Agatha did say investment banker once, but even with all the job descriptions, you’re still not sure you actually understand.

“All right, here’s the first one,” she says, squeezing your hand that’s interlocked with hers over the center console, and parallel parking on the street in front of a high-rise building with floor-to-ceiling glass windows. You peer into the lobby to take in the crystal chandelier, dark floors, and mahogany wood panels on the wall by the elevator. “See, it’s not that bad of a drive. As long as you leave pretty early Saturday morning, you should be able to get here in under two hours.”

You look at her and shoot her a smile. Agatha’s been overly nice to you the past week, telling you how pretty you are and how lucky she is and buying you flowers and cooking you all your favorite foods, so you’re trying to just sit back and appreciate it.

She took the job. You told her it was okay. All that’s left to do is accept it.

“It’s really nice,” you tell her, turning back to the building. “It’s in a good area, too.”

Agatha turns the car off and unbuckles her seatbelt. “Only about ten minutes from the office, so even better. And it’s not too far from the interstate for traveling to and from here.”

Another thing she’s been doing is talking about how much you’ll be able to come visit and vice versa. It should be reassuring, but it just feels like she’s overcompensating slightly to make the move sound better than it is.

It’s not fair to still be upset because Agatha is trying. And you are feeling good about this, you feel secure that what you two have is real and strong, and you’re going to start working on your application to the University at Albany this week. If you get in, you’ll start in January, which really only means four months of long distance, and you know you’ll both make an effort to see each other on the weekends and during breaks.

When you put it like that, the pit in your stomach lessens. Your tendency to overthink and blow up problems in your head is definitely something you need to work on.

The moment you step out of the car, the first thing you notice is the smell, almost like rotting plants and sewage. You wrinkle your nose and Agatha walks around to you, the same expression on her face.

“Think you’ll ever get used to that?” you joke and she solemnly shakes her head.

“Guess I’ll just need to bury my nose into something else until I forget it,” she says with a wink and you laugh before following her up to the glass door of the apartment complex.

There’s a man sitting at a desk, maybe about ten years older than you and wearing a flannel shirt, typing something at his computer, and he doesn’t look up at you until Agatha clears her throat and taps her fingers on the counter.

He raises a bushy eyebrow, unimpressed and annoyed that someone dared interrupt him. “Can I help you?”

Agatha tosses her hair back over her shoulder and straightens up. “My name is Agatha Harkness and I made an appointment to see a two-bedroom.”

The man sighs and taps his mouse. “Yo, Dottie,” he calls, swiveling in his chair to face an open door to the right of him, “I’ve got a ‘Harkness’ here to see the two.” Whoever Dottie is, you hope she’s friendlier than this man. Even his mustache seems to be frowning at you.

A tall, blonde woman steps out of the room, beaming brightly at you two, wearing a brightly colored floral dress. She walks around the desk, shakes both your hands, and introduces herself.

“Wonderful, wonderful,” she claps her hands together and you wince at the loud sound in the otherwise-silent lobby, “let me get the keys and then I’ll show you and your daughter the model apartment on the seventh floor and then the one that’s open, which could be yours! We also have some specials on leases if you sign one within twenty-four hours of your tour, which I’ll go over after this.”

Dottie waves you along and you catch Agatha’s eye behind her back, mouthing your daughter? at her with an amused smirk. Agatha playfully rolls her eyes and swats your arm.

You still remember the first time she took you out in the spring, when the waitress had assumed you were a couple. You had choked and almost died from coughing so hard, flabbergasted at the thought that anyone would look at you two and see anything other than a mother and her daughter, even if she was your step-mom.

But now, it kind of bugs you that someone does see you that way. You’re almost tempted to see what Dottie would say if you kissed Agatha or if Agatha squeezed your ass.

Dottie’s rambling about the safety features of the elevator as she presses the button and you stare at the reflection of yourselves in the bronze doors, blurring the sound of her voice out. You watch Agatha nodding attentively and you probably should be paying attention, but you just can’t.

Something about looking for apartments with Agatha seems so surreal. You had helped her pick out the one in Westview and it felt like you were picking out a place for the two of you, even knowing you were going to live at the dorms.

But now, you’re picking it out for her and she’s breaking her lease on the apartment you shared.

It’ll be back to being both of yours in January, you remind yourself.

The elevator doors slide open and the three of you step into it, the tile a fancy black marble with gold cracks and the walls a dark wood with the top half covered in mirrors. Dottie touches the fob to a pad and then presses the button for seven.

“It only lets you get to the floor that you live on, and the roof for the pool and the game room. We take our security very seriously,” she explains and Agatha hums before looking at you for your approval and you nod like you’ve been paying attention this whole time.

She takes you down the hall and pauses in front of a door, fumbling with the key ring and then finally inserting one into the lock. She pushes it open and lets you and Agatha step in first.

The floor is a cool gray color, all white walls except for the blue accent in the living room, and it’s pretty spacious. The kitchen has an island with quartz countertops that match the other counters against the wall, all stainless steel appliances, a double oven, and a hood over the stove. The backsplash is green and blue and gray tiles. There’s a deep sink and three pendant lights over the island. You have to admit it looks really good.

“Wow,” Agatha says, tracing her fingers over the countertop and crossing the threshold into the living room, where the floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city of Albany. It’s the model, so there’s comfortable-looking couches around a coffee table and a rug, facing a television on an entertainment center. Even with all the furniture, it’s easy to imagine exactly where Agatha’s stuff would go.

You follow her into the first bedroom, the bigger one. It has the same windows as the living room and your only thought is that Agatha will certainly need to invest in some curtains if she picks this place. It’s a huge room; Dottie tells you that the bed in there is king-sized and there is still plenty of space for the nightstands and lamps and dressers. The walk-in closet is probably half the size of your dorm room right now, and there’s a standalone shower next to a tub across from the double vanity in the bathroom.

“This is nice,” Agatha whistles and you nod your head in agreement.

“Let me show you the other bedroom,” Dottie says and leads you to the other half of the apartment. “This door closes off the hallway to the second bed and bath, so plenty of privacy. Will your daughter be living with you?”

It’s hard not to laugh when you and Agatha glance at each other out of the corner of your eyes. “Um, no, I go to college in New Jersey. But I’ll be visiting a lot,” you answer, and then, just for the fun of it, add: “How thick are the walls, though? Like, apartment to apartment.”

Agatha stifles a laugh that turns into a cough and Dottie looks back over her shoulder. “We don’t get a lot of noise complaints. If you’re worried about the TV being too loud, it shouldn’t be a problem because the living room is in the middle of the two bedrooms. But if you’re watching something in either bedroom, there’s a chance a neighbor might be able to hear a bit of it.”

“That’s exactly what I was worried about,” you mumble and Agatha nudges you, even though she’s smirking too.

The second bedroom is a bit smaller than the other, but still a good size. This one has a window-sill and only one long window and the closet is only about half as big. The bathroom has an alcove tub and matching countertops to the other bathroom and a lot of cabinet space.

Dottie also shows you the three extra closets for extra storage and then takes you to the empty apartment on the ninth floor.

Agatha walks around, gesturing wildly with her hands and pointing out where things could go, while you trail after her like a lost puppy, occasionally adding a yeah and I like that and I think that’ll look really good.

Seeing her plan the space feels like a hammer in your gut going it’s happening it’s happening it’s happening over and over again until it almost overwhelms you, but Agatha is so engaged in it that she doesn’t even notice. You’re being completely irrational. Everything is fine.

“So, what do you guys think?” Dottie asks when Agatha finally stops and comes to stand next to you as you’re leaning on the island and picking at your fingernails. She puts a hand on your lower back and you stiffen, eyes darting up to look at Agatha, who’s looking back at you inquisitively.

“Could you give us a second, Dottie?” It’s clear from Agatha’s tone that it’s not a question and Dottie gives you both a tight smile before leaving the apartment.

You rub your forehead, trying to stave off a headache you can feel slowly budding, and walk over to the windows. Her footsteps are soft and then she’s wrapping an arm around you to pull you into her and kiss your head.

“You know what I’m thinking about?” she asks and you hum inquisitively. “Fucking you against these windows so anyone down below could look up and see how well you take me. See how good of a girl you are for me.”

A burst of heat flashes through you but you smirk, not being able to pass up the opportunity to make a joke. “That’s quite an inappropriate thing to say to your daughter.”

Agatha snorts. “Good thing Dottie isn’t here.” And then she softens against you. “Do you like this place?”

You shrug. “It’s pretty nice. Aren’t we going to go look at the other places though?” It’s a stupid thing, but you feel like it’s not real until she signs a lease. And maybe you just want to keep it not real for a little bit longer.

She makes an equivocal sound. “This one did look the nicest online. And honestly, I really like it. I can definitely see myself living here. I can see us living here.”

“Okay,” you say softly, melting on the inside. As long as she’s picturing you here with her, you’d be good with anywhere. “I think this is the place, then. Let’s go tell Dottie, mommy.” You go to move but instead, she turns you by the shoulders and grabs your cheeks, pulling you in for a long kiss and then gives you another one for good measure.

“You are so perfect,” she says against your lips. “I l—”

The door opens and you jump back from Agatha and whirl to find Dottie standing there. Your cheeks heat up, but she doesn't look scandalized so you’re guessing she didn’t see anything. “How’s it going in here, ladies?”

Agatha gives you one last look-over, giving you all the time in the world to object, but you just swallow hard and nod. “Dottie, we’ll take it,” she says and you plaster a smile onto your face when Dottie gasps and exclaims excitedly.

She ushers you back to the lobby and leaves you sitting at a desk while she runs off to go print out papers. You’re tapping your foot impatiently when your phone buzzes.

Thinking it’s just one of your parents — you didn’t actually tell either of them that you were going to New York — you pull it out of your pocket.

Hey, it’s Carol. Want to get dinner tonight? You vaguely remember giving her your number the night of the party last week. You’ve only seen her once or twice since then and the first time, she asked how you were feeling, and the second time, she shot a finger gun at you.

“Who’s Carol?” Agatha murmurs, having leaned over your shoulder. You fight the instinct to turn your screen and type back, Sorry, out of town tonight. Rain check? before slipping it back into your pocket.

“Just this girl that lives in the dorms. She was the one who drove me to your place when I was hammered last Sunday.”

“Ah.” She’s opening her mouth to say something else when Dottie comes back over and plops down a thick packet and starts rattling off the rules of the complex, the extra fees, and where to sign. Dottie says because you’re not living here full-time, you don’t have to fill anything out and you inwardly sigh in relief.

Agatha barely looks at the papers before signing her name in big cursive letters and you can’t help but long for that kind of financial security and stability, where you don’t even have to worry about the cost of rent. When you do transfer and if you do end up living with her at any point, you know she won’t let you pay for anything, but you make a mental note to start looking at jobs, maybe even just part-time, so you can buy her things with your own money.

“Perfect, let me just run a quick background check on you, make sure your credit is good, and then I’ll get back with you. And you want to move in…?”

“Next Saturday would be great,” Agatha says and your foot starts bouncing even more erratically. Dottie leaves to go back into the office and Agatha’s head drops back to look up at the ceiling. “That means I need to set up electricity, water, internet, I need to schedule movers, I need to talk to my complex.” She groans and sits back normally, rubbing her face with her hands.

You’ve done the whole moving thing a few times and it absolutely sucks so you reach over to pat her leg. It’s the first time you’ve seen her even the slightest bit overwhelmed with all this and it’s honestly refreshing. “I’m here. Anything you need, I want to help.”

She gratefully smiles and leans across her chair to give you a kiss on the head. “How did I get so lucky?”

“Um, you married my dad.” Agatha wrinkles her nose but laughs anyway, resting a hand on top of yours that’s still on her thigh. It’s an anchor for both of you and neither of you move until Dottie comes back about five minutes later.

“All right, you guys are all good! We will see you next week. Any more questions?”

Agatha stands up and shakes Dottie’s hand. “I think we’re okay. Thank you so much for all your help.”

The drive back to Westview is filled with mindless chatter and no mention of the move. You make plans for the week — you’ll stay with Agatha every night, she’ll cook dinner, movie night on Tuesday, picnic in the park on Thursday. She knows that school is starting to pick up for you, so it goes unspoken that you’ll be doing homework with her.

“And of course, plenty of sex,” you add when she asks you if there’s anything else to plan for.

“Oh, sorry, was that not implied?” Agatha simpers and her hand sneaks its way into your lap, dipping under the seat belt to play with the elastic of your leggings.

You let her slide inside and let out a small moan when she brushes a finger against your clit through your underwear. “Better keep your eyes on the road, mommy,” you say tightly.

“I can multitask.”

She rubs your clit and you shift in your seat to give her easier access to you. It’s an odd angle — her wrist is bent in a way that is surely uncomfortable — but Agatha is determined to make it work. She teases you slowly and before long, you can feel how wet you’ve become. Your breathing has deepened, cheeks hot, and you start to roll your hips to get more stimulation.

“Mommy, please,” you beg, and she looks over at you to say something when the car in front of her stops suddenly. Your stomach lurches. “Watch out!”

Agatha slams on the brakes, sending you both flying forward, the seat belt putting an immense amount of pressure on you, and she yanks her hand out of your pants to put her arm in front of you.

The car screeches to a halt about two feet from the one in front of you. You’re both panting and Agatha tosses her hair back before assessing you.

“Are you okay?” she asks quietly. You nod, still gripped by a cold sweat. She takes a deep breath and puts both hands on the steering wheel when the cars begin to move again. “I think we’ll save car sex for another time.”

You huff out a laugh in agreement. “It went pretty well that one time. But we were in a parking lot on the way to get pizza in rural New Jersey, not on an interstate in New York.”

“Who would’ve thought there’s a big difference,” Agatha quips and the tension from almost getting into a wreck lifts the more she drives. You’re back to giggling and talking in no time, although you both keep your hands to yourself.

The rest of the day passes quickly, with Agatha busy setting up everything she needs for her new apartment while you finish up some homework for the upcoming week.

On Tuesday, you’re leaving your dorm after your third class of the day to go to Agatha’s for the night when you run into Carol. She brightens when you see her and you give her a quick smile, determined to keep moving.

“Hey, where are you off to? You still owe me that dinner,” she says, catching you by the arm.

“Yeah, sorry, this week is going to be a little tough,” you tell her apologetically. “My…girlfriend is moving on Saturday so I'm just trying to spend as much time with her as I can.” You’ve never really had to define your relationship with Agatha, but it seems natural to call her that.

A stormy look flits across her face before she’s back to normal. “The same girlfriend who broke up with you?”

You hadn’t exactly found the time to fill her in on the whole story. “Turns out she wasn’t cheating, it was me jumping to conclusions. She had a job interview in Albany and she got it! So she starts next Monday.”

“Be careful with long distance,” Carol warns, instead of being happy for you like you thought she would be. You raise an eyebrow. “It always starts out so nice and happy and everything is okay…but then the distance sets in. Texting and calling aren’t the same as just being able to see them and talk to them in person. Traveling becomes exhausting. The traffic makes you mad and then you’re in a bad mood and you can only think about the drive back and—”

“Stop,” you snap, stepping away from her. This is possibly the worst thing you could hear right now and you can’t take it any longer. “That’s not how this is going to go, okay? Agatha and I are different. We’re solid. And besides, it’s probably only going to be like this for a few months. She trusts me and I trust her. We’re going to be fine.”

Carol scoffs, a cold look in her eyes. “You trust her? Is that why you were so quick to believe she was cheating on you?”

The blow knocks the wind out of you and you just stare at her blankly. Who the fuck does she think she is?

She softens, realizing that she cut deeper than she intended to. “Shit, I’m sorry. This is your relationship and I should’ve stayed out of it — I’m sure you’re right, okay? You guys will be fine.”

But you don’t want to hear anymore from her, so you turn on your heel and walk to your car. The rest of the night, you’re a bit out of it and you can’t stop cursing Carol for putting those thoughts in your head.

The next few days fly by in a blur with classes and homework and avoiding Carol around campus, but your evenings are absolutely perfect with Agatha.

She keeps the light low in the kitchen while she cooks for you each night while you sit at the table and ramble on about whatever you’re learning. She hums at all the right times, but when you take a break to look up at her, she’s staring at you with a fondness in her eyes that you’ve never seen before.

Each time it happens, you think it must be what love looks like.

Growing up with parents that should’ve been divorced, you never had a good model for what love was. You used to think that everyone’s parents were like yours — cold, didn’t actually like each other, and just stayed together for their children. You thought that love meant complacency, or even that maybe there was no such thing as it.

You weren’t sure if you’d actually be able to fall in love and be loved back. But with Agatha, there’s an intimacy your parents never had. You didn’t know what that was like until her.

And you know that you love her more than anything in the entire world, and when she gives you that look, you think she might feel the same.

The three words are constantly on the tip of your tongue, but for some reason, you just can’t say them again. You don’t even say it when she makes you cum, which is a lot of times over the week.

She bends you over the countertop and fingers you. She shoves you against the wall after you get back from your picnic on Thursday, gets on her knees, and eats you out. She makes you sit on her strap while you finish your essay and then pushes you onto all-fours and pounds into your pussy until you’re crying. She fucks you in the kitchen, in the bedroom, in the hallway, in the living room — even in her car and your car. Both while you’re safely parked in an abandoned lot, of course.

It’s like she’s determined to give you as many orgasms as she can before she moves, and she’s doing an excellent job of it.

Saturday, after everything gets moved into the new apartment and you’re finally done unpacking most of the stuff, Agatha takes you to a fancy Italian steakhouse in Albany. The atmosphere is romantic, with classical music playing softly and candles lit at every table. Agatha looks absolutely stunning in a tight black dress and curly hair, and you’re wearing your best outfit as well.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” she asks and your cheeks heat up as your head ducks down shyly.

“Once or twice,” you answer coyly, finally meeting her gaze again.

She holds out her hand across the table and you take it, feeling the normal electricity that her skin on yours always gives you. “We’re going to be okay, you know that, right? I know you’re more worried than you’re letting on. I know how you’re feeling — I know how easy it is to get swept away with doubts. But I really appreciate you telling me to take this job and I promise we’ll be okay. I care about you far too much to let anything happen to this.”

You nod and squeeze her hand. “I do know. I feel the same.”

“Oh — that reminds me. I got you something,” she says and digs around in her purse before pulling out a small black box with a red bow neatly wrapped around it and handing it to you. “You might want to open it beneath the table. Might be embarrassing if someone sees it.”

Brows furrowing in confusion, you dip the box under the white tablecloth and undo the bow quickly before lifting off the lid. Your mouth falls open and your eyes shoot up to meet hers.

“Agatha,” you hiss, flushing.

Resting on stretched out cotton in the box is a small, purple vibrator, curved to be able to rest on your clit while also vibrating against your g-spot, with a gold engraving along the side that goes inside you: Mommy’s cunt. Your clit throbs.

She holds up what looks like a small key fob and presses a button and the toy starts vibrating. You drop the box into your lap while gaping at her and she smirks triumphantly. “Works from anywhere in the world,” she says casually and your stomach sears with heat.

“Oh, fuck,” you rasp. You’re suddenly feeling very excited about this move. Something about the distance, about the anticipation and the teasing and the pining that it will bring, doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

Suddenly, the food can’t come fast enough and then you’re both in the car, Agatha speeding while you sit on your hands so you don’t distract her, and then she throws the car into park and you both race into her apartment.

Her mouth finds yours the moment you step through the door, pushing you against the wall as a muffled oomph slips out of you, and she sucks on your tongue and then bites your bottom lip and then kisses her way down your neck. Your brain is going foggy and your underwear is soaked and you quickly tug her into the bedroom.

Agatha tears off her dress and then pounces on you, knocking you onto your back on the bed, hands coming up to cup your breasts and you keen.

“God, Agatha,” you groan and she scrapes her teeth against your neck. It’s so good, but it’s also your last night before everything changes. “Wait, fuck, stop.”

She jumps back like she’s been burned. “What — is everything okay?”

You nod, panting, and run your hands up and down her hips. “Yeah, everything’s great. I just…can we just cuddle tonight? I just want to be close to you.”

Agatha runs her tongue along the inside of her bottom lip, her eyes going glassy for a moment before she blinks, and she chokes out, “Of course, honey. Whatever you want.”

Smiling gratefully, you take off your clothes and slide under the covers next to her so you can feel all of her warm skin against yours before she tucks an arm around you. You nuzzle into her body and your face twitches with restrained emotion.

“I’m going to miss you,” you say softly and she presses a kiss to your head. “I know it’ll be okay though. I’m almost done with my application to the University at Albany.”

She hums and kisses you again before breathing in your scent deeply like she’s making sure she doesn’t forget it. “I have no doubt you’ll get in. And then it’ll be us in our own little world.”

“That’s right.”

The two of you lay like that for what feels like hours, and eventually, Agatha’s breathing starts to even out. A quick glance up at her face confirms that she fell asleep.

You know you should too, but you’re reluctant to let this moment go. Right now, it feels like you’re frozen in time, just the two of you.

So you stay up as late as you can, just soaking in the feeling of her.

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7 @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @vyvvycg @m1vfs

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness smut #agatha smut #covsfics #do i wanna know

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goodlucktai · 6 months ago

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16 for the dialogue prompts?

dialogue prompts

16. “God, I’m so sorry, it’ll be over soon, I promise.”

@dandywonderous im so sorry about this in advance 🥹

When they were little, and they started wearing masks because Mikey wanted to be like the heroes he watched in Saturday morning cartoons, Donnie asked Splinter to cut the tails of his short so they wouldn’t get in his way.

Leo thought that was a crazy decision, because if the tails were short they wouldn’t match Raph’s.

“So?” Donnie said, unscrewing the bottom panel of the oscillating fan he stole from Splinter’s room.

“So what?” Leo said.

“So what if I don’t match Raph? I don’t have to,” Donnie pointed out, a seven year old at his most reasonable.

His twin blinked, then his striped cheeks puffed out, brow furrowing, fully not understanding the question. He wanted to do everything Raphie did, but denied it when anyone told him so.

This certain proof of that behavior made Donnie smile, quiet and indulgent the way he only ever was for his other half, but only when it was just the two of them.

Leo whined and kicked his feet but Donnie wouldn’t tell him what was funny.

Those long blue mask tails are sodden and heavy as Donnie shifts them out of the way, leaving a sickening trail of red where they drag against Leo’s neck and shoulder.

They’re pinned down, what’s left of the tunnel groaning and shifting around them, at least three Technodromes filling the sky outside. Donnie can feel the hum of impending doom in his teeth.

“Hush, Nardo,” Donnie whispers, hand clamped over Leo’s mouth hard, even though it cuts him to have to do this. “You can’t scream, mellizo. Hush.”

His twin writhes, digging at Donnie’s grip with desperate fingers. His chest is heaving, eyes wild with pain. The rosy glow of Raph’s ninpo is all they have to see by as the projection hovers above them in case of another collapse. In the dim light, Donnie can almost pretend it’s mud he’s kneeling in, warm and slick and pooling at an alarming rate from the slab of concrete that Leo’s right arm has been crushed under.

The safe zone has been compromised. It’s devastating, but not at all surprising. Two of their scouts didn’t report in when they should have, baseline humans who didn’t have a hope of resisting the Krang’s method of interrogation, so it was only a matter of time before the enemy came knocking.

April, Mikey and Cass have been evacuating their people and transporting supplies in and out of sunny orange portals all morning while Draxum, Hob and Usagi guarded their every move with eagle-eyed vigilance.

Donnie, Raph and Leo were holding the Krang at bay for every extra second that they could, but they stayed out there a second too long.

Now Leo is bleeding and the Krang hounds are prowling, their horrible faces scraping the ground as they sniff out that rich source of life, and Donnie’s mind is blank with panic. They’re trapped, and if he lets go then Leo will scream and bring death down on them, and if he doesn’t then death will come anyway, with teeth and venom.

“Shhh, Lilo,” Donnie tries to soothe, imagining Leo’s sweet, bright ‘shhh yourself, Dodo!’ in place of the uncomprehending whine he gets in response. “God, I’m so sorry. It’ll be over soon, I promise.”

Maybe we should pray, he thinks wildly. Not to god, because that would be a spectacular waste of breath, but to one of the people who left the party early and might be willing to toss a miracle or two in their direction. Papa, or Gram-gram, or April’s mom.

The red projection surrounding them begins to shrink. Slowly, making sure the rocks above and around them won’t shift, until the ninpo is just a warm glow beneath Raph’s skin. Donnie feels a rush of relief and anticipation—Raph has a plan, Raph will tell him what to do.

Raph puts one arm around Donnie’s shoulders and cups Leo’s face with his other hand, stroking his cheek with the pad of his thumb. Blood smears beneath his fingers. His expression is hard to read in the dark underground.

“You’ll be alright, big man,” Raph murmurs, all conviction, as if he can make it true out of sheer love. If anyone could, it would be him. Then he says, “Donnie, can you cut him out?”

The question makes his stomach lurch with nausea, bitter and acidic, but it’s a question that he can answer. After fighting in a three-turtle team for the better part of two hours, Donnie’s ninpo feels like coffee dregs left in the bottom of an empty pot. He has enough strength left that he could summon a tool for an emergency amputation, but only that.

“Not quickly,” he says pointedly, “or quietly.”

Raph nods. He just sits there for a minute, holding them. They don’t have a minute and Raphie knows that but he’s just holding them. Donnie’s heart begins to race in a brand-new direction, some frightened thing in his very center sitting up and taking notice.

Donatello has always been an incredible number of things, not all of them good or noble or worth bragging about, but above all else, at the end of each and every day, he was Raphael’s little brother.

Donnie didn’t imitate him when they were kids—didn’t wear his mask tails long or find reasons to follow him around—but he was every firm hug Donnie needed to keep his skin from itching when life got too loud. He was an attentive, listening audience when Donnie had to talk about the things pingponging around in his mind without being interrupted or he’d scream. He was the large hands that held Donnie’s, the snaggle-toothed face that smiled in encouragement, when Donnie learned to walk.

Donnie knew him fundamentally. Intrinsically. A textbook he never had to study, knowledge that grew up with him from the first moment he opened his eyes to the big, bright world. That’s how he knew what was about to happen the second before it did.

“No,” Donnie says hoarsely. “Please don’t.”

“Raphie’s gotcha,” Raph says warmly, the last steadfast and solid and remarkably kind thing left in the apocalypse.

He reaches down and presses the panic button on Donnie’s gauntlet. The alert activates with a bright pinging sound effect, echoing twice in their little disaster-made cavern as it’s received by Leo and Raph’s comms, and the Krang hounds nearby whine and bark in excitement. Their claws churn up earth and rock as they start to run.

Raph spares a second to press a kiss against Donnie’s temple, and another to Leo’s forehead, and then he’s gone. The light goes with him. Donnie shakes like a leaf, unreasonably cold, unable to think.

Leo is half out of his mind by now, sobbing and jerking at his trapped limb, but all his agony is soundly drowned out by the brutal battle Raphael is leading far away from them.

“Hush,” Donnie whispers, eyes stinging so badly he can hardly keep them open, tears dripping endlessly down his face. “It’ll be over soon.”

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #brains and brawn #hamato donatello #hamato raphael #hamato leonardo #disaster twins #my writing #prompt #tmnt fic #dandywonderous #:'(#cw injury and implied mcd

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modularmedia · 2 years ago

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youtube

Spetember 1982 - Saturday Morning Panels #3

@thevacuuminator & @snowburke discuss the Transformers 40th Anniversary figure, another Classic issue of RAH & some recent pick ups!

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eisforeidolon · 1 year ago

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Question: I want to know what was your most favorite unscripted scene or your least favorite scripted scene or moment?

Jared: Oh wow. Great question. I'm thinking about a moment where -

Jensen: Wait, let me guess - I punched you?

Jared: Yep, where Sam gets possessed by the Meg demon and finally gets exorcised, but he had been like, kinda torturing Dean? And so Dean reaches over, after Sam is back to Sam, like 'What happened?' and just punches him? That was in season two, Jesus.

Jensen: That wasn't scripted.

Jared: That wasn't scripted. There's so much that wasn't necessarily scripted, you know? Certain moments - one of my least favorite things, maybe my least favorite thing that any writer can put into a script? Is like, Dean cries, Sam breaks down, Dean tears up, Sam and you know, whatever, do this. 'Cause there were so many, if you were to go through all of the scenes of Supernatural, which there are many? And then watch the episodes, rarely was there a sequence where it was like they get emotional where we did and there was so many where they don't even mention that we get emotional, but you just feel it. You're just there and you're like - I hate it where it's like, this is where I'm supposed to cry [derisive noise]. 'Cause sometimes you don't even know, you'll go through a scene and you'll go, like, oh shit, like, that's hittin' deep. And it's not because it's scripted. So offhand, God -

Jensen: I think there's a lot of moments, especially some of the emotional moments. One comes to mind, which is the barn scene -

Audience: Which one?

Jensen: [slightly incredulous tone] Which one?

Jared: The most recent one.

Jensen: Yeah.

Jared: Genius.

Jensen: Where I'd be interested to go back and look - and I can't remember if - maybe they didn't use it, go back and read that scene on the script and see how word for word it was on the performance. Because I feel like there were takes where I know I would maybe repeat myself, or I would say some things that I thought were, you know, dove into the emotion even more. And it wasn't something I'd planned, it's just like - felt it, you just feel something and if - when you've worked with somebody for so long, and you're so comfortable with the character, and you know the story so well, you can be available for those things to hit and you can act on them, and you can say those words, and you can say something that just makes it feel more real. And I feel like we did that in that scene, there was some dialogue that maybe was added -

Jared: It's a lot. I know, yeah.

Jensen: or massaged, or you know.

Jared: I don't know if it was ever added to a revision, or if we just did it, but the callback of, like, I can't do this alone, yes you can, well I don't want to? It's the exact same words that Dean said to Sam and vice versa. So there was stuff that wasn't scripted initially - and that goes back to an earlier question, about if there's stuff like Jensen do whatever you want. Like the feeling of that scene was like, here guys, we know this intense -

Jensen: Here's the template.

Jared: here's the template, make it y'all's. Like, y'all know Sam and Dean more than anybody ever will, you make it yours. And so he and I had a couple months because then COVID happened, the pandemic, and so we made it ours. It was so hard to rehearse that scene.

Jensen: Well, even the - like it was scripted where I was on the ground. [Jared: Yeah.] And Jared comes up and kind of cradles me and I'm, you know, like, effectively dying in his arms.

Jared: Which would have been so long to try and carry your ass.

Jensen: And I just felt really strongly, and I've told this story before, and I went to Bob Singer, who directed that episode, I went to him a couple days prior just thinking about that scene, because it was a monster, and it was looming. And I just - it didn't feel right, to die laying down. And I said, hey, is there any way - because they were still building the set - I was like, is there any way, can we figure out a way for me to die on my feet? And Bob was like, [curmudgeonly voice] how the hell are you gonna do that? Who dies on their feet? And I'm like, Dean Winchester dies on his feet. And he made it work brilliantly, because he came, I think he came up with the idea that the impalement was so severe that if you removed it - and then we had to add that dialogue in, so it made me stay there on my feet and I think it was just such a much more powerful visual, to see these two brothers face to face in that moment. And so, you know, that was certainly one big thing that was totally unscripted that I fought for and I'm really happy I did, because -

Jared: Hell yes.

Jensen: I think it just made that scene that much more powerful.

Jared: Also I'm grinning to myself because I've watched a lot of the 15x20 reaction videos, the finale? And there's some really savvy tv viewers out there who've seen a lot of different television shows, a lot of different episodes of them. And you'll watch some and they'll be like, 'Oh, yeah, oh Sam's takin' on the big guy, oh yeah take that blah blah blah!' And then when Dean goes to the post and then runs out where it shows, they'll be like, 'Yeah - oh no. Oh c'mon now, no no no, they just showed that for too long - Oh shit! And then, like, turn it off because I'm crying.

Jensen: I still love the fact that the stunt guy, who is awesome, he's like ex-military, giant, one of the biggest guys we've ever had on our show, his name was Heidi. And he killed Dean Winchester [laughs]. But he's an awesome guy and in fact I was just in Vancouver and working with Jesse and Jesse and Heidi are like super close buds now, so it was good to kinda reminisce with those guys a little bit.

#jibcon 2024 #j2 saturday morning panel #long post

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catastrophic-crow · 1 year ago

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DP x DC prompt #151

Bruce doesn't know how it happened, but unknown Apokolips tech that he brought in from the latest attack to study wound its way to Wayne Enterprises's R&D department. He expected to walk into the R&D section completely destroyed, not to see the Apokolips tech dismantled and being rebuilt by the new hire, Daniel Fenton.

#the hidden panel #for anyone who doesn't know about it #it's accessed by clicking the red button #on Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal's website; for any particular comic

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saywhat-politics · 3 months ago

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MSNBC panel members burst into laughter while reading President-elect Donald Trump’s most recent social media rant.

Trump posted a rant on Truth Social Saturday morning decrying his legal woes after Judge Juan Merchan ordered him to appear for sentencing in his hush-money case on January 10, just over one week before his inauguration.

“There has never been a President who was so evilly and illegally treated as I,” Trump wrote. “Corrupt Democrat judges and prosecutors have gone against a political opponent of a President, ME, at levels of injustice never seen before.”

#former president #president elect #donald trump #truth social #msnbc #evilly

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striveattemptfail · 6 months ago

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Minor Differences | Logan Howlett & Wade Wilson, 1.9k, PG-13

@poolvertober: Day 20 – Pop Culture

Summary: Five times Logan learns something new about the timeline he's in (and one time it was for the better). Inspired by this post by @nichknack. Rated for language. Takes place some time after the movie's events; just assume Logan and Wade are back-up X-Men. More gen than slash but we all know the truth ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Read on Ao3

A/N: Once again, I'm taking today's prompt fast and loose so forgive me in advance 😅🙏 Un-beta'd but quite frankly it's a miracle I even finished on time lmao. Can you believe this was originally supposed to be ~600 words? (ノ_<、)

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

The first time Logan notices that his new timeline isn’t identical to his old one, it’s over a subtle name change.

He’s reading the Saturday paper in the living room, Wade watching some reality show on the seat next to him with Mary Puppins in his lap, when Althea leaves her room and shuffles into the kitchen.

“Alexa,” she calls out, “what time is it?”

A robotic voice replies, “The time is 5:43pm.”

Logan drops the newspaper from obscuring his face. He immediately finds the source of the reply on the coffee table: a grey, cylindrical device that looks like a mini speaker, control buttons on its side. It blinks a turquoise light around the rim until the light turns off with a muted beep at the extended silence.

“What the fuck?” he wonders out loud, surprised to see such a familiar gadget.

“Have you not interacted with an Echo before, peanut?” Wade asks. “Did you not have Bezos’ army of listening devices where you’re from?”

Althea barks out a hollow laugh. “You keep calling the damn thing a spy machine—”

“Because I don’t trust it!”

“—but you keep it right there anyway.” She scoffs, making her way to the fridge. “Fuckin’ hypocrite.”

“Well, it’s also convenient!” Wade argues. “Do you miss when I used to shoot the lights off?”

“What the fuck?” Logan says again, but for a completely different reason this time.

“Listen,” Wade starts, and from his tone Logan can tell some bullshit is about to leave his mouth, “sometimes a guy just wants to pass out after walking in at ass o’clock in the morning without having to get up when he forgets to deal with the lights!”

“So you shot the damn lights out?” Logan guesses. “Is that why all the light switch panels are just exposed? Because you shot the fuckin’ plates off?”

“Alexa, tell peanut to stop bullying me!”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know that command,” the device says. “Would you like to—”

“Alexa, shut up.”

The cylinder goes quiet with a beep.

“Anyway, you didn’t answer my question,” Wade says before Logan gets a chance to berate him more. “Did your world not have Echos?”

“We did,” he admits, “but they were called Alexis.”

“Like Texas!” Wade shoots him a wink before chuckling to himself.

(Presumably to himself, because Logan has no clue what the fuck he’s talking about, as usual.)

Before either of them can elaborate, Althea yells from where she’s bent over in front of the open fridge, “Wade, did you put the fucking milk carton back empty again?!”

Their attention quickly shifts from there.

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

The next time Logan notices, it’s over something equally innocuous.

He and Wade hate talking to the authorities when they finish a mission, but none of the X-Men who are way better suited to dealing with humans made it in time to stop their target. He and Wade finished the job before those asscracks even left the X-Mansion, which meant the two of them had to deal with the aftermath until someone more qualified arrived.

“I’ll play you for it!” Wade finally suggests after five whole minutes of arguing over who should talk to the police chief.

He sticks his hands out, a fist over a flat palm. Logan rolls his eyes but dutifully mimics the gesture.

“After three, okay?” Wade clarifies. “No cheating!”

“Let’s just get this the fuck over with.”

Wade nods once.

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” he counts as Logan simultaneously chimes, “Paper, scissors, rock, bang!”

They don’t even look to see who won. Instead, they mirror each other’s expression: one of total confusion.

“Mr. Deadpool? Mr. Wolverine?” a voice calls behind them—Logan recognizes it as one of the younger detectives Wade was speaking to earlier. “We need one of you now, please.”

He and Wade finally both look at their hands.

Fuck.

“Ha ha, sucker!” Wades hollers, his rock crushing Logan’s scissors. He only grunts in response when Wade quite literally skips away after slapping Logan on the ass. Logan turns around with a flat expression and follows the detective to where the police chief is giving a statement to some reporter.

Whatever. The sooner this is done the sooner he and Wade can go home.

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

Another time it happens, Logan’s not even sure if he even remembers the reference correctly.

He and Wade are at the X-Mansion for another mission, catching up with Ellie and Yukio inside the Blackbird jet while Colossus to grabs more a few more people. Logan’s not quite paying attention to the conversation’s details, more enamoured by the strange friendship the two girls have with Wade.

At some point, Ellie says something that makes Yukio giggle and shove her shoulder, causing Wade to cackle out, “Weird flex, but okay!”

Logan furrows his brows but doesn’t comment because Wade’s already pivoted the topic to something else.

He could swear that the saying was odd flex, but very well. If he actively recalls the kids from his old universe, that was what they used to say, right?

(Most days, he usually tries his best to not remember them. The pain may not be fresh anymore but it still hurts all the same. He’ll never be able to hear Kitty, or Jubilee, or Rogue, or Bobby cracking jokes he doesn’t understand but finds amusing nonetheless. Never again.)

Apparently, he’s still deep in thought by the time Laura walks up to him. Her face looks remarkably similar to one he sees on himself all the time—brows pinched, eyes narrowed, lips turned downward. At least on Laura the expression looks like a cute pout compared to Logan’s usual, unimpressed glare.

“What’s wrong?” She looks to the other three still caught up in their conversation, not paying Logan any mind. “Did they say something?”

Logan shakes his head. There’s no point in dwelling over the kids’ memes from his old life. He’s poked at those memories like an old bruise more than enough now.

“Nah,” he says, mostly telling the truth, “just remembered something.”

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

He finally catches on by the following incident.

A song has been driving Logan fucking crazy for the past four hours. The goddamn earworm simply refuses to get out of his head, even with Wade’s incessant rambling at his phone in the background. What he’s blabbing about right this moment, Logan has no clue, because lyrics are on loop in his brain and he can’t hear anything above it.

Time for a replay session, he supposes, taking a seat in the living room. Hopefully making his ears bleed from the melody on constant repeat will finally get it out of his head.

“Hey, bub, can you play that ‘Vegas glowing’ song by Handsome Delight on the Alexis?” he interjects in the middle of Wade’s rant.

Wade furrows his hairless brow-line. “Come again? This time in my ear? Also, it’s still just Alexa.”

“You know,” Logan says, followed by a vague hum. “You walk in over time / ‘Cause we both know you’re mine / Fallin’ straight, don’t look down / Las Vegas glowin’ on the town,” he sings, hoping he has the correct lyrics. “That one?”

“One: Excellent singing, honey badger! Do you practice scales when I’m not listening? Because that voice is—” Wade cuts off to do a chef’s kiss with his fingers. “Two: Nope! Still no clue what that song is.”

“Stop fuckin’ with me, Wade.” Logan grunts, remembering how annoyingly often the song was playing on the radio when he was bar hopping earlier this year. Wade listens to pop music almost exclusively—there’s no way he would’ve escaped this song. “It was in the Top 40s for months. You had to have heard of this.”

Wade just blinks at him. “I really, truly have not.”

“Wait,” he pauses in realization, “does Handsome Delight not exist here?”

“Never heard of them!” Wade confirms, shaking his head and starts typing away on his phone. “Aaaaand Google here only pulls up a very adorable cake when I search that name.” He shows his screen to Logan, who grumbles in frustration after squinting at the results.

“You’re fuckin’ kidding me.”

“Why? What’s up, buttercup?”

“Shit. The damn song’s stuck in my head but I only know that stupid part.” He groans at himself, throwing his head back onto the couch, miffed that he can’t scratch the song’s itch like he thought. “I was hoping I could put it on repeat so I’d finally get it out of my system.”

“Sorry, peanut!” Wade pats his shoulder. “If it helps though, I can sing anything you want to rid you of the earworm plaguing you! I’ll be your personal jukebox!”

His answer is automatic. “I’d rather chop my ears off.”

Wade, obviously, starts singing anyway.

“You are! My fiiiire—”

Logan promptly sticks a claw into each ear. He might have pushed a little too far and nicked his brain a bit on both sides, which is just fine because the injury causes him to briefly pass out, a good solution as any at this point.

The last thing he sees is Wade’s comically dismayed face.

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

Logan accepts that this universe is just weirdly different after one more incident.

He and Wade made it home too goddamn late last night after finishing a job that took way too fucking long, which meant they both pass out for a solid eight hours and wake up well past noon for their first meal of the day. Althea had already left to do her own business (Logan never asks her what she’s up to, and he’s probably better for it) and took along Mary Puppins, so it’s just him and Wade in the kitchen.

Wade’s already sitting at the table, digging into something from a silvery packet when Logan shuffles by.

“Mornin’, peanut.”

“Hrm.”

“Figured I’d get some real food later, but I’m too damn tired right now, so, y’know—” he lifts up what Logan finally sees is a Pop-Tart, “—Pop-Tarts.”

Logan assesses that he is also too damn tired to actually cook himself a meal, but also too hungry to ignore his appetite. He combs through the cupboards with a quiet hum until he can kick his ass to get some real food. He eventually decides to follow Wade’s lead to eat something now and order more food later, going to the cabinet and bypassing Wade’s stock of sugary children’s cereal for the Special K.

“Not digging into the Raisin Bran, old man?” Wade teases.

“I may be old,” he tosses right back, “but I don’t need to act like it too.” He grabs the milk (a new carton because Althea chewed Wade out last time), a bowl, and a spoon, bumping the utensil drawer closed with his hip. Then, he makes his way to the kitchen table to sit across from Wade.

As always, he pours the milk first.

“Logan,” Wade says slowly, his eyes growing wide with what looks like concern, “why the fuck are you pouring the milk before the cereal?”

“Because that’s how you’re supposed to do it.” Logan shoots him a bewildered look because that’s how everyone does it? He’s pretty sure it’s common knowledge to pour the milk first so you get an even distribution of crunch. He’s adding the cereal in when he asks, “What the fuck are you on about?”

Wade’s horrified gaze flickers back and forth between Logan and his bowl. “That’s so fucking cursed.”

At this point, Logan doesn’t bother dignifying that with a response, digging into his bowl with a dismissive grunt and shake of his head. He very purposefully ignores the implication that people on this planet pour the cereal first.

Now that’s fucking cursed.

Logan may have been engineered to be a wild animal, but he’s not a goddamn savage.

❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛❤️💛

Logan finds out that Dolly Parton is still alive on this planet.

He considers forgiving the cereal before milk bullshit just for that.

——————————————

(More notes on Ao3.)

#poolvertober #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool & wolverine #dp&w #deadpool #wolverine #poolverine #peanutbub #deadclaws #wolverpool #wade wilson #logan howlett #blind al #jercy attempts words #fanfic #.JUST TAKE THIS!!! I'M TIRED!!

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tparker48 · 4 months ago

Text

Request for annonymous

The weekend was supposed to be a week of relaxation, filled with shows for Milai to binge and snack on popcorn. But that all changed when Rad shoved a Mathematics final into his face. As if handling chemistry wasn't hard enough. Saturday was spent calculating his professor’s what if problems; Sunday's focusing on how to bring them together. He wrote down his answers enough for Rad to understand, all he had to do was write it down.

He packed the assignment into a file, emailing it to Rad. He thought that was the end of it, that is, until morning arrived. Rad had sent him a text to meet him in the gym, said he had a stereo project for Milai to see. Of course he did. Arriving at the gym, He followed Rad into the heart of the gym, stepping into the locker rooms.

Sitting along the floor was a leather box, Guarded by Rad’s friends.

"This is the stereo you were talking about?" Milai eyed the small box.

"You bet,” Rad replied, “the boys have been saying it's been having shitty quality, can barely handle the ox.”

Milai cocked a brow, approaching the box from its side. He eyed the belted patterns along the corner of its faces, tracing them as he moved to the middle of the structure. A panel creaked open, and he peered inside. No cassette deck, no wires, not even a plug.

"I don't see anything in here! Are you sure this is even a stereo?"

"Nope,” Rad said, “but it sure will come close to being one!"

Milai jerked as the rubbery hide of a sneaker tackled behind him, casting him into the mouth of the panel. Darkness swallowed the light as the panel closed, a loud clunk echoing on the other side. He raised his arms ahead, barely able to see the silhouette of his fingers through the dimmed lighting beneath the panel.

A tilt along the side of the box slid him to the opposite wall, laughter filling the void like a pack of hyenas.

"I told you this shit would work!" Rad’s voice muffled beyond the walls, joined by the snickering of his friends.

"Rad!” Milai banged against the wall. “What is the meaning of this?!"

"You gave me a failing grade, you little shit nugget! The professor’s stupid computer claimed it as plagiarized."

"You sent it as it was?! You were supposed to write it down!"

"That's what I have you for, nerd, and you did a shitty job at it!" Rad replied. "But that's good, you just gave me an excuse I can use for the coach to keep my spot on the team."

The floor yanked from under Milai, slamming him against the leathered wall. Cement grinds against the fabric below, a hard thud striking the walls as he spun in place. Another thud impacted the box before a knock lingered beyond the walls, Rusted creaks following.

“Rad!” A scruffier voice rumbled above. “Thought I told you to pack your things."

"Cut me some slack, coach, I just wanna give you and the team an apology gift.” The box jerked forward. Feast your eyes on this bad boy!”

“A box?”

“Not just any box,” rad added, “A state of the art isolation box, fit for all your needs.”

Milai banged against the leathered interior, his blows absorbing into its sturdy walls.

“You must think 'cause I'm old you can take me for a fool.” The coach said. “You really think a box is gonna change my mind.”

"Not at all, sir. It’s something I’d want you to consider."

Watery steps echoed in the distances, herds of and groans filling the void.

“And it seems I just made it in time. What do ya say, coach, save your nostrils the wrath of the team, or let it stink up the place.”

“You’ve got some nerds talking to me like that.” The coach growled, his words rumbling through the box.

“I mean no ill will, coach. Cross my heart.” The floor beneath Milai flung from him off his feet, tilting vertically before the coach groaned outside. “You’d better hurry, I can already hear the trumpets from here.”

Rad’s steps grew hollow, a creak from the locker room door signaling his departure. Milai stared at the hollow ceiling, rubbing his aching rear.

“I swear that boy stresses the hell out of me.” The coach said above, the walls shifting as Milai fell to the opposite wall. "Looks sturdy enough, this damn thing better be worth it than that brat’s yammering."

The box seesawed as heavy steps filled the atmosphere. Milai could barely stand, the floor’s firm jerks bullying him from wall to wall like a pinball. It brushed him into a corner, and he clung to the dented strips in the wall, holding it like the railing on a theme park ride.

A loud thud boomed from outside, and the sound of running water overcame the silence. Chatters that were once distant now surround the dark tomb talking about scrimmages and favorite plays. They were in the showers. The team’s showers. The floor drifted as he became weightless, box slamming on the ground with a wet splash.

"Christmas came early boys!" The coach announced, roping the chattering players to silence. "A little elf's brought you all a little present for your aching tushies."

The box thrusts forward, the far wall catching Milai as it spun somewhere ahead. Slowly it came to a stop, and Watered steps echoed around. The ceiling rattled before the circular opening tore off, light bursting inside like a flash grenade. However the moment of light was brief, as a mountainous mass eclipsed the opening.

"Now I don't have to tell you overgrown buffaloes how to use a toilet." The coach’s hide slid over the opening, his silky sack drooping inside. They over Milai like a string of snot, its meloned testicle threatening to droop closer with the slightest shift. "I’ll keep this simple, if any of you has to so much as crack a gasket, you direct all that to this box."

Fingers peeled a mound from the other, its shriveled sphincter blossoming from its cleft like a flower. Its folds quivered, before a gale of flatulence rushed into the bowl. Its warmth blanketed over Milai, spreading across the box like a morning fog. His nostrils screamed, His lungs tightening to hold the tiny sample of fresh air contained within them.

Beyond the walls, groans echoed from the surrounding players, as if his pain transmitted to them.

"Can it! I've faced weeks smelling your stink bombs, you can handle hearing a bit of mine." The coach squeezed another burst, peeling from the opening with a rough squeak. "Alright dismissed! Get those raw dogs of yours washed, All I want to smell by the you’re all done is the fabreeze dispenser!"

Shorts pulled over the hairy hide before it vanished over the edge, leaving a skylight in the middle of the ceiling. For a moment, Milai’s lungs could breathe again, though tainted from the coach's foul odor. Shadow danced from the opening, Chattering returned.

"He wants us to use this dainty thing?" One player said, pressing a foot against its side.

"Bullshit, the thing's tin can, it could barely hold the old man!" Another chimed.

Chattering increased, watered steps funneling closer. The smell of lavender seeped into his nostrils as another rear eclipsed the opening, droplets of water pattering from its round spheres like rain.

"Look guys, we can sit here and complain about the coach's..questionable tactics. But.." The player paused, a burst of air erupting from the hole, carrying with it water droplets as they struck Milai. "I, for one, am not going to challenge that. And I suggest you all do the same less you wanna do bear crawls in the hot sun again."

The player peeled from the box, light illuminating the walls once more. Milai pawed against the leathered floor, coughing to cast out the tainted air.

Hell no, I'm not doing that again, my jock nearly gave me a rash with all that crawling." a player said.

"Nearly? Mine damn near gave me a wedgie!" Another chimed.

Their steps approached, blocking the ceiling light like pillars. Milai clambered to his feet, coughing at the pungent odor that stuck to him like cologne.

“Hey!..” He said between breaths. “There’s in here!..no more!”

Nothing, not even a glance over the circular rim. The dimmed light turned black as another rear hovered overhead. Its mounds scrunched together like unopened loaf of bread, Gyrating with a shift of the player’s weight. Milai called to the descending player, but they were drowned out as flesh skidded against the opening.

Fingers peeled its sides, the eye of the ass casting its judgement to the interior of the box. Milai banged against the walls, his words bouncing off them like an echo chamber. The player’s anus cocked, and a sewery gale flowed inside. Its air was as ripe as a left out trash can, loud and wet as it invaded his lungs.

The ass rose, and another took its place, carrying with it a cacophony of smell no man should ever witness.

This parade of flatulence continued for minutes, asses narrow and wide passing over the opening like the sun hidden away by the shower's walls. With each ass that docked overhead, it brought with it another warmth, another torture he had to wait to disperse or absorb into the walls. It was beyond unbearable.

Milai pulled off his shirt, tainted sweat in its fabric dampening his fingers like a wet towel. He didn't know much he could take from this. This shitty container was going to be a tomb for his sinuses. Another wave washed him, rumbling the floor before it wisped to the edge.

In that instant, everything went silent, chatters echoing above. Was it over? Truly over?

"Out the room! The atom bomb's coming!" A player announced.

Milai widened. "Atom who?"

Commotion erupted from the players outside, the top of their domes zipped past the rim.

"Hey, wait! Don’t leave!" Milai banged against the edge. "Let me out of this thing!"

No response, the sounds of their watery steps fading. Curtains draw as silence brewed, ;leaving behind only the sound of the shower’s running faucets..

"Do they always have to keep saying that?" A voice said, heavy steps coming from behind. "I swear one milkshake mishap and you’re branded for life!"

Milai eyed the opening, focusing on the player’s steps. He couldn’t see anyone past its ridge, but he could feel their presence in the air, like it was embedded in his bones. The heavy steps came to a halt, water droplets trickling over the open. The ceiling light shifted as a kick struck the side of the box, and the blocky silhouette of a player cast overhead.

The player’s gaze tilted, a groan escaping from them. "Coach said we have to use this? He couldn’t have asked for a bigger one?" A loud rumble pierced the air, rippling his barreled gut. “This thing won’t last a second, But I guess it’ll have to do.”

The player turns around, the bulk of his gut shifting to his ample mounds like a flipped coin. He lowered himself onto the box, and he could almost hear it scream. The walls buckled, the sound of tearing leather echoing from the walls.

Veins streaked across the walls, light bleeding inside. Milai scrambled to them, sliding an arm through, to wiggle himself out. Only his shoulder could squeeze through, the walls pressing against his cheek.

The metal hide popped as the crevice split horizontally. He pulled his arm just as their ends clanged together, tumbling to the middle of the container.

The ceiling creaked louder, the cracks blistering up the walls. They climbed to the top of the box, and the ceiling bucked. Milai barely had time to move before its rim met his palms. His knees met his stomach, his as burning beneath the player’s weight.

"Great, just great, I can feel the bottom in my crack." The player groaned, Milai’s hair sticking to his cleft as it rubbed in place. “Stupid leather’s lighting a fire in my ass.”

Bubbles oozed from its fleshy crevices, forcing the ring to distend. Its roar erupted into the box, and a foul warmth spewed upon his back. The ass above fluttered in his palms, its flatulence vibrating his palms like a motor boat.

The gas sealed with a grotesque squelch, the ass shuttering. "Ah, that's much better."

"Come on.." Milai gritted beneath the player's weight. He could hear the container creak louder, the edge of the rim dipping as it pressed against his head. If this keeps up he'll..No, he has to find a way out of this thing.

He slid his palms along the edge, ushering from beneath the dipping end of the rim. He looked back to the blanket of ass flesh above, eyeing the empty space. He didn’t like the idea, but it was better than being crushed. He slid a foot from beneath him, a burn overwhelming his limbs as they began to shake.

With little strength he had left, he kicked himself away, splaying against the cleft of the player’s ass as the rim met the bottom.

"Damn thing barely lasted a minute, it’s a flapjack more than a box now." The player rang above. His hole spewed its foul breath into the tattered box, warming Milai’s back.

He pawed against the floor beneath him, crawling inside a pocket of air. He barely gained an inch before air fluttered beneath the player’s taint, flesh flattening him. The hole erupted again, droplets collecting at Milai’s neck forcing him to wince. Amidst its bubbly release, a door creaked in the distance, a familiar voice streaking the air.

“Yo Atom, Hurry in it there!" Rad said, dripping with a snarked tone.

"You of all people know not to call me that, you dunce!” He snapped back.

"Ooo excuse me, sorry I Interrupted your little pampering.”

Milai writhed beneath the player, focusing on the small patch of light seeping between his legs. Atom’s weight shifted, his anus squashing upon his waist.

“Thought coach told you to beat it!” Atom said. “I don’t need any more trouble than having a deadbeat like you talking with me.”

“Coach turned over a new leave, I'm back on the team.” Rad mocked. “Even sent me come fetch you from your little..heh, gas problem before you stink the place.”

“Bullshit!”

“Best believe, I’m back in the game baby.” Rad replied. “But hey, if you don’t you can always just sit here and continue, buut It’d be a shame to see you running those laps on the field. Coach was watching those hills pretty close the last I saw him."

Atom groaned, vibrating through the walls like thunder. "Damn it just…gimme a second."

The player’s legs tightens, the soft tissue of his taint smother against Milai’s cheek. Ripples channeled toward his anus, and he was poured in his flatulence. It radiated his backside like the heat waves from an oven, enveloping him in its musk from head to toe. He pawed at the small gap between the player's legs, hoping to squeeze past the bulk of the player’s backsack and into the open. but to no avail.

The hole shriveled in size, its wind concentrating into a singular stream as his clothes stuck to his skin. As it rose from the bowl, his leg jerked as his foot caught along one of its folds.

“Wait..” He dangled beneath the player, the anus dragging him between the bubbled mounds like a predator with a fresh catch. The hills of flesh climbed over his body, swallowing up to his head. Wait wai-!"

"Can't believe I have to rush at a time like this, you didn't see me nagging about their time with the box." Atom scratched idly at his rear, a fire stirring between them. "Now I've got a damn itch.."

He straightened himself, concentrating on his glutes. With a firm squeeze, a burst of air fluttered from his cheeks, escaping into the open air.

"Mph!"

"Huh?" He snapped back, finding only the empty shower curtains. "thought I heard somethin' just now.."

He scanned the neighboring showers, before looking toward the container. Its corners were mangled, veins stretching along either side as a butt print carved into the metal hide of the lid. He turned toward the door, Rad peering over his shoulder. He thought he was looking at the jerseys toppled in the corner, but his gaze laid on the box, a smirk stretching to his ear.

“The hell you staring at?!” He nudged a shoulder into Rad. “Wanna sniff or something?!”

“Like I’d want to sniff the ass of the atom bomb.”

“You son of..call me that again and I’ll turn you as flat as this box.”

“You could, you definitely could, however who’s scent will the coach be smelling?” His sly grin widened, his eyes Peering into Atom. “Wouldn’t be mine, but I’m sure whoever was here last will surely get the extra laps. don’t you think, Atom bomb?”

His face scrunched, his fingers tensing. He shot an arm to Rad's jersey, ensnaring it into his fist. He held the other mid air, the tip of Rad’s nose grazing across his knuckles. Even now the brat held his stupid grin, puckering his lips as if he were going to kiss his fist.

Whistling blew from the cracked door, the coach barking plays as they reverberated the cemented walls

“What’ll it be, bomby boy.” Rad said in a singsong, cocking a brow.

Atom held his fist closer, his body yearning to shrivel Rad’s face like a lemon. He shoved him away, sent the shambled box to the far wall with a sluggish kick.

“You’re lucky I like this sport.” He growled beneath his breath.

“And the sport likes you, Atom!” Rad’s smirked. “I do too!”

“Can it!”

He hoists his shorts to his waist, his briefs wrapping around his rear, but something felt off. It was tighter than they usually were, pinching between his mounds like a wedge. He plucked at one its ends, drawing a cheek from its layer as it spilled over the flaps. The tightened sensation lessened, reduced to softened pressure as his mound clapped together.

“I swear this thing’s been bugging me.”

“Seems like you got a real nuisance up your ass, ay Atom bomb?”

“Not as much a nuisance as you are!”

#musk #giant #tiny #unaware #farts

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