#and it's something that checks all the boxes for me

[the-internets-girlfriend]

Bittersweet Memories: Before the Frosting Sets

George Clarke x Reader (Series)

There was something sweet - until it all fell apart. Years later, a viral video stirs up a past neither of them ever quite let go of. In the city where they both changed, something is quietly rising again.

warnings: soft angst, emotional miscommunication, heartbreak, swearing, slow-burn

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series | masterlist | next part

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Part One: Before the Frosting Sets (1200+ words)

I still remember the way George used to eat sprinkles straight from the jar.

We weren't one of those couples who posted anniversary posts or had a shared Spotify playlist - we kept it quiet, happy living in our blissful moments. It was slower. The kind of thing that grows between late night train rides and shared Tesco snacks, where love doesn't announce itself so much as it simply stays.

George was still figuring things out when we met. He filmed little skits on TikTok - low-effort but effortlessly funny. His face was stating to show up of people's for you pages. A couple thousands likes here and there - a "wait, aren't you that guy with the sound in the garage?" in a coffee shop once or twice.

He would brush it off with a laugh, but I could see it - the hope curling at the edges of his smile. Like maybe, just maybe, this thing he loved could actually become something.

And I wanted that for him. So badly.

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We met at a bus stop in Clapham, standing under one of those flickering streetlights. I was holding a cake box for my cousins 21st birthday. He asked if it was from that bakery around the corner. I told him no - I'd made it myself.

He looked impressed, "like, properly made it?"

I nodded my head, "from scratch, as well." I proudly showed off my cake, allowing for George to look through the clear top lid.

That had made him give me an amazed "well you must be a wizard then."

"Only during the school term."

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We didn't rush into anything. It started with the exchange of phone numbers, and casual messages - like stupid memes and late-night facetimes. Then it became weekends together. Then it became toothbrushes kept at each other's place. Then it just...was.

I would bake my cakes for friends and family while he filmed. When his laptop battery dies, he would crash on my sofa. I would glance up from icing cupcakes and find him watching me - not in the intense way but it was soft...thoughtful. Like, he was learning so much about me in that very moment.

"People would love watching this," he said once, phone in hand. "You piping those little waves and rose things, or you explaining nerdy baking stuff - it's great content."

I laughed at the idea, "baking isn't content, it's a way for me to think - a calm space.

He didn't ague. Just nodded and went back to filming himself for a TikTok video.

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His follower count began to rise. Nothing wild - but just enough to start getting messages from small brands wanting free promo in exchange for a product. He made jokes about "when I hit 10k" but I saw it - the way he checked his notifications a little more often, the way his sketches got sharper, more edited, more curated.

I supported it. Of course I did. He was chasing something, and I knew what that felt like.

But somewhere along the way, our rhythms started to clash.

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He started getting invited to small creator meetups - nothing big, just a group of content creators going to a pub night together and doing group collabs. I usually stayed behind. Not because I wasn't invited - nut because I didn't know how to fit in there. I kept to my quiet kitchens and the sound of my kitchen aid humming, not ring lights and clickbait thumbnails.

"You should come next time," he said one night, grabbing his coat. "They'd love you - especially when you talk about cake stuff. And they've been dying to meet you."

I smiled faintly, "maybe."

He didn't push it.

And that was part of the problem - we stopped pushing. We both stopped asking and started assuming.

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One night, I brought up the bakery idea. Not a big place, just a small shop with pale pink tiles and a coffee machine. I'd been daydreaming it for years - but this time was different, I had actually meant it.

George was editing something on his laptop - he didn't even look up.

"I mean... that's a cute idea," he said, his focus still on the screen as he typed away. "But rent is brutal right now, yeah? You'd probably do better selling stuff online. Build a brand first. Like... be a bakery girl on TikTok or something." He said with a shrug.

It wasn't mean. He wasn't trying to crush anything. He just didn't see it the way I did.

And something about the word cute stuck like icing sugar in my throat.

It hurt.

I didn't say much after that. Just nodded and went back to folding cupcake boxes, humming a tune to myself to mask the sadness.

He didn't notice I stopped letting him taste-test new recipes. Or that I didn't ask him to film with me when I tried making a time-lapse of me baking to show my grandma.

We were still... fine. Still cuddling up in bed, still trading jokes, still doing all normal things.

But something was... cooling.

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The night we ended it - us. It wasn't dramatic. There was no raised voices. Just a quiet sense of something soft slipping through our fingers.

He was editing again - something about a collab with his new mates.

I was boxing up a batch of lemon curd cupcakes, too tired to pretend I wasn't hurting - hurting in my own home.

"You called my dream a 'cute idea'," I said finally, barely a whisper.

George blinked, looked up as if he hadn't heard right. "Wait-what?'

"My bakery. You said it was cute. Like a trend. A phase."

"I didn't mean it like that," he said quickly. "I was just being realistic."

"I know." I swallowed, "but that's the thing. You're chasing yours like it's already real...and you made mine sound like something I'd grow out of - like a child's dream."

There was a long pause. Then -

"I didn't mean to make you feel small."

"I know," I said again. "But you still did."

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We didn't say let's break up. It just happened.

He stayed the night. We held each other like people who weren't ready to let go yet, but already knew we had to.

He left the next morning with a quiet, "see you around," and the ghost of a kiss on my forehead.

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After that, life moved on.

I worked. I baked. I mourned. I stopped checking his page after a while. He kept growing - slowly, steadily. His face popped up on my feed sometimes, smiling over beers or filming chaotic videos with friends I never knew.

He looked happy.

I tried to be.

But sometimes, I'd catch myself icing a cake and wondering if he ever thought of me - of us.

Sometimes I'd see a jar of sprinkles and think about how he used to eat them, by the handful, from the jar.

And that was it.

Not a disaster. Not a betrayal.

Just a quiet goodbye between two people who wanted different things at the same time - and couldn't find the right way to say it out loud.

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hi all!

I hope you enjoyed the first part for my second series, and are excited to see what comes next!!

See you next time,

mwah x

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taglist x

@mothersversiononly @whisperturnedecho @lovingaphroditesworld @reidyourpalms @liz140569 @swizzlemynizzle @wherethezoes-at @clarkeyzzz @swiftlyjo

[harrywavycurly]

Glitch: What Do You Mean?

Masterlist: Here

CW: Jealous Harry, manipulation (thanks Jeff), language, emotional immaturity (you were literally turned on less than three weeks ago so things are new for you), and some dramatic moments that could be called “causing a scene”.

A/N: It’s truly just so fun to write an unhinged Harry so I hope you enjoy and also I don’t think Shawn is anything like this it’s just for funsies. Enjoy the absolute drama that is this chapter.💓

Tag List: @alicivava @cosmicneptune @daphnesutton @valeriiyuhh @drewrry @obsessiveenthusiast @me-undiscovered @psicostyles @umadirectioner @styleswithaseaview @sunflower-tia @tulips4harry @gmikaelson @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @namoreno @harryscherries28 @blckburd @harry2121 @cevans-winchester @prettygurl-2009 @maudie-duan @sassamanda77 @triski73 @mema10

Summary: When Harry sees you with someone else you have a hard time understanding why it makes him act the way he does💓

Harry hates going to events that require him to dress up and mingle with people he doesn’t know, it’s one of the major downsides to fame and it’s a giant reason why he’s enjoyed his time off for so long. Because in his mind, the music industry really doesn’t want anything to do with you if you don’t have anything to offer. So keeping out of the studio and having a life away from writing lyrics and chasing the melodies that are stuck in between passing thoughts in his head have done him a massive favor, it’s kept him out of the spotlight and off guest lists for parties such as the one he’s currently in the middle of. But famous or not Harry has always been one to rise to the occasion for important events in order to support the people he holds near and dear to him so of course when he got invited to a charity gala for a cause close to the heart of one of his bestfriends he was quick to RSVP, notably without checking the box for a plus one.

He is on his second leisurely lap around the event space, a massive ballroom of some upscale hotel that he can’t be bothered to remember the name of, when he thinks he sees someone he knows out of the corner of his eye. It’s the skirt of a gown that catches his attention, not being able to see anything else other than a few bright pink and orange flowers embroidered on a sheer white fabric before it disappears in the crowd. But a sense of something begins to stir deep down inside his chest, like he knows there’s only one person in the world that would be wearing a floral gown in a sea of stark black and the occasional red dresses but the odds of it being who he thinks are slim and while the universe may be on his side most of the time and he has been fortunate to be on the receiving end of its luck he knows tonight the luck of the universe has all but abandoned him. Because he gets a feeling that’s similar to a shiver that goes down his spine as he turns around at just the right moment and sees something that makes his blood turn to ice in his veins and his jaw to clench.

You’re standing there in a white floor length gown with a sheer lace overlay that has brightly embroidered flowers all over the skirt leaving the top half mostly white with the delicate lace creating a slightly more modest neckline and while Harry thinks you might actually be the most beautiful person he’s ever seen that’s not what draws his attention. It’s the person that’s standing next to you that earns his narrow eyed glare, the person with a hand on your waist as they stare down at you with a smile Harry knows is a playful smirk that clearly followed something cheekily said based on how your face has a faint blush to it and you bring your hand that’s not gripping the flute of champagne up to your face in an attempt to try and hide your embarrassment.

Normally Harry would just brush off the fact you’re here with someone, not caring at all what brought the two of you together let alone to a random charity event thrown by one of his close friends. Especially since Harry is trying to convince himself he doesn’t know you well enough to be bothered by any of that, considering he’s not sure if you’d even call him a friend at this point. But it’s who you’re with that changes everything for him, making him unable to just move on and go about his evening as if he never saw you because you’re with him.

Shawn fucking Mendes.

The one man he can’t stand for reasons even unknown to him, the man he swears does things just to get a rise out of him, the one person he has to actively hold himself back from smacking the silly little smile off his pretty little face, the man you just so happen to be giggling at as you place your hand on his arm. Honestly, of all the arms for you to be holding onto as you laugh at a joke Harry is sure isn’t even very funny and if it is then it’s one he stole from someone far more entertaining, of course it had to be Shawn’s.

It just further proves the feeling of the universe turning it’s back on Harry as he watches the two of laugh and whisper little things in each other’s ears as if you’ve known one another for years and suddenly Harry begins to wonder if maybe you have and that’s why he hasn’t ever seen you until recently. Because Jeff knows his distaste for the Canadian singer so it makes sense that he’d keep you tucked away in his contact list until he knew your entanglement or whatever it is that’s going on with you and Shawn was done with, but clearly Jeff made a mistake because by the looks of it your relationship with Shawn is anything but over.

If Harry was being honest with himself he’d admit how truly creepy he’s being as he watches you and Shawn from a relatively safe distance, but still close enough to hear your laugh filtering through the sounds of glasses clinking and muffled small talk between the other guests. Somehow the two of you have managed to be in the center of the room, near the bar and Harry finds himself slowly circling you as if you’re the center of his universe and he’s simply keeping himself in the comfort of your orbit. After a few laps that have him stopping for a few pointless conversations about things he has no interest in he gives up on trying to remain out of sight. And when he sees Shawn’s hand slide to your lower back as he helps you maneuver your way through the crowd Harry decides now is as good a time as ever to go a give you and your poor choice of a plus one a proper hello.

He gives a few people polite nods and tight lipped smiles as he makes his way towards you and it’s almost like you could sense he was near, a measly arms length away when you turn around and smile at him. It’s a smile that makes your eyes seem brighter as they get little crinkle in the corners and to top it off you raise your hand and wave at him. It almost knocks Harry off kilter for a moment having not expected such a warm greeting seeing as he’s the one who stormed off the last time he saw you in Jeff’s living room not even two days ago.

“There you are.” Your voice is like a soft melody he wants to put into a song that’s just for him and no one else so he can get lost in it while he listens to it over and over. “I was wondering when you’d come say hello.” Your words have a slight heat rising to Harry’s cheeks as he closes the small gap between the two of you so he’s now standing directly in front of you.

“Yeah Styles we saw you circling us like a shark in the water waiting for his time to strike.” Shawn’s voice makes Harry’s jaw tick as he slowly removes his gaze from yours so he can look at the tall annoying man to your left.

“Don’t flatter yourself Shawn I’d never waste my time on a little guppy like you.”

“You sure? I hear wasting time is all you like to do nowadays.”

“Hear about that while off not touring and just galavanting around in jungles and beaches huh?”

“Just shows how far and wide word travels when it’s about how boring Harry Styles has become.”

“Or it just shows how obsessed you are with me that you even manage to gossip about me while off trying to find yourself.” Harry doesn’t mean to go tit for tat with Shawn but he can’t seem to help himself, it brings a sick kind of joy to Harry knowing he can get a rise out of the normally very docile and charming young man. He ignores the glare the brown eyed boy is giving him as a slow smirk works its way onto his face as he raises an eyebrow at him. “How’s that going by the way? Figure out the meaning of life yet?” What Harry isn’t prepared for is how easily Shawn is able to brush off all the sarcasm that’s dripping from every word that leaves his mouth like rain dripping off the edge of an umbrella, as if it’s no concern to him because right now he has the upper hand seeing as you’re by his side and not Harry’s.

“You know,” Shawn’s arm loosely drapes over your shoulder as he begins to answer the question all while Harry watches, a look of disapproval etched on his face when Shawn looks down at you with one of his annoyingly perfect smiles. “I might have.” It’s the horrible attempt at a subtle wink he shoots you that has Harry seeing red, immediately knowing what the man is trying to imply while it’s clear by the look of slight confusion on your face that you have no clue what’s happening and what this conversation the two men are having is actually about.

“How have you been?” Shawn holds back a laugh as you try to dive into the conversation having no clue about the tension you just cut through making Harry’s attention fall back onto you. “I’m sorry for the other day I-I really didn’t mean-”

“You don’t have to apologize for speaking your mind.” Harry says quickly before you can divulge any details of what the two of you spoke about while in the presence of a man he can’t stand.

“Oh did the two of you have a little disagreement?” You just shake your head as Shawn’s hand rubs the top of your arm as if he’s trying to comfort you but Harry didn’t miss the slight flinch when his thumb makes contact with your skin, letting him know you aren’t exactly comfortable.

“No not a disagreement it-”

“None of your fucking business is what it is.” As soon as the words leave Harry’s mouth he knows Shawn has somehow managed to win this round of whatever game the two of them are playing. Because the harshness of his tone and the loudness of his voice makes you jump ever so slightly letting Shawn swoop in as some sort of protector as he subtly uses the arm that’s still draped over your shoulder to pull you closer into his side.

“Come on love let’s go take a walk and let Harry here get some air so he can maybe calm down a little.” Shawn says while looking down at you with a smile that Harry can see right through, he knows it’s not genuine he knows this is all an act to make him look like he’s the caring one but Harry knows him better than you do so he knows it’s just a ploy to get you to trust him and do what he wants.

“Oh uhm okay.” Your voice is low as you look over at Harry who is staring daggers at Shawn’s hand as he watches as it slowly travels from the top of your arm down to your lower back as he turns you towards an opening in the crowded space that the two of you can escape through.

“Nice seeing you Harry.” It’s not until you’re saying bye to him that Harry realizes just how much of a mess he’s made of this whole thing, how he let someone as unimportant as Shawn get in the way of the reason he even approached you in the first place, to talk to you and apologize for his behavior. But you’re swept away and once again lost in the sea of people before he can even attempt to say anything so he’s left standing there with words left unsaid and an unfamiliar hurt in his chest.

You look back over your shoulder in hopes to catch one last glimpse of Harry but it’s too late, his figure is already hidden by a small group of people heading to the bar to refill their drinks. You feel Shawn put a little more pressure on your lower back as he guides you to a secluded section of the party near the railing of the staircase the two of you had to walk down upon entering the event. When you look over at him he has his eye focused on what’s in front of him you take the time to get a better look at him, trusting that he won’t let you fall or have you bump into someone.

Now you’re well aware that Shawn is an attractive looking man, his jawline is impeccable and his smile makes your tummy flutter but something about him seems off and you can’t quite figure it out. All you know is that while he is nice to look at and is a decent conversationalist, you feel a tiny bit uneasy when he touches you like it feels wrong somehow, as if the hands you’re meant to be feeling on your arm and your cheek when he brushes some hair out of your face aren’t his but someone else’s.

You’re good at hiding your feelings because you don’t want to come across as rude considering he’s the one who invited you as his plus one to this charity event so you don’t want to ruin his night out. Especially since this is your first time meeting him in person having only shared a few phone calls over the last two days when he called to introduce himself to you and told you how Jeff was the one who mentioned your name to him and you trust Jeff, so you agreed to being his plus one and when he made you laugh at a silly joke you felt like maybe spending an evening with him wouldn’t be so bad. But that changed the moment you noticed a very familiar pair of emerald green eyes that seemed to be glued on you as you made your way around the event space, and by the way Shawn’s hand seemed to grip your waist even tighten you could tell you weren’t the only one who noticed the two of you were being watched.

“How do you know Harry?” The question makes your brows pinch together as you try to come up with a response that doesn’t seem too vague because honestly Harry is one of those people much like Jeff that you feel like you’ve just known forever. So you just go with the answer that isn’t a lie but also doesn’t feel like the exact truth.

“Through Jeff.” Shawn just nods as he leans an arm on the railing and looks towards you but you can tell he’s looking through you and scanning the crowd for any signs of the tall British man in question. “We uhm met at a party a couple weeks ago.”

“Must’ve been some party because he’s clearly got a crush on you.”

“Who?”

“You’re cute when you’re clueless.” Shawn says with a light chuckle as you look at him with a confused expression on your face because you really don’t know who he could possibly think has a crush on you. “You really don’t see it? The man is acting like a jealous-”

“Jealous?” You quirk a brow as the word leaves your mouth, having no idea what it really means and why it would be something you could see or a way someone can act. “I don’t know what you mean by that.” You explain making Shawn look at you in a way that makes you feel as if he doesn’t believe you.

“Harry is jealous.” He states plainly making you tilt your head as you try to figure out what that statement really means. “That’s why he’s acting the way he is and being-pardon my language but an asshole.”

“I just don’t think he likes you very much that’s all.” The laugh that leaves Shawn’s mouth as you shrug while giving him your response makes your eyes widen in concern because it’s a laugh that is more mocking than it is joyful.

“You’re not wrong but he also very obviously has a crush on you and that’s why he’s being extra-”

“A crush? On me? No-no way you’ve got it-”

“I don’t blame him.” You look down at your wrist as Shawn’s hand reaches out and gently wraps around it making the uneasy feeling begin to bubble up in your chest. “You’re stunning.” His eyes roam over your face before meeting your eyes.

“Tha-thank you.” You fumble with your words as the grip on your champagne flute tightens. “I uhm think I’m going to go get another drink.” You lift up your nearly empty glass making Shawn just give you a soft smile as he drops his hand from your wrist.

“Do you need me-”

“I’ll be fine thank you though.” Your words are rushed as you take a step away from him and towards the crowded bar area, when he doesn’t argue and just lets you walk away you let out a sigh of relief finally feeling as if you can breathe normally again the more distance you put between the two of you.

“One whiskey. Neat please.” Harry’s voice brings a smile to your face the moment you hear it, a deep and smooth sound that makes your heart do a weird sort of flip in your chest. When he turns to lean against the bar as he waits for his drink your eyes find his and all of a sudden he’s standing up straight and walking towards you as if on autopilot, moving through the crowd until he’s standing right in front of you.

“You forgot-” The rest of your sentence gets caught in your throat when Harry places a hand on the side of your face and before you can even blink has his lips on yours in a kiss that makes your whole body feel relaxed and at ease as if it’s finally figured out exactly whose hands are meant to be the ones touching you.

“I’m sorry.” His words are mumbled against your lips as his other hand comes up to cup the other side of your face. “I’m sorry for how I acted at Jeff’s and how I acted tonight I-I just got-”

“Jealous?” You ask as he pulls away just enough so he can look you in your eyes. The small twitch to the corner of his lips makes you aware that he is fighting back one of his signature smirks that makes a weird fuzzy sensation take over your mind.

“Yes.” He admits as he leans his forehead against yours. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me but I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else but-but I especially can’t stand him getting to be the one who’s arm your on and-”

You don’t hear the rest of his explanation, your mind too busy trying to piece together the little bits of information you’ve gotten throughout the night. It’s all a jumbled mess inside your head making you almost feel like your mind is stuck in a fog as you stand there with the warmth of Harry’s hands on your cheeks and his thumbs gently running up and down your cheekbones. You close your eyes briefly and when you open them again the fog in your mind begins to lift and you see everything more clearly and it’s got your heart dropping to the bottom of your stomach.

“I get it now.” You get a stinging feeling in the back of your eyes as you take a small step away from Harry making his hands fall from your face, everything begins to click into place in your mind as you replay the whole night over in your head. And when you let out a watery laugh as you come to the conclusion of why Harry suddenly decided to kiss you, it makes his face contort into one of confusion mixed with hurt as his brows scrunch together.

“You get what?”

“Jealousy. I know what it means now.” Your words have Harry instantly reaching out for you but you’re quick to step away before his soft hands can make contact with your skin. “You-you did that because of Shawn because you’re-you’re jealous-”

“No no-well I mean yes I was jealous but-” You don’t give Harry time to finish explaining himself before you turn and start to walk away from him. You place your champagne flute down on the first table you walk by and when you finally get free of the crowd you place a hand over your chest as you try to take deep even breaths.

The feeling that starts to creep its way up from the deepest part of your being is one you’ve never felt before, it’s all consuming and has you gasping for air as if your lungs are being constricted and your eyes are doing that annoying thing where they just let rivers of tears pour out of them no matter how hard or often you try to blink them away. It’s as if you can feel a piece of your heart actually break and fall off, landing in the lowest part of your chest. The hurt you feel from it nearly brings you to your knees but before you end up on the floor you feel an arm around your middle holding you up.

“Come on.” When you look over you see Jeff giving you a smile, even through the tears you can tell it’s sad like he feels bad for you in this moment and wants to help you. “I have a car out front that will take you home.”

“He kissed me.” You mumble making Jeff just nod as he helps you up the steps. “But-but only because of Shawn.”

“I’m sure that’s not-”

“Please don’t leave.” You and Jeff stop your slow climb up the stairs at the sound of Harry’s voice coming from behind. “Please just let me explain.” Jeff turns to look over his shoulder at his bestfriend and the look of panic and what he would also describe as heartbreak on his face almost makes him want to help him but he doesn’t, he does what he thinks is best and gives your waist a little squeeze before he turns his attention back to the steps in front of him and continues helping you up them.

“Not now Harry.” Is all the man says making Harry stop in his tracks only a few steps behind the two of you.

“Don’t leave please just-”

“Leave me alone.” Your voice is what does it for Harry, it’s what sends him rushing up the stairs until he’s standing in front of you forcing you to look at him.

“No.” The word is followed by a glare sent in Jeff’s direction that has him slowly moving his arm from around you and waking up the rest of the stairs alone, letting Harry have his space. “I’m not going to leave you alone until you let me explain what just happened.” His voice is soft with a slight edge to it that has you avoiding his eyes.

“I know what happened. You kissed me because-”

“I kissed you because I wanted to or or-more like I needed to. It had nothing to do with that prick you came here with.” You bring a hand up to wipe at your face as Harry ducks down until you have no choice but to look him in the eyes. “I don’t know what’s happening but ever since meeting you I-I can’t think of anything or anyone else besides you and it’s because you-you see me the real me and you see things about me no one else does and I don’t-” He pauses to take let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know what to do about you.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t see me again until you do.”

“Please don’t-”

“It was nice seeing you again Harry.” You both know you’re lying and just trying to end this whole ordeal on a slightly positive note. “I have to go now.” You tell him as you fight off a new wave of tears, he lets out a sigh of defeat as he moves over a bit on the stairs to let you walk by him.

“I’m sorry.” You hear him whisper when you walk past him and you just rub your lips together to keep them from trembling as you look up to see Jeff standing there sliding his phone into his back pocket with an unreadable expression on his face but when he sees you he gives you a tight lipped smile as he holds his arm out for you to loop yours through.

“Give him some time to sort his shit out and maybe try to talk to him again.” He advises as he leads you out of the building and towards the sidewalk where his driver is waiting for you in a black SUV. “It’s going to be okay.” You just nod as he gives you a hug before opening the door and helping you climb into the backseat.

“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Jeff just smile at you before he closes the door, once the car is headed down the street he lets out a frustrated groan as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Fuck why can’t I just get one night where things go the way I need them to? Just one fucking night that’s all I need.” He mumbles to himself as he pulls his phone out and scrolls over to the app that lets him control your personality traits deciding that you need to be a little more forgiving if he has any hope of you wanting to see Harry again.

But then he taps on your intelligence letting him have a wider control of what you do and don’t know and he feels his hand grip his phone almost too tight when he sees your knowledge on jealousy and intimate relationships is practically at zero, letting him know exactly why the evening turned out the way it did. Once he’s done fiddling with you he closes the app and slides his phone into his back pocket. He runs a hand over his face before turning around so he can go back inside and do damage control, seeing as not only did one of the world’s biggest stars just kiss a random girl in front of hundreds of people he also got left standing on a staircase on the verge of tears by the same girl. This makes Jeffery swiftly enter manager mode to make sure the no phones policy was strictly in effect and photos or videos of the incident won’t be leaked online, at least not until he wants them to be.

As Jeff walks back into the event he knows exactly where he’ll find Harry, at the bar drying to drown his sorrows in a glass of whiskey. Luckily Jeff also knows that his bestfriend tends to get more emotional when drunk and the more emotional Harry gets the more likely he is to put his feeling down onto paper and if he can get at least a single line of a possible song then tonight won’t go down as a total bust. So instead of cutting him off, Jeff orders another round when he makes it to the bar and stands next to his friend who is leaning over the top of it with his head in hands.

“If you tell me it’ll be okay I will punch you in the face Jeffery I’m not kidding.”

“Actually I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Yeah? Then what were you going to say?”

“I think you should just move on.” He knows those are the last words Harry wants to hear, it’s the words that will have him taking shots and mumbling things about how beautiful you are as the night goes on and by the end of it he will be drunk dialing Mitch to help him figure out which word he should use that rhymes with your name that doesn’t sound too cheesy.

“Fuck you.” Jeff has to bite back his smile as Harry lifts his head and grabs his glass and downs the rest of his drink on one gulp. “You’re an asshole you know that right?” His voice is harsh as he straightens out his suit jacket and runs a hand through his hair before turning and glaring at his friend. “Tell Shawn I said bye will you? Since I know you’re the one who invited him to this.” Jeff feels the color drain from his face as Harry reaches over and places a hand on one of his shoulders, he doesn’t know how Harry knows but clearly he does and stupidly Jeff opens his mouth to try to deny it.

“I didn’t-”

“Save it for someone who’ll believe it.” He gives Jeff’s shoulder a harsh pat before stepping to the side of him. “I’m going to go fix this bullshit your little stunt caused and if you’re smart you’ll tell Shawn to stay the fuck away from her before it’s more than just insults that I toss at him.”

“Okay.” Is all he can manage to say as Harry makes a show of shoving his shoulder into his chest as he walks by.

“Oh and one more thing.” Jeff turns around to face Harry as he lifts a finger in the air while turning around and pointing it directly at him. “Do something like this again and you’re fired.” The way he says it isn’t threatening, no it’s said like a promise that Jeff knows he will keep so all Jeff does is nod and swallow down his nerves as he watches Harry turn on his heal and walk off towards the stairs.

“This is fine.” Jeff says to himself as he turns to grab his drink off the bar. “I can work with this.” He says with a nod as he tries to calm himself down enough so he can try to think of a plan to get this to work in his favor.

After a few minutes and some hearty sips of his drink later he franticly pulls out his phone and sends a text to the man that he just watched walk away from him, sending him your number and address in hopes it will not only begin to help Harry forgive him for this whole thing but also aid him in the process of finding you and working things out, both things Jeff needs in order to reach the end goal of this whole thing. When his phone buzzes in his hand he looks down and sees it’s a text from Harry, a one word reply that while being simple still has Jeff smiling to himself because maybe just maybe tonight won’t be a total waste.

Thanks

[distort-opia]

I’m begging, pleading if you will for some longer batjokes fic recommendations that are less mainstream (as I’ve read most of the popular ones) because I just finished your timeloop fic and OH MY GOD IT WAS SO GOOD IM GONNA CRY WOWOW YOU CAN WRITE THEM SO WELL.

so now I guess I thought who better to find more fics from that my fav batjokes fic writer!

First of all, thank you for the kind words! I'm really glad you enjoyed REMS, and I'm flattered you think of me as your favorite writer. I hope I can recommend some multi-chaptered, longer fics you don't already know of... but bear in mind, I haven't been able to keep up with recent fanfic a lot-- real life and a PhD are kicking my ass.

Maybe you already know of the #48 verse, The Eternal Batman Universe, City Goblins, matchjokes, Two sided blade soul mate theory, Enemies With Benefits and the jaxverse series? I assume fics over 1k kudos might be considered mainstream... So I tried to go for stories with a lower number of kudos that are relatively recent, or older fics that might not be well known by newer fans. Either way, they're a mix of Universes, with a bias for comicverse because that's my jam. Some of these I haven't managed to read fully, but I am reccing either because I liked what I did read or I heard very good things from friends.

Needless to say, check the tags carefully before reading! I am only including some short summaries and word counts. Do leave the authors some love if you like the story, and check out their other stuff. The list got pretty long, so I'm putting the recs (in no particular order) under the cut.

Ghosts of a Future Lost by messageredacted (15k+, complete)

Wayne Manor has been rebuilt, but things just aren’t the same as they used to be. Something is stirring old memories, and not just Bruce’s…

Strange Comradery in Arkham by Vampowerment (series, 45k+ words)

Bruce Wayne checks himself into Arkham because he considers himself a danger to himself and others, but only Joker seems to understand why.

Blood of the Covenant by batjokesinlove (28k+ words, WIP)

When Bruce is attacked by a horrifying monster, he finds himself turned into a creature of the night with a thirst for human blood. Although he retains his humanity, he wrestles with his need for blood and his desire to maintain his code. That is until an unlikely person offers up himself up to Batman as his own personal blood bank.

Inside the Music Box by MargueritePoretesDefenseAttorney (series, 116k+ words)

A dark comedy where the Batkids are very suspicious of Bruce's new boyfriend, a strange man who looks oddly familiar . . .

Bygone Boy by Masterofceremonies (25k+ words, WIP)

Bruce is millionaire in the public eye. His husband, Jack, is a widely known, largely mysterious artist, famous for his borderline illegal exhibitions. Their marriage has been a happy one. Mostly. Until Jack goes missing, and Bruce becomes suspect #1.

Induced Labor by fractualized (29k+ words, WIP)

After a fight in an illegal magic shop results in Bruce impregnating Joker, at least things can't get any more bizarre— except of course they can.

A Rule for A Rule by Severus_divides_into_H (34k+ words, WIP)

When Bruce walks into his new elementary school classroom, the first thing he sees is green. Green hair, green eyes, green sweater with a clown on it, green pants that look way too big. A decade later, he looks at the Joker, and all he sees is a person he once loved.

This Strange Effect by battybrownboo (19k+ words, WIP)

Batman and the Justice League are forced to harbor Joker when he accidentally gets beamed up to the Watchtower. But a clown in space will be the least of their problems.

Life is so much better when you're dead by toluenesister (167k+ words, complete)

During the two years following the Joker's escape from Arkham, Gotham gradually becomes rid of its criminal element in a particularly ghastly way. The appearances of Batman and the Joker become more and more scarce as well to the point of vanishing from the public eye, leaving the city's crime rate at an all time low. At the same time, Carmine's daughter, Sofia Falcone, decides to rebuild her father's organization, but in the course of gathering resources she accidentally finds out what both Batman and the Joker have been preoccupied with while they were away from the streets.

Dissolve & Absolve by toluenesister (63k+ words, complete)

One day the Joker decides to lay his mark on what is his, but he doesn't anticipate the magnitude of what is about to unravel.

through a glass, darkly by itallstartedwithdefenestration (series, 156k+ words)

Three months after Batman effectively disappears from society, Bruce Wayne goes to work for the Joker.

Blank Canvas by Vampowerment (21k+ words, WIP)

When Eric Border, an orderly at Arkham and an ally to Batman, tries to build a life outside of his work, he somehow keeps running into Gotham's darling, Bruce Wayne.

Hope We Can Again by blackbatsx (22k+ words, WIP)

Their original counterparts are long gone but what do you do when the universe (or multiverse for that matter) presents you with another opportunity to try again?

a world with love by railroadman, slaapkat (48k+ words, series)

A canon-divergent universe where Bruce and Joker really do love each other.

In the claws of the Owl by orphan_account (27k+ words, complete)

The Owlman, the Great bird of Sorrows, White King of Gotham, is barely human any more. There is something terrifying about the secret tyrant of Gotham who is watching all the time. The Red Hood wishes he didn't love him. The Owl had tried to drown him in chemicals, murdered his family, broken him again and again with torture, but this time Owlman has something worse in mind for his favorite pet enemy.

Kintsugi Elseworld by a_stands_for (20k+ words, complete)

A suspiciously insistent Zatanna reads Bruce's fortune, which somehow leads to an adventure in a parallel universe--one where the Joker wears a mask and cape and fights at Batman's side.

The Heart by slire (20k+ words, complete)

The Joker, sick and heartbroken, plans to recreate himself. Another scheme is in motion; one that'll shake his darling to the core and break the Bat like no one else can.

I'll Tell You No Lies by TheMidnightOwl (29k+ words, complete)

Earth-22. One mistake was all it took. In the months that pass after Bruce accidentally kills a hired gun, he must reevaluate his life, his methods, and his mission. He remembers everything the Joker has ever said to him, every taunt he ever made, every similarity they share, and this time he's listening. This time he gets the joke.

Acts of Agression by vojavodun (series, 30k+ words)

Batman confronts the Joker in a skyscraper and the night's events get physical.

Bring Down The House by ArgentNoelle (53k+ words, complete)

The Joker is the greatest performance of Jack’s life.

Madness, Domesticated by thatsnotfunny (56k+, WIP)

Bruce Wayne offers to rehabilitate Joker at the manor for the holidays. But which of them needed socialization the most?

Love isn't brains, it's blood by cutting_capers (27k+ words, complete)

He was speaking before even choosing to. “But, so many lives. If you care about Gotham, how can you end so many lives?” Bruce shook his head but was then startled out of his own daze by the raised voice of Joker across from him. “I don’t care about their lives. I care about yours!” Joker stabbed a finger in his direction, his other hand balled in a fist and his entire body rigid. After just a few moments, though, the tension broke, a high pitch of laughter bubbling out of Joker. His eyes drifted about. “They do say I’m crazy. I must be.”

Arkham by AnonGrimm (74k+ words, complete)

The Joker has landed in Arkham again with a long sentence ahead of him in solitary. While plotting his next escape, he gets a visit from the Batman. Two-Face has been wreaking havoc and Batman wants Joker to divulge clues in how to stop him or cure his madness. Joker pretends to listen as a new game begins to bloom in his fractured mind. Can he crack that cold strength and find a weakness, find a way to warp the Bat?

The Bliss of Ignorance by Crashingthisbane (Sitarsitar) (34k+ words, complete)

After getting a concussion, Bruce loses his memory. Joker crafts a new past for him. He tells Bruce that the two of them are crime-fighting partners, weaving a tangled web of half-truths and plain lies. Complex feelings ensue, for both Joker and Bruce.

Yes And by limeta (41k+ words, complete)

The Joker "yes ands" his way into having a mental breakdown. Kidnapping Tim Drake and a bunch of Rogues isn't helping. Especially because he isn't the Joker, of course, but Bruce Wayne's newest secretary. Cut him some slack, he's just trying to run some errands!

[divadepreshawn]

𝑨𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝑺𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓

Aaron Hotchner × fem!reader ×popstar

+18, mentions of sex in the car, name-calling, hanging

Okay, keep in mind it's the first time I've written something like this. I'm dying of embarrassment posting this. established relationship I did what I could (and unfortunately I could little) WC: 1 823

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You were sitting in the chair, gently applying your lipstick, while the hairdresser finished your hair. Your makeup was soft, with a touch of subtle shine that highlighted your eyes.

“You don’t have to do this.” You said as you watched Aaron in the mirror, smoothing out his suit.

“I just want to make sure this event is safe.”

Ever since you started dating, Aaron had become extremely protective. In fact, you started to think he would lock you in a bulletproof box if he could.

You laughed, getting up from the chair and walking over to him.

“I know you just want to protect me… And that’s pretty hot, I won’t deny it.” You smiled as you gently loosened his tie “But I’m not the president.”

He smiled, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.

“No, you’re more important.”

You laughed, sealing your lips on his with a quick kiss.

“I don’t know if this is something an FBI agent should say, but I’ll keep your secret. Besides, I’m investing millions in security now. You shouldn’t worry about these things, especially when you’re off duty.”

“You have no idea how many crazy people there are in this country, do you?”

Aaron was too worried about everything that involved you. He had already reorganized the surveillance team about three times – made you invest in better cameras, hired more security for your home, and even reinforced the security protocols for events like this. He was really a nervous wreck.

You tried to calm him down but nothing seemed to work, he insisted on going with you, so you gave in.

You sighed, patting his arm twice before walking away “Okay.”

- You decided to skip the red carpet. Maybe he never really relaxed, but you could try to ease some of the tension.

The event went on like all the others, just celebrities drinking and talking. While you greeted other artists and exchanged smiles with producers, he stood a few steps away, like a shadow – protective. His eyes roamed the room, always alert, observing the people around him and checking the exit doors frequently.

You turned around slowly, appreciating the view.

Aaron Hotchner.

Standing a few feet away from you with that straight posture, broad shoulders under the dark fabric of his jacket, his hands crossed in front of him with an expression that said “Don’t come any closer.”

You accepted a martini that one of the waiters offered you, sipping it slowly, feeling the alcohol burn your throat.

When he looked at you, surreptitiously – as if it were an innocent gesture – you lifted the toothpick with the olive between your fingers and, with the tip of your tongue, caught the drop of alcohol that threatened to fall. Then, slowly, you pulled the olive with your lips.

You could feel his gaze burning into your skin.

-

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, your eyes trailing over his shoulders, still visibly tense.

He didn’t answer right away. Just closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the leather back of the seat, letting out a soft sigh. “Better now that there aren’t a thousand people around.”

You kept your gaze fixed on him, his suit tight at the shoulders, his tie slightly looser, his head thrown back – the way his Adam’s apple stood out. The combination of all of this made something inside you twist.

“Driver, can you please raise the partition?” With a slight nod, the driver raised the partition without asking any questions.

His eyes opened, watching you with a frown as the partition rose. He sat up slowly, never taking his eyes off yours. “What are you doing?” he asked in a low tone.

“I’m just trying to help you relax.” You smiled innocently as you approached him.

“And how exactly do you intend to do that…?” He looks at you with narrowed eyes suspiciously.

“Relax, it’s just a massage.”

You sit on his lap, resting your hands on the leather seat behind him to adjust yourself better. He tenses, clenching his jaw as he takes a deep breath.

“You don’t have to do this” your voice comes out low, almost like a warning.

“I know” , you leave a kiss on his cheek, “But I want to.”

He continues to look at you with narrowed eyes. Honestly? You’re almost certain he knows exactly what you’re doing. Your name escapes his mouth almost as a whisper as he places his hands on your hips, twirling his thumbs in circles.

“Just a massage, right?”

“Well, yes”, you place kisses at the base of his neck. “Unless you want me on my knees.”

He swallows hard, his mind clouded. The tension before seemed insignificant compared to now, your hands on your hips stopped. You could feel the exact moment your mind stopped working.

He pressed his lips together in a tight line. “You’re such a fucking tease.”

You smiled against his skin, trailing your lips down to his jawline. “I’m just trying to help you relax,” you whispered, dragging your nails over his white shirt as you swiveled your hips.

His breathing hitched as he closed his eyes—an attempt to regain control and reason, after all the poor driver was still in the car.

“You’re having the opposite effect,” he groaned, tilting his head back.

You swiveled your hips again, slowly. Feeling his breathing hitch again, his jaw tighten even more. “Why, honey? Do you have a better idea?”

He let out a low sound—a muffled almost groan.

And then he gave in.

In a second, his mouth found yours, hot, intense and hungry. His hands went down from your hips to your ass, pulling you closer. You gasped against his lips in shock at the contact.

Your bodies fit together, eliciting a moan from both of you at the friction. Your hands tangled in the back of his neck – burying your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. You continued to move your hips in slow circles.

He slides his hands down your back urgently, his fingers tracing a path from your ass to the collar of your dress – exploring the details of the tight fabric on your body.

His fingers paused there for a few seconds – hesitating.

And then he pulled.

The sound of the tulle tearing sounded muffled between the kisses. A moan escaped your throat. The cold air of the car in contact with your exposed skin was a direct contrast to the heat that grew between you. He pulled his lips away for a second to stare at your lap with the lingerie now exposed. His eyes roaming over every detail of the lace, as if he were recording the image in his mind.

You could feel the knot in your belly tightening even more as you felt his eyes burning into your skin.

"You’re still going to kill me" he murmured hoarsely.

You laughed softly. Without taking your eyes off his, you began to slide your dress – or what was left of it – until it was on the floor of the car, now exposing your tiny panties.

He swallowed hard, his eyes following your movements, his chest rising and falling slowly, his fingers digging into the leather seat.

Returning to his lap, you could feel how hard he was, the lace of your panties so soaked that it would surely stain your pants. You rotated your hips harder, eliciting a moan from him that made your clit throb.

“Baby, please.” he whimpered, holding your waist, stopping your movements.

You reached for the clasp of your bra, pulling the lingerie down your arms before throwing it somewhere in the car. “What?”

“Fuck, can you stop torturing me for a second?” Your plea came out so desperate that you could have had your orgasm with that sentence alone.

Your fingers slid down to the button of your pants, unbuttoning them as Aaron lifted his hips, helping you get rid of them. You gasped when you felt him run his cock through your panties.

“Look at you, so wet you’re almost melting this lace,” he teased you as he continued to slide into you, now forcing the head of his cock into your still covered entrance.

“Fuck, Aaro—” he quickly took the tie off your neck, hurriedly kneading it before shoving it in your mouth, muffling your moan.

“Shh” he began distributing kisses, alternating between your neck and your collarbone. “You can’t make any noise, do you think you can?”

You nod, sinking your teeth into your tie, trying to control yourself from making any loud noises.

A muffled, desperate “Please” escapes your lips. He lowers his hands to your ass again and slides your panties to the side, holding your hips, he pushes you down, plunging into you. You bury your head in his neck, clenching the leather backrest behind him as you moan his name.

He lowers your hips once more while he moves up with his, going deeper inside you. You hold him by the shoulders, taking control. With strategic movements – somewhat desperate – you alternate between going up and down and rotating your hips back and forth.

The sight of you with your cheeks flushed, your hair slightly disheveled as sweat began to form on your forehead was too much.

“Y-You… Sir, don’t stop.” He stuttered, turning his attention to your breasts. Distributing his attention with his mouth equally between them – muffling your moan.

Aaron moved his hand up to your neck. His grip was firm – just enough to give that nice pressure. Your back arched at the unexpected touch.

You were overwhelmed, your knees burning with effort, the knot in your belly intensifying with each deep thrust. You gasped when he groaned with his mouth still on your breasts.

He lifted his hips again, hitting the spot that made your vision blur, feeling all your muscles contracting and you finally came undone.

He came right after, inside you, when he felt your walls squeezing his cock. The feeling of him throbbing inside you was something you could get used to.

You fell back on the bench, smiling breathlessly. Your legs were shaking – your mind still clouded by your orgasm.

“Just so you know, I don’t usually do that with my bodyguards.”

Aaron chuckled as he looked down at your clothes on the floor.

“Well,” he replied a little breathlessly, “That’s an important point, thanks for letting me know.”

You followed his gaze, looking at what was left of your dress on the floor. “Do you have any idea how many zeros there were in that outfit?” you asked with an amused smile.

He sighed. “I can imagine, I’m sorry.”

You waved your hand dismissively. “That’s not even the problem, how am I going to get out of the car now that I have no clothes left?”

“Oh shit, I forgot about that.” He mumbled awkwardly. “I’ll give you my jacket.”

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I really admire anyone who can write this. Because, you see, I want to hide under a rock.

English is not my first language are sorry for any mistake

If you have any ideas to contribute to the sequel I will be happy to receive them :)

tag: @duchesz @midnghtprentiss @jazzimac1967 @queenofnothng @leathynn @camihotchner @yourallaround-simp @pastelpinkflowerlife @padlockedheartsreading @tomhiddlestonforever-blog @michasia24 @sweetpianoxoxo @l-a-u-r-aaa

[mummyemmatojames]

35. A Fussy Toddler: Naptime to the Rescue

Hello, lovely community! Emma here, your Mummy-in-training, with an update on our MDLB and FLR journey after an interesting day with James. He was a fussy little toddler all morning, and after trying to manage it, I stumbled onto a solution that worked wonders—a surprise nap. It’s added a great new tool to my Mummy toolbox, and I’m excited to share how it played out!

A Morning of Fussiness

Today started off rocky—James was fussy from the moment he got up (after I went to get him, per our new morning rule). He kept asking for things in this whiny, restless way that’s rare for him lately. First, it was access to his phone—I’d locked it to 4+ apps, but he wanted more, so I gave in and let him have it for a bit. Then he asked for a biscuit, even though he knows he needs my permission for snacks and I’d rather he have fruit. Next, he begged to play Call of Duty, which he knows Mummy doesn’t like—it’s too grown-up and intense for his little space. It went on like this—pushing one boundary after another, his tone getting grumpier each time I said no or redirected him.

I could tell he wasn’t himself. Normally, he’s pretty good about our rules, but today, it was like he couldn’t settle—everything was a battle, and I was starting to feel worn out. He wasn’t tantruming, just persistently fussy, like a toddler who’s overtired or out of sorts. I tried distracting him with his train set, then a little nursing session, but nothing stuck. That’s when it hit me—maybe he needed a nap.

Naptime Without Warning

I decided to act without overthinking it. Around 11:00 AM, after another round of “But Muuuummy, why not?” about something trivial, I took his hand and said firmly, “That’s enough, sweetheart. It’s nap time.” He looked surprised—no warning, no negotiation—and I led him straight to bed. I grabbed one of the formula bottles I’ve been using to top up his feeds (since I’m not producing enough milk), warmed it up quick, and tucked him in with it. “You’re going to rest now,” I told him, popping the bottle in his mouth and pulling the covers up. He grumbled a little—“I’m not tired, Mummy”—but didn’t fight me hard.

I left the room, turned on the baby monitor, and watched. To my amazement, he was asleep within 20 minutes, bottle half-finished, curled up like a little boy. I’d planned to leave him for a full hour anyway, just to be sure he got a proper break, so I let him stay there, checking the monitor now and then. When I went back at noon to get him up, he was just stirring, rubbing his eyes with this soft, sleepy smile. “Hi, Mummy,” he mumbled, and I could tell the fussiness was gone—he was so much happier, like a reset button had been hit.

A Happier Afternoon—and Bedtime Too

The rest of the day was a dream compared to the morning. James didn’t fuss or complain once after his nap—he played with his Lego quietly, asked for a snack (an apple, which I happily cut up for his safari bowl), and even thanked me without prompting. It was like the grumpiness had melted away, and he was back to his sweet, cooperative self. I’d worried the nap might throw off his early 8:30 PM bedtime—since he already gets plenty of sleep with his 7:30 routine start—but it didn’t. Tonight, he nursed, took his formula top-up, and fell asleep as usual, no fuss at all. The nap seemed to slot right into his day without disrupting anything.

A New Tool in Mummy’s Box

This was such a revelation—a nap as a tool for handling fussiness! I know James gets enough sleep with his early bedtime, so I hadn’t thought he’d need more, but today showed me that even a well-rested little boy can get out of sorts sometimes. That 20-minute snooze (and the full hour of quiet) turned his mood around completely, and it gave me a break too—I sipped tea and regrouped while he rested. It’s definitely going in my Mummy toolbox now—not an everyday thing, but a go-to when he’s fussy or pushing boundaries like he was this morning.

I love how it fits our dynamic too—leading him to bed with a bottle, tucking him in, and checking the monitor felt so natural, like I’m caring for my toddler when he needs it most. It’s another way to guide him, reset him, and keep our day on track. I might even try it again next time he’s cranky—maybe with a little warning so he’s not so surprised, though the no-discussion approach worked well today.

What Do You Think?

I’d love to hear from the community—have you used naps as a fix for fussiness in your dynamic? How do you decide when it’s time, especially if they already sleep early like James? For those with bottles in the mix, does it help settle them for naps like it did for him? And if you’ve got other tricks for turning a fussy day around, I’d be so grateful—I’m always eager to add to my toolbox!

Thank you for being here as we discover these little wins. Seeing James happier after his nap made my day, and I’m so glad this worked out.

With all my love,

Emma (aka Mummy) 💕

[inkspiredwriting]

Without her

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: Hey, this was a sweet request from @llawlietswif I hope you like it, and even if you don't please let me know

Warnings: none

It was rare—almost unheard of, really—that Five slept in. But that morning, the sunlight was unusually gentle, the blanket warm, and the absence of doomsday-level threats meant he actually got a solid night’s sleep. So when he blinked open his eyes and saw the clock blinking 10:30 a.m., his first reaction was confusion. The second reaction, however, was alarm.

Y/n was not in bed.

Now, under normal circumstances, a missing spouse might not warrant a full-blown panic. But this was Five. A man who had lived through a post-apocalyptic wasteland. A man who had seen timelines bend, break, and collapse. A man with trust issues not just with people, but with reality itself.

He sat up sharply, hair sticking up at odd angles, still wearing a T-shirt that read "World’s Grumpiest Genius." He looked to Y/n’s pillow. Cold. Her phone was not in its usual place. Her shoes were gone. The house was too quiet.

“Y/n?” he called, already swinging his legs out of bed. “Are you here?”

No answer.

He walked into the hallway, calling her name again. Still nothing.

Bathroom—empty.

Kitchen—empty.

He even opened the pantry door for a second and peered in, like she might have inexplicably decided to hang out between the flour and the cereal boxes.

Then came the garden. Also empty. He stared at the tomato plants like they might give him answers.

"Okay, don't panic," he muttered to himself, tugging a hand through his hair. "She probably just went out to grab something. Like... fruit. Or... emergency jam."

He pulled out his phone and called her. Straight to voicemail.

“Great,” he muttered. “She was either kidnapped or I’ve slipped into another cursed timeline.”

He called again. Voicemail.

He called Allison. No answer.

Viktor. No answer.

"Okay," Five said to himself, pacing in a circle in the living room. "If I were Y/n, and I decided to disappear without warning, where would I—wait, why would I disappear without warning?"

Out of mild desperation, he even checked the laundry room, just in case. Then the closet. Then, in a move he would never live down, he actually crouched and checked under the bed.

At this point, he was about thirty seconds from teleporting to every coffee shop in town.

By the time 2:00 p.m. rolled around, Five was sitting on the couch with a scowl so deep it could have split the Earth’s crust. He had made himself coffee and promptly forgotten it, and now it sat cold and bitter beside him. His arms were crossed. He had called Y/n’s phone at least seven times, and left a voicemail that could only be described as "angrily affectionate."

Then—finally—he heard the jingle of keys at the door.

Y/n stepped in, laughing, with Allison and Viktor behind her, carrying shopping bags and to-go cups. All three looked happy, relaxed, and completely unaware of the emotional hurricane Five had been through.

“Oh, finally,” Five snapped, rising from the couch. “Look who decided to show up after vanishing off the face of the earth for four hours!”

Y/n blinked. “Hi to you, too?”

“Where have you been?! I woke up, and you were gone. I checked the entire house. I looked in the pantry, Y/n.”

“You looked in the pantry?” Allison started to laugh.

Viktor added with a smirk, “Did you also check the freezer?”

“I almost did,” Five admitted, with the sort of self-righteous glare only a 51-year-old man trapped in a 30-year-old body could manage.

“I turned off my phone,” Y/n said, apologetic but clearly holding back laughter. “I just wanted a relaxing day. I didn’t think you’d wake up before noon.”

“I never sleep in!” Five said, waving a hand. “It was one time!”

Y/n walked over and kissed his cheek. “You’re cute when you panic.”

“I wasn’t panicking. I was doing a thorough sweep.”

“You looked in the pantry,” she repeated with a giggle.

“That was part of the sweep,” Five muttered.

Viktor patted his shoulder. “You know you’re whipped, right?”

Five ignored him. “Next time? Just leave a note. Or a post-it. Or a breadcrumb trail. Anything.”

Y/n grinned and slid her arms around his waist. “You really got that worried?”

“Yes,” he grumbled, wrapping his arms around her anyway. “Because you are the most important person in my life, and when I woke up and you were gone without a trace, I thought maybe the universe finally realized it screwed up by giving me something that good.”

“You’re so romantic,” she teased.

“Don’t push it.”

Allison and Viktor were now cracking up on the couch, and Y/n whispered into Five’s ear, “I love you.”

He sighed, kissing her temple. “I love you too. Even if you cause me minor heart attacks.”

“And next time, I’ll leave a note in the pantry,” she promised.

[neurobivergent]

Endo yamato meta because he’s fucked up and beautiful and I love him. (Don’t look at the pictures if you don’t want spoilers)

Endo's particular depiction of neurodivergence in wind breaker is so amusing to me, especially combined with his obsessive tendencies. It’s a fairly familiar combination of autism+maybe adhd+burnt out gilted kid… but like. He burns out so early in life and he’s still a child when the world starts looking dull and grey and he’s just about accepted this boring path for himself and then.

AND THEN. Enter takiishi with his fire coloured hair and bloody hands and his ass way on top of a flimsy metal structure and it’s just so instantly captivating and different that Endo basically had no choice but to get violently pulled into his orbit. Unsurprising, considering he’s been waiting to feel something, anything and this weird kid just checks all the boxes. Then he finds that he’ll always be held at arms length and that chika barely registers his presence so a singular word of response feels like a waterfall of validation.

The curiosity turns into an adoration turns into an obsession turns into a hyperfixation turns into a special interest and he’s willing to do just about anything at all to get a look, a reaction, a right hook to the face and he drinks it all up because the validation (twisted) is so rare and unpredictable that every time it comes his way it feels like a fresh dose of dopamine straight into his brain.

And then he meets another new shiny toy that piques his interest again and it scratches his brain jusssst right. And Endo is absolutely not normal about Sakura almost instantly because wdym this guy with the interesting hair and the interesting eyes and the rage of a thousand suns has directed his laser focused attention on me and- oh, oh. This feels familiar to him, it feels entirely new to him. He’s compelled immediately, obsessed immediately, needs to have more, know more immediately and he does not learn a single lesson. He’s very aware of but pays no heed to the possibility that he’ll be tossed around and dismissed again, admits he chases things he can’t have. But then again, what better way to set fireworks exploding inside your brain huh.

[ussgallifrey]

(She Moves With) Shameless Wonder | 32

✦ Summary: Your badge clearly said SHIELD consultant, so you weren’t entirely sure where Fury was getting this whole make you an Avenger idea from. But you had a feeling it might have something to do with the recent discovery of an artifact at the bottom of the Arctic Sea.

✦ Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Canon divergence, dialogue taken directly from Captain America: Civil War and the Marvel Civil War comic, language, minor violence.

✦ Word Count: 10.8k

✦ Playlist: Here

✦ Cinematic Soundtrack: Here

✦ Author's Note: Heyyyy. Well, the fact is, I kind of checked out for a few months after everything that happened in November. I couldn't find it in myself to open up my drafts to read, let alone work on anything. But, after focusing on my family and my home life for a much-needed while, it felt like I was finally at a point where I could come back to this story.

I love this story. I want to finish this story. I have missed this story. And, quite frankly, it felt amazing to be able to push through this draft that's been sitting in a folder since September, 2024 and actually finish it. Welcome back to everyone who gets a random update at 2:15 AM. Sorry it took a while to get an update, but I have hope that I can get this story back on track now. Wish me luck and enjoy the chapter <3

[Master List]

Your curled fist hesitates over the cool surface of the smooth door for just a stretch too long as the internal conflict brewing since Steve left collides like a wave against the shore of your inner mind.

While you were silent in the moment, watching on as the team began to pull at the loose thread that wove you all together, in this instance, you would be pushing forward. This was far overdue.

You give three sharp raps to the door.

And, as the many times before this moment, you receive no reply.

Jamming your body against the frame, your lips nearly caressing the door itself, you announce:

“You’re going to open this door on your own accord, or I’m going to appear in that room in a minute. Either way, I’m coming in.”

Pulling back, you await his decision. You wanted him to have the choice to begin with; allow him that tiny crumb of control in the chaos.

Slowly, the locks click open and the door creaks inward.

Pushing against the threshold, you enter the darkened space - nearly tripping over an empty pizza box - as your eyes attempt to adjust to the low-lit space.

“How in the All-Father’s name did you manage to get a pizza down here?” you question, nabbing the grease-stained box from the floor before tossing it into an adjacent corner.

Several empty cans of energy drinks and crinkling plastic wrappers are stepped on as you force your way further in.

Pietro gives a heartless chuckle, “Never even saw me leave, did you?”

Squinting against the darkness, you can just barely make out his silhouette on the bed, stark white hair an eerie beacon.

“You have been getting faster according to Steve.”

“Huh. And… where is Mr. America?”

Pushing aside a game controller, you lean over to flick on the bedside light - illuminating the sheer destruction of his room.

This was not just the pathetic decorating attempts of a teenage boy.

No… this was…. this was…

Cronus, you didn’t even have words for it.

The bed and table were about the last of the fully intact items in the space. The TV was smashed, the floor holding the remnants of long-abandoned meals, and a deep rivet has been cut through the carpet from constant pacing.

“You know…” you scoot closer to the boy, his back still to you as he faces the opposite wall, “Wanda’s been worried about you. We all have.”

He shakes his head, “I don’t need her pity.”

“It’s not pity, Pietro. It’s… mutual grief. And secluding yourself in here isn’t - hasn’t - been the answer.”

A rogue sniffle is your only indicator before the teenager drops his head, a hand rubbing across his face as his shoulders begin to shake - from anger or sadness, you’re still unsure.

“It’s my fault, you know. I didn’t listen… I just… I opened my mouth and couldn’t stop,” he lets out a breathless huff of sour laughter as he, at last, turns to face you - the full scope of his anguish painted across his face like a sordid tale. Eyes rounded by deep agonizing purple shades, lips cracked and pale. A gaze too haunted for his so few years of existence.

“Felt like I was a big shot, doing the superhero thing. And I just… couldn’t shut my mouth. I didn’t even see the vest. I could have killed all of us right then and there,” he shakes his head again, tears springing to his eyes as broken laughter stumbles from his chapped lips. “Hell, I did really. You know, they still haven’t released the official death toll. But I heard estimates of close to eighty.”

“Hey,” you shush, reaching across the comforter to squeeze his hand tightly in your grasp. “That is not your sole responsibility to bear, okay? And if you had let us in before now, you would have heard Steve and Natasha and your sister tell you the same thing.”

He launches off the bed, digging his hand into the errant curls on his head as he huffs, “But I still did it! I know it, in here - ” the boy slams a fist against his chest; his heart.

“You’re not infallible, Pietro. You’re human; you make mistakes.”

“That have a death toll?” he snips.

Your lips form a tight crease as you adjust your posture, smoothing out the wrinkles on his bed.

“Sometimes, in this line of work, yes.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, working himself into a pace.

You let him have his moment as that same sort of frantic madness overtakes his young body. A wild and distraught look in his eyes mixed with the squeezing of his balled-up fists at his sides.

“You know,” you start, reaching a hand out to pull him back down on the bed. He plops down beside you, a little too easily moved. “You’re not the only person to make a costly mistake.”

“Rich,” he quips, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, “coming from a literal goddess.”

“What, you think the weight of my immortality makes me infallible?”

With a shrug, he looks away - discontent to meet your gaze.

Turning your body to face Pietro, you shift your weight to the left as you cross your leg over your right knee; bracing yourself.

“Well, if you must know, when I was quite young - okay, I know you’re going to laugh, so might as well get it out now - when I was about three hundred and thirty-four…”

The mutant chortles beside you, unable to help himself as he turns his head, “Wow. So young.”

With a blossoming smile, you gently push your shoulder into his, “Hush. When I was younger… I was sort of at war with my brother. We were always trying to impress our father, trying to one-up each other with heroic human battles and great feats of godliness and… just about anything you can imagine two war-based deities could think of.”

The distant memory of Ares pulls up like a scab from an old, never-fully-healed over scar.

It wasn’t often you spared a thought toward the banished god, but today, you made a small exception. After that chaotic moment in the kitchen with the rest of the team, a part of you wanted to feel the entirety of that sensation right now, in this moment. Let it sting. Let it burn. Let it make you hurt because of your own failings.

“I made… awful choices back then, Pietro. I was quick to anger, faster to judgment. You would not want to meet that younger version of myself.”

Before the words even come to the surface, you begin to wring your hands together. An soured acidic breath scorches your throat.

You needed him to understand that he was not solely to blame for poor decisions. That he should not have to carry the burden alone. Not with everything going on outside of the Compound. No, you needed him to trust you - to not run away again.

“Tell me… have you ever heard of the myth of Medusa?”

With a slight tilt to his head, he puckers his lips up in thought.

“Uh… woman who turns people to stone, crazy snake hair, right?”

A slight smirk curls at the corner of your lips as he gestures vaguely around his own head.

“Yes, that’s the one,” you nod, bracing your hands on your knees - knuckles clenched tight enough to the point of genuine discomfort. “So… my brother wasn’t the only family member I came to blows with. My Uncle - Poseidon, God of the Sea… we have a very difficult history. We were in a contest to see who would be the patron deity of this Greek city, and… I won. They named the city in my name: Athens. Bested by his own niece, a lesser god in his mind.”

With a shake of your head, you move to stand, walking a slight pace away from the teen as you grip your crossed arms.

“There was a temple in my name. Priestesses worked there, worshiping me day and night. Promising me their devotion above anything else. They were to never stray from their duties, never… be with a man.”

You can’t even meet the boy’s eye now, but you know he is fully focused on your tale.

“Well, one day… my uncle came to my temple and forced himself upon one of the priestesses, Medusa. She prayed to me for help, as I was her patron goddess.”

You barely notice the sensation of your nails sinking into your forearms before you blink away the entrenched emotion from many centuries ago.

“And what did I do? Young, naive, constantly angry, and too foolish to take just a moment to listen to any voice of reason? I cursed her for lying with a man,” your words become choked in your throat as you meet Pietro’s shocked eyes. “I turned her into a hideous monster who no man would ever lay his eyes upon.”

“And some might say it was a gift that I gave her in the end. Being able to protect herself from the terrible beasts that would dare to touch her in the way Poseidon once had. But it’s not the truth. I wanted her to suffer for breaking one of my temple’s laws. And for years,” your voice shatters at last as you wearily shake your head. “The image of the hideous gorgon was what was emblazoned upon my shield. She, in all of her terror, was my symbol.”

In the beat of silence that passes, Pietro sits up straighter on the bed. His eyes are chillingly cold as he looks up at you – reminding you of one simple truth: you deserved every part of what you are currently feeling. The guilt and shame; all of it.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Your expression breaks as you stare down at the boy you had welcomed into your home, into your arms. The boy who reminded you of another - one with sunkissed laughter and trilling lute strings and radiant smiles.

“I’m telling you this so that you understand, even those of us who seem incapable of making rash and terrible decisions are in fact, and likely have, made such choices. That those choices do not define us. They make us better, stronger.”

Moving to rejoin him on the bed, you let out a long sigh – letting the centuries ease out with it like billowing sand in a desert breeze.

“It took me some time to realize where my decision had come from. The gods, they praised it - they cheered me on. Zeus himself was so pleased by my creative punishment, that he named me as his heir apparent over my brother. But the people… the people who had named their city after me… their worship waned and their ire grew. Only when I walked among them as a stranger did I learn their true feelings; their disdain for the immortals. It made me grow up, essentially.”

“And Medusa?”

A wisp of breath catches on your lips as your eyes cloud over with the hazy memory you had wished to keep locked away until the universe burned away into twinkling stardust and then complete nothingness.

“By then… it was too late. The demigod Perseus beheaded her, no less with my help. Pietro, please - ” your fingers wrap around his hand as you force his gaze. “ - this great mistake will not be your last, but you are going to learn from it. And the first step is speaking to Wanda and assuring her that she hasn’t suffered alone in this matter because that’s what she thinks has happened.”

He leans back, a perplexed look on his face, “No, she has to know, yeah? I wouldn’t keep my door locked and just - ”

“No one came in or out for a week, Pietro. And right now, she’s so terrified that because of Wall Street, the two of you are going to be taken away. And we are trying to assure her that you are both safe here, but it would be much easier if you were - ”

With a jerky nod, he squeezes your hand in return before standing up - smoothing out the wrinkles in his clothes.

“I’ll talk to her.”

“Thank you,” you offer him a smile as you stand up, cupping his cheek in the palm of your hand.

He leans into the touch, his eyes briefly fluttering shut.

“And, if you need to talk or vent, or Cronus, break something, please just… come to me. Or anyone else here. You’re not alone anymore, I promise you that.”

Looking a little taken aback by the statement, the teenager stuffs his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and offers you an awkward smile and nod before he exits the room.

Taking a look around at the disarray, you let out a long and shuddering breath as the weight of over three millennia comes crashing down upon you once again.

Looping the strand of auburn hair between your fingers, your blazoned eyes lift up to catch Natasha’s pointed gaze.

“So,” the assassin breathes out, glancing back down at her captured hand. “How far out of the comfort zone are you dragging me?”

You can feel the rumble of laughter from Wanda as you weave another braid down her back. The teenager smiles up at Natasha as she lays the first swipe of electric blue nail polish down upon the woman’s left index finger.

“Unfathomably far.”

“Wow, unfathomably.”

While you weren’t entirely sure how the three of you had wound up in this rather intimate position on the floor of the communal living space - the TV finally turned off; the news no longer on a constant loop - you weren’t entirely complaining about the arrangement.

Clint snorts from his relaxed position on the armchair - one foot kicked up onto the coffee table in front of him as he takes another swig of his beer.

“What, you want in on this?” Natasha questions her partner with an exaggerated batting of her eyelashes.

“ ‘m good,” he smirks.

With a secretive smile of your own, you begin separating three more strands of hair - now on the left side of Wanda's head.

To the best of your knowledge, the siblings had made peace yesterday and were now tentatively co-existing around one another once again. Glancing toward the kitchenette, you spot Pietro. His dark eyes take in the domestic scene spread out in front of him with a distant look upon his face.

You knew it would take more than a few encouraging words and pep talks to get him to peek out of his shell once again. Maybe if Steve was around, it would take a shorter amount of time. But the fact was, no one had heard from the supersoldier since he had stormed out of the Compound three days ago.

“You know - ” tilting your head back, a smile loosening on your features, you watch as Tony plops down on the edge of the sofa, directly behind you - his hand holding an imaginary brush as he mimics combing your hair, “I just love these sleepovers with you guys.”

“Hey,” Natasha sighs, flashing him a warning look. “Invites only, you know the drill.”

“Unless you want me to do your hair?” you question, glancing back at the billionaire.

Tony immediately lifts his hands up, “Please, I spent an hour on this.”

While the tussled locks of his dark hair appeared to be anything other than styled, the engineer hefts up from the couch and wanders toward the kitchen - avoiding the teenage boy’s eyes. Your own gaze follows his path across the room.

It felt like walking on eggshells anymore with the billionaire around.

Tying off the last braid, you gently pat Wanda’s back, “Think that does it.”

The young witch offers you a thin smile in return as she focuses back on painting the Widow’s nails a varying array of deep blues and emerald greens.

Stretching up from the floor, Tony’s eyes land on you - a silent beckoning there in his gaze.

When you move to the kitchen island, taking up residence on one of the metal stools, Pietro conveniently finds a reason to head toward the gym. You didn’t particularly blame him - things were awkward enough as is around here lately.

“So,” Tony breathes out when he notes the boy is out of sight, his voice low and steady. “Any word from red, white, and spangled blue?”

Your fingers clench down on your thighs as you shake your head, chancing a look up at the man standing beside the dark stone counter.

He huffs a lifeless laugh, shaking his head.

“Wonderful.”

As Tony crosses his arms, you watch as a sour expression clouds his features.

“You know, we could have handled it. We could have had a place in those meetings; those negotiations. Been there, done that before, you know?”

Giving a nod, your eyes follow the billionaire as he drops down onto the stool beside you - your backs to the rest of the room.

“It just pisses me off.”

“I know.”

Running a hand through his hair, he cranes his neck to look at you.

“I’m just sitting here thinking about what could be, you know what I mean? Like… we could have had a committee for oversight, no problem, no argument here. We could have put some people from our side on the board - like Rhodey… or hell, even Rogers. People who would have our interests at heart. If we had all just… sat on our hands and shut the hell up and… yeah, not make an ass of ourselves on TV with a grieving woman.”

The shape of your nails becomes a sudden point of interest as you avoid the haunted look in the dark eyes of Tony Stark.

For all of your own fallacies, you knew the man beside you was all too aware of his own weak points. Always trying to improve, to better himself and the lives of the people around him. Everything he did was out of a sense to protect the world; to protect the team.

“I mean…” Tony bites at his thumb for a second, gaze distant, “Opening up channels for negotiations is a cakewalk. A few sweet words here, some faux apologies there, a transfer of cash or the promise of a luxury car and, bam, you’re in.”

Shaking his head, he drums his fingers on the counter, mind clearly running faster than his own mouth can keep up with.

“Fuck, I just wish Rogers would have stayed around long enough to hear me ramble.”

“You know Steve,” you sigh, turning fully on the stool to face Tony. “Once he gets a thought in his head… well, you remember Insight.”

“Yeah, anything to do with you or Barnes, and the guy’s out of here.”

As your brow pinches, you question, “What does that mean?”

“Oh.”

Tony’s cheeks puff up like a fish for a moment before he looks away, swinging his feet back down onto the ground, “Well, you know. Favorite people and all. Do you know how many times he ran off when he got a not-so-secretive call about a Soldier sighting, or, better yet, when he got a little text from someone otherworldly and godly saying they were back in town? Yeah, wrapped around your finger, sweetheart. Or… thought he was.”

Absently kicking at imaginary dirt on the ground, the billionaire stuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

“You’ve tried, right? Texting him, I mean. Cause, trust me, he ain’t answering if it’s coming from my number.”

Glancing back down at the counter - you could almost count the number of tiny white and gold flakes in the pattern to avoid the conversation if you wanted to.

“Yeah, I sent a message or two.”

Letting out a low whistle, Tony rocks back on his heels.

“Ouch. Well, best case scenario he’s sulking it out with Wilson somewhere off the beaten path.”

You almost want to ask what the worst case scenario would be, but your mind has already conjured up a few choice images for your own anxiety to ruminate on. At least you hadn’t seen him on the nightly news. Yet.

Perhaps that was your biggest fear.

Steve putting all of his eggs in one basket and storming Congress to give the Senators a piece of his own ideals.

The SRA had passed through the Senate, now it was up for a vote in the House. And then it would only be a matter of time before the President was set to sign it into law. You weren’t even sure if Tony’s reach could stop that from happening now.

Meanwhile, the UN had continued its fifth day of meetings. There was no word on the Sokovia Accords yet. But you, and everyone else in the Compound, knew that the backing from the Eastern European ambassadors would be enough to get things moving toward an actual ruling.

“Stark.”

Both you and Tony look up as Hill enters the space.

Her commanding tone is such a scathing shift from the woman you helped in the hospital two years ago, that she’s almost impossible to recognize. A glance over your shoulder shows Natasha shifting to subtly crouch in front of Wanda as Clint stands up, arms crossed as he looms directly behind the teen.

“Was wondering where you’d wandered off to.”

“Big compound,” he quirks, tone flat.

She gives him a look that clearly says that she’s all too aware of the fact that he’s been likely avoiding her.

“So, any word on Rogers?” she questions, her gaze shifting from the billionaire to land firmly on you.

Maybe this version of the agent had always been there and you had just been too blinded to notice. Perhaps you could see the faint traces of her calculating demeanor when she admonished you at the Tower after fumbling the handling of the Abomination. Maybe you just had to be this cold and shut off to work in such a landscape.

“Sorry, co-director. No such luck,” Tony grins.

Crossing her arms, she stares down at the man beside you.

“And those calculations and algorithms you said you were running day and night? Even they can’t find him or Wilson?”

“Hey, convenience of modern-day technology, am I right?” Tony smacks his hand down on Hill’s shoulder, pushing past her.

“Well,” she turns on her heel, following the billionaire out of the room, “Maybe I should send down one of my techs to go over your computations.”

As their conversation and footsteps fade further down the hallway, it’s Clint who lets out a low whistle.

“Christ, who shoved a stick up her ass?”

“Hush,” Natasha reprimands, voice clipped and bitter.

Fidgeting with your hands, you finally swivel around and drop back to the floor. Sparring a glance down the hall before you decide to make your way toward the stairs.

But it’s the rather sudden and sharp - ow - that makes you freeze.

Looking back at the trio, your gaze immediately falls to Natasha’s pinched brow.

“Hey!” she barks, shoving at Wanda, “Get out!”

You’re on the teen in a flash, gripping her by the shoulders as you pull her back - her eyes fading from a misted red to their normal dark hue.

“What was that?” you question, directly in her face. “We’ve talked about this. No going into other people’s heads!”

Wanda spits, head lulling back as she peers up at you, “She knows where he is.”

Clint has a hand on Natasha’s shoulder, but she brushes him off as she shakily stands up.

“Is that true?”

Your voice is barely more than a whisper.

“Seriously?” she quips, avoiding your eye.

As your hands drop from Wanda’s arms, you swivel on your toe - turning to face the assassin as you stand up to your full height.

“Natalia.”

It takes a beat, barely more than a breath, before her piercing green eyes land on your face - heated and desperate.

“I don’t know where Steve is, Seven.”

“Liar,” Wanda chortles, shaking her head as she haphazardly moves from the floor to sit on the couch behind her.

“I don’t,” Natasha emphasizes for you. “I just… know where he might want to go.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Clint questions.

“Fuck, you’re just as bad as Hill,” she shakes her head. “He might have… texted me yesterday asking for an assist.”

“And you…” the archer prompts, arms crossed and eyes furious.

“And, I didn’t give him anything. I’m not halfway across the world, in case you didn’t notice - ” she pushes sharply at Barton’s chest - green and blue still-wet nail polish squishing together on the fingers of her right hand.

“He’s not even in the country,” you fumble to grasp with a shake of your own head. “He just… left.”

“Look,” she sighs, seeming to take pity on you – though why, you don’t know. “This whole situation has got him worried about… his past. Very important things from his past.”

You immediately catch her meaning.

“And, he’s sort of hyperfocused on that right now. Hell if I know why, he didn’t bother to say.”

“But he went to you,” you surmise.

Perhaps that was the thing that stung most of all.

For all of the closeness the team purported the two of you had, in the moment where he needed help, it hadn’t been you he had contacted. It had been Natasha. And yes, they had worked together at SHIELD and during the first initial year hunting down Bucky. But you two were…

Well, you weren’t entirely sure what you two were most of the time. There was no word for it in either English or Greek or Old Latin that perfectly encapsulated the relationship you shared with the supersoldier.

Profound. Important. Lasting. Trusting.

Incomprehensible to those around you.

You both had grown since your first meeting five years ago. Your lives had twisted together like the branches of a grapevine. Intertwining so deeply; so tightly, there was no separating one from the other.

At least, you thought you understood the scope of your relationship. Perhaps your silence in the matter several days ago had been too much for even Steve to bear. He was a man of swift action in the face of injustice - or what he believed to be an injustice. While you were more… calculated in your actions.

“Yes,” Natasha states, releasing a breath from her pale lips.

With a nod, you merely say, “Of course,” before you give a regarding look to the other two.

You can hear the calling of your name as you head down the stairs to your quarters. But no one bothers to follow after you. You almost prefer it. Almost.

“Come on, tell me you got something,” Tony grits, the faceplate shooting up on his suit as his feet make contact with the sidewalk.

Natasha flashes him an irritated glance as she furiously swipes, “Give me a break, alright? This is old-school construction; the walls are actually insulated.”

“Give me that,” he snaps, grabbing the device from her hands – nearly dropping it as the suit’s fingers are far more bulky than his own.

As you had been leaning against the dory for a moment, watching the two needlessly bicker with Pallas resting on your shoulder, you swipe the device from Tony.

“Hey! I was using that!”

Offering him only a side-eye, you quickly triangulate the device to sync up with Clint’s hearing aids. Handing the small electronic over to Nat, you answer, “Seventeenth floor, one window, four guards, and Sarkissian.”

Tony, squinting upward against the afternoon sun; likely calculating where exactly the room would be, nods a quick, “Good work, Double O.”

The operatives you had captured in the Las Vegas fight hadn’t exactly been very forthcoming with their information. No one wanted to be the rat on an expansive operation, of course. But, apparently, one of them had managed to become a little more talkative after another round with one of the SHIELD interrogators.

Ophelia Sarkissian was a name that had been looming in the background ever since Strucker’s prison break.

Stark had spent the day running every possible program to try and find her. And to, admittedly, get Hill off his back for an afternoon. Which had led your four-man team to this pseudo-business in the Bronx. Cronus only knows how long their operation had been running here without arousing any suspicious inquiries. A single upscale beauty boutique in a thirty-two-floor building; really?

From the moment you had landed on the street, there had been resistance. Clint was hit with something – venom, possibly - and dragged away while you had been fighting off the electrically charged attacks from the escapee who had evaded you all back in the desert. You had savored a moment of triumph when the Aegis collided with his jaw and sent him reeling backward into temporary unconsciousness.

Noting the growing crowd on the opposite sidewalk and adjoining streets, phones out and at the ready, Tony drops the faceplate back into place.

“I’m open to options here.”

But Natasha silences him with a shush, “I think I’m picking up something.”

There’s a bit of static over the broadcast, all coming in from Clint’s aids, but you’re able to make out the monologue perfectly.

“You’re destroying this country, Mr. Barton. You don’t mean to, of course. You think you’re helping with your coddling little welfare state. Your constant demand for equality. Whatever happened to exceptionalism? Whatever happened to rewarding hard work? Instead, we punish success. Case in point -”

Through Sarkissian’s accented and twisted swirl of words, you can hear the frustrated and almost bored groans from Clint. They must have something covering his mouth, but you can still hear the muffled sarcastic comebacks he tries to convey.

“Today’s businesses face unfair regulation at the hands of an overreaching government. Where the hell in the Constitution did anyone promise the masses clean air, anyway? Sounds like a free market demand for filtration systems and gas masks.”

“They just love to hear themselves talk, don’t they?” You ponder, tiredly glancing over at Natasha.

“Unlike anyone else we know, anyway,” she surmises, looking pointedly up at Iron Man.

The optical lenses blink in golden LED light as Tony tilts his head, “Not sounding like a plan yet, Romanoff.”

She just grins like a lazy cat in a stretch of sunlight, “I thought it was obvious.”

It takes a second, but then Tony is soaring upward – dust and debris billowing up in his wake.

“Men,” she sighs with a roll of her eyes before looping her arm through yours.

Sarkissian’s voice echoes through the speaker still, “The most important lesson in what drives the whole process is fear . Once you figure out what a person is afraid of, you’ve found a way to sell them something.”

In a flash, the sidewalk below your feet disappears and a darkened industrial room appears.

“I personally can’t wait ‘til we’re back to selling wars -”

Iron Man crashes through the window.

As the monologuer turns around, Natasha dips away from you, throwing widow bites in quick succession – taking out two guards. Before she can even bear her teeth or whip out a blade, you pull Sarkissian in with your spear, trapping her by the neck; drawing her in close.

The threat of Tony’s blasters is enough to keep the last remaining stooge from making any sudden moves, giving Nat the chance to untie Clint from the single chair sitting in the room. So typical, it was almost sad.

“OW! ” He grunts when she rips the duct tape from his mouth, “ Fucking , Jesus. Not even a goddamn warning.”

But she’s not paying attention to his complaints as she pats his checks. Even from a distance, you can see his eyelids drooping and his mouth curving downward.

“Check her, Seven!”

With one hand holding the spear steady, you dig through the woman’s pockets – ignoring her annoyed little heys and buy me dinner first – before finally wrapping your fingers around a small vial.

The contents are a soft blue, cloudy, and very untrustworthy based on appearance alone. You chuck it Tony’s way, giving him the chance to analyze it.

By the time Clint’s up and on his feet again – arm draped over Nat’s shoulders for support, the news vans have already appeared on the street below. Hill also sent a few prisoner transports along, having a team dragging the various guards out one by one.

Leading Sarkissian out with a single hand grasping her wrists together behind her back, you avert your gaze from the flashes of cameras and the calls of eager reporters.

The SHIELD agent who you meet up with clasps a pair of heavy cuffs over the woman’s hands, making them fully encased. You watch as she’s pushed into the back of one of the vans, mouth sealed shut of her own accord.

“That’s right. Single-handly, we have shut down a serious threat to this beautiful community.”

The doors slam in your face as you spin around – catching Tony excitedly gesticulating in front of a team of news cameras.

Slipping back to stand beside Natasha and Clint, you watch in a mixture of slight awe and horror as Tony spins the tale of the great battle that had occured just moments before. How a dangerous criminal mastermind was now set to live out the rest of her days behind bars. He waves to the crowd, blowing out a kiss to a random bystander across the street before ultimately returning to the team.

“Hear that?” he grins, “That’s the sound of people starting to believe in superheroes again.”

Turning to wave at the people once more – now being met with shouts and calls for more questions - you slide close to the billionaire, voice meant for his ears alone.

“Will you still be superheroes after all of this, Tony? Won’t you just be SHIELD agents when you’re all on the federal payroll?”

“Well,” he cranes his head to the side.

After a beat, he grabs your arm by the elbow and forces your hand into a little wave. A group of people standing in front of the pizza place scream out in joy.

“We’re a good distraction if anything,” he gleams.

Glancing back at the others, your worried expression is met with equally concerned gazes.

Hill is surprisingly smiley when you return to the Compound. Nat and Clint brush her off – wanting nothing more than to get the archer properly checked out in medical, just in case that antivenom didn’t work its way through his system properly – but Tony meanders about, talking up a storm with her.

You slip past, watching the strange occurrence take place with an uneasy swish in your stomach.

The twins are nowhere to be seen when you first enter the main living space – nor is Vision. The swirl of your godly wardrobe disappears in a halo of warm golden light as the now-familiar comfort of human attire appears once again on your body.

Wringing your hands together, actually unsure of what to do with the post-fight energy still curiously wriggling itself through your body, a sensible chuckle meets your ears.

Tony, down to his jeans and Metallica shirt, wanders in, shaking his head.

“Is that what I think it is?”

You follow his amused gaze down to the soft baby blue cuff of your sleeve. It takes a second before you begin to frantically pull the hoodie off your shoulders, eyes wide in horror; too stunned to even manage a single word from your panicked lips.

“Hey, hey - ” he steps forward, easing a hand down before you can entirely divest yourself of the garment. Steve’s garment. Cronus, how the hell did it even appear on your anyway? “- it’s cool. Fitting, really.”

Your chest relaxes as a sigh pushes its way past your lips. Slowly, you pull the sleeves back up, pulling the soft fleece closer to your body. From the hem of the hood, you can just pick up the familiar musk of Steve’s aftershave.

“Anyway,” Tony spares one final look at the piece of clothing, “I had FRIDAY working through those records we nabbed?”

He expectantly waits for understanding to hit you. When you nod in remembrance, he continues, “Turns out, this little group had a ton of off-shore bank accounts. And a bunch of messages to a Mister E.”

A shock of laughter bubbles out from Tony as he slaps a hand over his own mouth in awe.

“Oh, that’s brilliant. Mister E .. Mystery. Get it? God, wish I thought of that myself before.”

Changing gears before you can even pinch your brows – ready to admonish him for regaling his pre-Iron Man war-profiteering era – he intercepts:

“Anyway, I’ve got FRIDAY on the trail and she’ll figure out who their figurehead is in no time. In other news... job well done. Yay, Avengers.”

A smile creeps to your lips as Tony gently bats his hand against your arm, “Go, relax or whatever the hell it is you do in your off time. The knowledge that a large criminal organization is currently off the streets should be a reward in itself today.”

Not even bothering to see what choice you make, Tony saunters off down the hall toward the meeting rooms, whistling a jaunty tune to himself. It could be a Disney song or a bad rendition of “Back in Black”, you’re not really sure.

On your way to your quarters, you spy the twins in the small kitchenette. Wanda’s sitting up on the counter and Pietro’s spinning around on the floor laughing; truly laughing. Not wanting to interrupt their moment of possible happiness, you scoot past them to your own room.

Flipping the light switch, your quarters come to life.

Still as plain and immaculately clean as you had left it.

Kicking your shoes off near the door, you shuffle your way across the pale pink carpet before your knees hit the edge of the bedframe and you turn around. Dropping down on the bed, your hair halos out behind you. The mattress sags pleasantly under your weight as you breathe out a long sigh.

After a moment of pure silence, staring up at the tiny specks that make up faux constellations on the ceiling, your thumb begins to rub at the cuff of the hoodie’s sleeve.

Eventually, you draw in the open front to your nose – inhaling that warm smell once again. How exactly Steve’s clothing had disappeared from his room only to appear on your body was still a complete mystery to you. This had never happened before in the history of, well, your entire existence, frankly.

The aftershave is a woody scent, embedded into the owner’s clothing. Taking short sniffs, you can just make out the patchouli and cedar. Somewhere in there is the barest hint of clove. It reminds you of the soft mossy floor of your sister’s forest. The woods always held an earthy smell to them, especially on Olympus. Artemis’ realm seemed enhance the simple scent of the outdoors to be even more pleasing to the senses. But this fragrance, curled into the fabric of Steve’s hoodie, is something of its own making.

The only downside of it, actually, is the fact that it makes the ache of Steve’s absence even stronger.

Where you would usually turn to the supersoldier in the aftermath of a battle, there was no one. When you would plan out a fight, it was always with Steve. Even just now, passing the twins, you were reminded of the person missing at your side. The person who had helped you, for months, aid in the recovery of the two mutants.

It felt like a betrayal. You knew it wasn’t, and even more-so, you knew you shouldn’t be thinking alongside that line of troubling thoughts. But it ultimately did, deep down in your chest. That bitter little vein throbbing next to your heart seemed to scream out – traitor. Which was nothing close to the truth of the matter at all.

Steve had left to quell an argument before it reached a disastrous level – Tony had a way of bringing that out in people; particularly Steve. He was just cooling off. That was all. Looking for James Barnes was just a distraction point in the matter, surely.

Curling onto your side, you pull the fabric even closer to you, silently wishing that whatever wrongs that had transpired between him and the team could be undone so that Steve would return to the Compound at last. So he could return to... you.

Wrapped in the warmth of fleece, and with the featherlight pillow beneath your head, the aftermath of the fight finally pulls at your body – dragging you down into a light, dreamless sleep.

But it is broken all too easily, an hour later, by the sharp trilling of a buzzing cell phone on the nightstand beside you.

Through bleary eyes, you see an unknown number flash across the screen. You already know, however; deep down, that pulsing artery in your heart, you already know who it is. Flicking the phone open, you ask in an immediate rush of breathlessness:

“Are you okay?”

The distant flutter of a chuckle greets your ears as you sag back down.

“I’m okay,” Steve replies.

He’s okay. He’s okay. Steve’s okay.

But with that immediate sense of relief, you find yourself having to steady a breath. Trying to hold back the sudden swath of anger that wants to break free – you jerk. Where does he get off ignoring you, all of you, for days on end, just to call you out of nowhere and act like everything’s just fine?

Biting it back, your fingers dig into palm – feel that, that’s real. Those thoughts? That anger. That’s just a distraction.

“Where are you?”

“Out of my depth,” he snorts.

“Cronus, Rogers,” you sigh, raking your hand over your head.

“’Thena... I need your help. A favor, honestly.” His voice cracks on the final sound of your name.

From that alone, you know he doesn’t really want to be asking for this. Which must mean he desperately needs whatever help he can get.

“Anything,” you respond in kind.

There’s a beat of silence that passes between the two of you. In the distance, you can make out the honk of a car horn, the rustle of a breeze, the whispers from who you assume to be Sam.

“I need to find Bucky ... before Ross does. I, I know the Accords aren’t signed into law yet, but the SRA... it’s going to be voted on any day now, and I don’t want anything to happen to him while we just sit here. He’s been through too much on my account already.”

The words sink in slowly at first before the full scope of the threat resting above James Barnes hits you like a flash of lightning.

“I can send Pallas,” you suggest. “Actually, you should have just used the card and called me to you.”

Steve huffs a broken laugh, “Thought about that, honestly. Just, didn’t seem safe.”

“Okay,” you murmur, thinking over your options.

This was likely what he had contacted Natasha about. And if she couldn’t help... well, there was always Tony. But then again, that was probably one of the last people Steve would willing to go to for help right now. Especially with this.

“I... I might have something. But it’s back on Olympus.”

“Okay,” he eases.

A smile curls on your lips, “It will only take me a minute of your time.”

You can picture the way his features relax when he hears your answer, a grateful, “Thank you,” is pressed across the line. Followed shortly by a soft admission:

“I miss you, you know.”

For a moment, you try to picture him. Eyes soft but lidded, lips pressed to the receiver so Sam won’t hear, that easy smile he reserves only for you and you alone.

Your fingers loop around one of the strings on his hoodie, tugging aimlessly at it for a moment before you respond, “It’s only been three days, Steve.”

There’s a pause, a breath of space between two places, but still connected by that always present invisible force that connects you to him and him to you.

“I think that’s been three days too many, honestly,” comes the husky reply.

You linger there on the line, just listening to the sound of his gentle breaths. If you closed your eyes, which you won’t, and if you imagined for just a moment – which you didn’t dare – you could almost see him laying just in front of you on the bed, staring down at you with an expression that would make his sea blue eyes nearly black in the low light of your room.

“Just... give me a minute,” you murmur, placing the phone down on your pillow.

Steve gives a hum of acknowledgment. And then you’re gone. In a sparkling burst of golden light.

The building is just a street away from the main hub of the city. Where, if you were looking for peace and quiet, you would be in the wrong part of town. The traffic isn’t nearly as bad here though, but the noise does travel well past the boundaries of the Soviet apartment block.

“I thought we were going for a stealthy approach with this one. Instead, you’re going in like a walking billboard for the Avengers.”

Taking the stairs, Steve peers down the first corridor before answering Sam, “We don’t know what state of mind he might be in. Better safe than sorry.”

The strap of the shield digs into his fingers as he pulls it tight to his side.

This was really going to be their last chance to find Bucky and get him out of here. If anyone was going to take the fall for this, it would be Steve in his full Captain America regalia. Not Sam. Sam, who he had sent to the roof to keep an eye on the skies and neighboring buildings. Sam, with no uniform, who had strict instructions to make a break for it the minute things got nasty. If things got nasty. Which, God, he hoped they wouldn’t.

It’s three more floors of worn concrete stairs before the crackle of Sam’s voice breaks over the comms once again.

“What exactly was it that your girl did?”

In the hotel, Steve had remained largely vague about your role in this mission. Sharon had provided the city for them, but not the address. Even that was out of her jurisdiction.

“She had a...” a man steps out of his apartment, takes one look at Steve, and slowly backs his way back inside. Two locks slide closed.

He’s not insulted, in all actuality. Considering if the roles were reversed and he, all ninety some pounds of pre-serum Rogers, had seen a costumed renegade outside of his door. Yeah, he’d likely lock up and snooker down.

“A scyring pool, I think. It was something that allowed her to see whatever it was she was seeking? It’s not really my realm.”

Taking a look up at the final set of stairs, Steve grasps the shaky metal railing and begins the ascent. He had been tracking the door numbers this entire time. 607 had to be up here.

“What, and she just... had this magical thing th e whole time we were looking for cold, dark, and gloomy?”

That wasn’t something Steve particularly wanted to think about, in all honesty. In fact, he had resigned the notion to the back of his mind for the time being.

603, 604, 605, 606...

The last door is entirely unordinary. Just like the others.

Placing his head against the wood, he can’t immediately detect any movement from inside. Still, he knocks. Bracing himself for the moment his friend opens the door and sees him. God, what the hell will he even think? Will he even listen, or is this going to be like the helicarrier all over again?

A minute passes, and Steve still doesn’t hear any sounds of a gun cocking or glass breaking.

Ramming his shoulder into the door, it gives way almost instantly. Distantly, he wonders if it was even locked to begin with.

While the overhead lights are on above a single table and the small kitchen counter, the windows themselves are covered up – barely allowing a trickle of sunlight through the pasted newsprint. Steve treks in slowly, watching the floor for any traps as he takes in the abhorrent state of the single room.

The walls, once covered in green paint, are flicked down to the concrete, with splashes of dangling wallpaper only near the kitchen. There’s a lingering smell as well, possibly coming from the raggedy couch or... the lone mattress on the floor.

Jesus, Buck.

“He’s not here,” he speaks into the comm, turning in a slow circle – sweeping the room for any sign that his friend might still be somewhere in the shell of HYDRA’s weapon.

There’s a stack of newspapers on the dining table. When he flips over the most recent stack, there’s a picture of the explosion on Wall Street. The headline says something in a language Steve can’t read, but he knows what the article likely says.

Atentat la New York. Eficiența Răzbunătorilor în discuție.

Unable to look at the burning remains of the charter school for a moment more, he flips the page back down.

Moving toward the kitchenette, under a stack of protein bars, Steve spots it. A simple black notebook with a few red tabs sticking out of it. His curiosity peaked, he can’t help but pull it out.

The first page is blank, but on the second, he’s met with a picture of himself. A pamphlet from the Smithsonian exhibit, actually. On the adjoining page, a scribble of thoughts bursts out from the paper.

Captain America.

Captain Rogers Steve. Steve Rogers.

New York. New York City, apartment. One room. No windows. There’s a bed with a hole in the mattress and a chestdrawerbox

Whatever train of thought that had hit the writer, was quickly jotted out in a furious scratch of ink.

Hesitantly, Steve flips through the pages. Spotting bubbles of thought with facial sketches of himself. In uniform, and without. A smaller, skinnier version of a boy – a smile, but no upper facial features to be found; like the full image never came to mind.

And then there’s a change. From drawings of Steve and blurry New York skylines, comes a flurry of images of a sleek woman – curled hair and a smokey fixture over her face. If Steve had to acquaint it with anyone he knew, he would say the woman of Bucky’s fixation looked a lot like Natasha, but in a more classic noir style than anything else.

Two more pages follow the drawings, filled with news clippings and headlines.

One more page and Steve’s finger pauses on the page.

There. In perfect recreation is you.

A full face of details, unafforded to the other sketches. But amongst the premade lines of the notebook, your likeness comes to life. Steve gazes into your pencil-made eyes, the hint of a smile about to burst on your lips. Your hair is hidden behind a plain veil fluttering in an invisible wind. Below your neck, Steve’s eyes follow the detailing of a Red Cross nurse’s uniform fizzle out into the page.

Why is it, he wonders, that the sketches of himself and the mystery woman remain faceless, while this rendering of you is a near replica of the real person?

Something heavy sits on the page behind the drawing. Following temptation, he flips it over. Another series of article clippings, of you and the team. In your flowing white Olympian armor, eyes blazoned in the moment of battle.

Another, there with Steve, helping him out from a pile of rubble. His hand aches with the distant ghost of your touch.

“Put it down.”

Steve spins around, smacking the notebook closed. Silently chastising himself for not hearing the man’s approach.

Bucky, eyes wide and sweeping, adds a trembling, “Please.”

Steve, holding one hand up, places the book back down on the counter. Trying to show in any way he can manage that he is no threat to James Barnes.

And then he just stares, unable to help himself as he takes in his friend’s shambled appearance.

“Do you know me?”

Bucky blinks, glancing between Steve and the notebook resting on the counter behind him.

“You’re Steve. I read about you in a museum.”

In his heart, he believes that isn’t the truth. The few words he spotted in that book are indicator enough, but he eases forward a step.

“I don’t want you to be nervous. But I know you have every reason to be.”

Bucky takes a step away, right hand curling into a fist. Left hand... tucked away into his pocket.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“We’re here to help you, Buck,” Steve soft pleads, pulling the helmet from his head. Let him see. Let him connect the pieces to the man standing in front of him.

“We?” he questions, glancing toward the window beside him with the stained ivory curtain swaying.

He really should think before he opens his mouth sometimes.

“A friend,” Steve amends.

Keeping his distance, Bucky begins to circle away from him, heading toward the dining table.

“You should’ve left me alone,” he murmurs.

Easing his hands onto his belt, Steve lays it out, “They know where you are. They’ve been tracking you for weeks.”

There’s a skittish look that crosses his friend’s features. A wild animal pacing a cage of their own making, expecting the hounds to break through in the next breath.

“We want to help. Buck...” he crosses the distance between them, grasping hold of Bucky’s right forearm. “Let us help you get out of here.”

Before he can form a response, Sam’s voice crackles in his ear, “There’s someone up here. I’ m compromised.”

Blocking the quick series of fists that come swinging at your face, you try to land a solid punch to the lower torso, but your target disappears.

“Hey!” you chastise, spinning around – managing to grab Pietro’s hand before he can fully connect it with your shoulder. “I thought the sparring rule was no using your speed?”

“That ,” he grins, pulling back, “was Captain Roger’s rule. You, my friend, never established such terms before we began.”

Smart bastard.

Offering him an exasperated huff, you hold up your hands, “Well, let’s say that we’ve now established it as such.”

In Steve’s absence, and with Pietro seemingly coming out of his shell in the past few days, you had offered to take over temporary training with the teen. Your time had largely been spent working with Wanda as you had been deemed the sturdiest candidate when it came to tolerating her untrained magic.

Pietro, without his speed as a factor point, had spent more time with Steve and Sam than anyone else. And, you had to hand it to the pair, they had taught him well.

“Alright, let’s get back in your ready position,” you begin, changing his focus back to the sparring session.

But before you can begin, both of your attentions are drawn to the exasperated scream that trails down the hallway outside of the gym doors, followed by Wanda’s screech of:

“Unbelievable! Bastardi!”

A blur of flowing black fabric and dark red hair goes blazing past.

Sparing Pietro a single look, you give him the nod that allows him to jump over the ropes and race out of the gym.

Resting on the swaying rope, sweat dripping down the curve of your back, you just shake your head. You weren’t sure if you even wanted to know what terrible news had unfolded in your temporary absence away from the TV.

The gym door swishes open as an awkward Tony Stark works his way over to you. His posture is too rigid, hands stuffed into his pockets, and a nervous sort of look sits in his eyes.

“What happened?” you ask, voice exhausted – not by the training session, but by the weight of the extenuating circumstances that had been plaguing the team for weeks at this point.

He glances around, rocking on the balls of his feet, “Did half of Paramore happen to storm past?”

Pulling away from the ropes, you drop down on the mat and slide your way to the floor, standing before the billionaire and offering him an incredulous, “Who?”

“The Wunderkinds.”

“Yeah, Wanda just... she went by a second ago. Why, what happened?”

You’re already anticipating the worst when Tony pulls out his phone. Likely news headlines conjure themselves up in your head. But, instead, you’re met with a photo.

Iron Man. In mid-flight. Faceplate up, but sunglasses resting on the lower curve of his nose. And... was that a smoothie?

As the phone is dropped into your hands, you scroll down ever-so-slightly.

@tonystark: Hey SnapTap, am I doing this right? #avengersinthewild #youknowwhoiam

“It’s brilliant, right?” he beams, snatching the phone back.

But you just blink, still trying to assess where the hell Tony’s mind went.

“That’s a word for it, sure. Why exactly are you jumping on this track after the whole no social media spiel you made Steve give Wanda the other day?”

Tony scoffs, looking almost offended by the question.

“You know, with everything that’s happened. With two pieces of legislation at our goddamn doorstep, I’m trying to do whatever the hell I can still do to try and change this clusterfuck of a narrative.”

Right. The grandstanding during yesterday’s operation. One hand on the wheel. Let the bills pass, but keep hold of the public’s opinion.

“I mean,” Tony shrugs, thumbing through his phone for a moment. “If the media wants the people to fear us; to plant unnecessary panic, then I figure we just show the world that we’re just like them. Relatable and all that. Kickass, but still approachable. Someone you’d want to pay a few thousand to hang out with for a day.”

Cronus, no wonder Wanda was furious – having to remove everything under the guise of security and privacy, only to have Tony turn around and do this overnight.

“Here,” the phone is directed back your way, a notes app opened up to a show a series of jotted-down names. “I already saved some handles for you guys.”

Your eyes scan over the list of proposed names:

@realathena

@hawkinthenest

@capattack

@assgardian

Disgust riddles its way through your body and you can only manage a shake of the head as you push the phone back Tony’s way.

“Come on, Seven,” Tony pleads in a tired tone, rubbing a hand at his face. “Look, you get the chance to come and go, right? This world ain’t working out for you, you can probably go off and find a new one. But this? This is our one and only world. And personally, I don’t want to see everyone have to give up their ability to fight or to hang up their suit. I’m telling you, every little bit helps.”

In his bleary eyes, you find only honest truth. And, knowing Tony, you are aware that he’s gone down every possible avenue – every scenario – to keep the team together, to keep their powers in their own hands.

And, give hell or high water, despite Ross and the entire weight of the American government, you knew Tony would do whatever was in his power to keep things as well off as he could manage.

“I... I’ll think about it, okay?” you offer, mentally hopscotching your way out of it entirely.

“Hey, that’s all I ask,” he beams. “We can do a little photo op. My treat. I’m thinking, you with your armor, or you and your little owl guy. People love a celebrity with a pet.”

Cronus, help her.

Nodding your head, you begin to back your way toward the practice ring, “Definitely something to think about, yes.”

Tony, grinning like the sly fox he thinks he is, just tuts in a knowing tone. As if to say, he would break you down, slowly, with much annoyance and pestering.

But then that smile begins to drift south; a true frown now resting on his face.

“What,” you question. “Have you already lost followers?”

He quirks a brow, “I’m one of the fastest-growing accounts, thank you very much. FRI? Can you get this on the big screen?”

You follow the question to the ceiling where the omnipresent AI lived (in your mind, anyway), before landing on the large TV pressed up above the row of five treadmills.

The same two reporters who have been covering the House vote and the updates from the U.N. are familiar to you now. And, where you expect to see some grand announcement of a bill passage or another righteous official ready to spout off for the microphone -

Your heart drops. A deep ache fills your stomach as you press your palms to your throbbing chest.

The reporter’s words are but a ringing in your ears as you watch Steve, in full uniform, pushed to his knees by a man in a military uniform bearing the American flag. Behind him, Sam’s being pushed and pulled by three other men – his flight pack nearly ripped from his body in such a way that you fear his shoulder has been dislocated in their carelessness. And then the camera – taken by an amateur reporter, clearly – lands on -

“Oh my, God,” you utter.

James is lying flat out on the ground, with a soldier pushing their full weight down upon his back as another handcuffs his hands behind him. He’s grunting, blood trickling down from a cut on his temple as he shudders and fights to breathe.

“Tony,” you urge – too many questions and demands to make them come out in a proper sentence. But he knows.

Dragging a hand down his face, he just shakes his head, “So much fucking ground to make up.”

“Anthony,” you bark, eyes blazing as you watch the live feed of the three men being loaded up into the back of an armored vehicle by armed and ready soldiers.

“I...” he just sighs, long and heavy, as if he had taken over for Atlas temporarily. “Uhm, shit. I’ll try and see which lawyers I can wrangle back. Who the fuck knows what can legally be done right now. I don’t even... Jesus, Seven. I don’t even know what to tell you.”

His eyes are soft and sincere as he manages out a choked, “Sorry,” before he pushes past the gym doors and takes to the stairs.

Left there, alone in the aftermath, your focus drifts back on the screen where the Secretary of State – fucking Ross - begins a press briefing.

“Today, a specialized team of American service members successfully captured a rouge party of dangerous super-powered individuals. At this time, Steve Rogers is no longer a threat to this nation or the country at large. And tonight, may the world sleep easier to know that known Russian terrorist, James Barnes, also known by his moni k er: t he Winter Soldier, has been taken to a high-security location until further notice. As long as we allow these individuals to roam freely, they will be a threat to you and your family. Today, justice prevailed.”

That night, unable to pull yourself away from the TV in the living room, you watch alongside Tony – who’s glued to his phone, trying to type out a series of favors to his last few lawyers – and Vision, as the Sokovia Accords emergency legislation is passed through the United Nations. Natasha, eyes unblinking, gazes at the screen as the anchors - after the U.N. coverage ends, announce that the SRA is up for a vote later tonight.

Somewhere, over the span of the ocean, your teammates – your friends – are being flown back to the States like wanted criminals. Strapped down, collared, heavily guarded.

Beside you, the remainder of your team, silently watches their lives begin to unfurl. And you, Goddess of Wisdom, have no solutions for them. No options. Nothing.

You’re helpless to save any of them.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

[kathlare]

just friends

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Lando and Amelie find themselves unexpectedly thrown into a chaotic evening of babysitting together.

Wordcount: 5.5 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

August 15th, 2020 - Barcelona, Spain

liked by sheissecretdrunk, softdrs, and others

f1teaofficial:🔥 SPOTTED: Amelie Dayman pulling up to the Barcelona paddock today… with Charles Leclerc by her side??

View all 21,111 comments

softdrs: charles walking in like he didn’t just steal another man’s girlfriend → landoismylockscreen: @softdrs he’s braver than the marines → lanfanpage: @softdrs someone check on Lando. immediately.

quadgirl4life: if this is PR i need their agent’s number bc i’m INVESTED → racelov3r: @racelov3r literally sitting here like it’s a romcom and i already picked a side → sunburnedbabe: @racelov3r i’m team lanmelie but i fear charmelie has the chemistry

sheissecretdrunk: lando seeing this while doing a track walk somewhere like 😐

lanmelie4life: lando saw this and immediately started stress-cleaning his hotel room

childhoodbestiescore: they've been friends since diapers pls stop making it weird → pitlaneprincesss: @childhoodbestiescore but also… if they kissed i wouldn’t be mad → charlovescarbs: @childhoodbestiescore childhood friends to lovers is a trope for a reason

wheresthesoftlaunch: this is giving me buffer boyfriend energy → lanfan_99: @wheresthesoftlaunch nah she def told charles “walk in with me so the lando rumors chill” → ferrarisimp69: @wheresthesoftlaunch and it did the exact opposite LMAO

daymaniac: she’s the main character and the drivers are just her love interests → gridgirlieeee: @daymaniac netflix could NEVER write this plot → drsfordayman: @daymaniac someone get this woman a helmet she’s running the grid

-------------

The Barcelona sun was merciless, but at least the paddock had a breeze this morning. Amelie adjusted her oversized sunglasses, mask snug on her face as she walked side by side with Charles toward the Ferrari motorhome.

—You’re gonna be fine,— she said, nudging him lightly with her elbow. —Don’t overthink turn ten again.—

Charles huffed. —I’m not. I just don’t trust it. It’s too wide. It’s suspicious.—

Amelie snorted. —You sound like Björn when I change his litter box. Distrustful for no reason.—

He stopped just in front of the door and looked down at her. —You staying for FP3?—

She shook her head. —Nah, gonna grab an iced coffee and hide from the heat. But I’ll be back for quali, promise.—

—Text me if you see something weird with the car.—

—You’re literally surrounded by engineers.—

—But they’re not you.—

She rolled her eyes but smiled. —Go. You’re already late, drama queen.—

Charles winked and disappeared through the door. She turned on her heel and started toward the hospitality building, already peeling her mask off as she stepped inside the cool, air-conditioned space.

There was only one thing on her mind.

—Iced coffee. Iced coffee. Iced coffee.— she mumbled under her breath like a prayer.

She approached the bar and the barista immediately perked up. —Hola, Amelie! Lo de siempre?—

—Sí, por favor. Grande. Extra hielo.— she added, pressing her hands together dramatically.

As he nodded and turned away to make it, she sighed, letting her sunglasses fall to rest on her head.

—Amelie.—

That tone.

She knew that tone.

She slowly turned her head and, just as predicted, saw her sister Stella standing there, a baby on her hip (Carlota, squirming and babbling), and a toddler clinging to her hand (Chequito, wearing his McQueen bucket hat and looking dangerously close to a tantrum).

Stella’s expression was deceptively sweet.

Amelie froze. —Oh no. No. No, no, no, no. You’re not doing this.—

—I need a favor.—

—Absolutely not.—

Stella’s smile widened. —Please.—

—No. The last time you said that, I ended up covered in vomit and fucking Play-Doh.—

Carlota squealed on cue, like she was in on the ambush.

—I’m serious. Checo and I have a date tonight.—

—Gross.—

—We haven’t had time alone in forever. We’re staying at the hotel tonight. I booked it. I got the dress. I waxed.—

—Jesus Christ, Stella.—

—You think I’m doing all that and not getting laid?—

—Please stop talking.—

—So I need you to babysit. Just for a few hours. Until we’re back in the morning.—

Amelie clutched her iced coffee like it was her last hope. —I told Charles I’d go play padel with him.—

Stella blinked. —You don’t play padel.—

—I could!— Amelie said, too defensively.

Stella raised an eyebrow. —You nearly passed out doing three squats last week because you didn’t eat breakfast.—

—I had breakfast!—

—A Red Bull and a piece of gum doesn’t count.—

—That’s a classic Mexican breakfast and you know it.—

—Amelie.—

Amelie groaned loudly, nearly banging her head against the bar. —I hate you.—

—You love me.—

—You’re going to get railed while I’m wiping someone else’s ass.—

—It’s called sisterhood.—

Chequito tugged on Amelie’s shirt then and looked up at her with big brown eyes. —Titina, can we watch Cars again?—

Amelie stared at him, deadpan. —This is emotional blackmail.—

Stella just grinned, bouncing Carlota gently on her hip. —So you’ll do it?—

Amelie stared into the void, then took a long, soul-searching sip of her iced coffee. God, she really needed to stop being a pushover. Or at least start charging babysitting fees like an actual adult. She was technically famous. She should not be subject to diaper duty. She had a team. She had contracts. She had standards.

...And yet here she was.

—Fine,— she muttered, defeated. —But if either of them shits on me again, I’m calling Child Services.—

—Deal.— Stella leaned in and kissed the top of Amelie’s head, Carlota immediately grabbing a fistful of her curls and tugging like she was trying to extract secrets. —You’re the best. We’ll drop them off after quali. Their pajamas are in the bag. Snacks too. They’ve been a little cranky lately, but I’m sure you can handle it.—

—Why do you say that like I’m not going to end up duct-taping them to the ceiling?—

—Because I believe in you.—

Amelie looked down at Chequito, who was now doing a weird little dance that suspiciously looked like he needed to pee. Carlota sneezed all over Stella’s neck.

—Great. I’m going to die surrounded by sticky children and Pixar references.—

—You’ll live.—

—Can I at least order takeout?—

—Of course. Just don’t give Carlota mango again. You know what happened.—

Amelie grimaced. She remembered. Too vividly.

Stella blew her a kiss and wandered off toward the Racing Point garage, hips swaying, probably already fantasizing about whatever romantic (and unfortunately probably X-rated) shit Checo had planned. Amelie, meanwhile, leaned against the counter and slammed the rest of her iced coffee like it was tequila.

Babysitting. During a race weekend. Because of course.

She checked the time, groaned, and texted Charles.

Ames: not playing padel tonight. Ames: babysitting. again. Ames: tell checo i hope his back breaks.

She didn’t expect a reply so soon.

Charlie: 😭😭😭 rip Charlie: don’t let them bully you Charlie: (jk ur stuck enjoy the chaos) Charlie: also checo is already stretching for the occasion Ames: i’m gonna block you

As she was about to put her phone away, a new notification popped up.

Lan: heard from charles ur babysitting tonight Lan: need backup? Lan: i’m really good at snacks and terrible jokes

She blinked.

She hadn’t told him. Charles, that little traitor. Of course he’d told Lando. And of course Lando was already volunteering to show up like some golden retriever boyfriend...

No. No. They were just friends.

Kinda.

With some kissing.

And a lot of cuddling.

And sleeping over.

And longing looks.

And her stupid heart doing stupid things.

Ames: no backup Ames: i’m fine Ames: gonna lock them in the bathroom and vibe ✌🏼 Lan: okay but i have cars 2 downloaded Lan: and jelly worms Lan: just saying

She hesitated, fingers hovering above the screen. Because, God, he would be good with the kids. He already was good with them. Chequito had once told her Lando was “better than Lightning McQueen,” and that was basically sacred praise. Carlota let him hold her without screaming. Björn didn’t claw his eyes out. That was nearly miraculous.

But if he came over... tonight... while she was wrangling toddlers... in pajamas... and probably no makeup... what if she just gave in? What if she stopped pretending she didn’t want him?

What if she let herself fall?

She hated how much she wanted to say yes.

And maybe that was the problem.

Ames: jelly worms & cars 2? Ames: you had me at trash cinema Ames: bring yourself. and snacks. Ames: you’re in charge of bath time tho. Lan: deal. Lan: see you tonight, mama bear 🧡

Amelie rolled her eyes so hard her lashes nearly flew off, but the smile that curled on her lips was annoyingly unstoppable.

Shit. She was so screwed.

—You're gonna regret this,— she muttered to herself.

Chequito appeared again, out of nowhere, like a tiny haunting. —Titina! I did a fart.—

Yup.

She was definitely going to regret this.

-------------

liked by charlesbestieera, f1gossipgirl, and others

daymanupdates: Amelie spotted watching quali from Ferrari hospitality today in Barcelona 🔴✨ Looking effortlessly stunning as usual

View all 11,071 comments

softlaunchqueen: red looks good on her but let’s not forget her heart is papaya-coded → lanfanacc: @softlaunchqueen lando’s out here fighting for points and his life

charlesbestieera: childhood besties to ferrari royalty. we love to see it → ferrarifairytales: @charlesbestieera charles def saved her a seat like “this one's for the dayman” → tifosibaddie: @charlesbestieera they better show this on the broadcast or i’m suing

gridgossip: lando seeing her in ferrari like “so this is what betrayal feels like”

sheissecretdrunk: she’s not a wag she’s the paddock’s first lady → drsfordayman: @sheissecretdrunk and all the teams are just her ministries → ames4grid: @sheissecretdrunk atp FIA should give her a seat on the board

daymanoverdrive: the only thing hotter than the track temps is her in ferrari hospitality → tifosibaby: @daymanoverdrive she’s the real prancing horse and everyone knows it

softlaunchcentral: she’s either starting a civil war or a love triangle and honestly? i’m here for it → pitwallpsychic: @softlaunchcentral lando vs charles: who gets the final rose 🌹

mclarenmistress: LANDO STAY STRONG BRO 😭 → landosburner: @mclarenmistress he's in the garage pretending he doesn’t care but his helmet’s fogging up

formulafits: ferrari PR must be thriving bc she’s singlehandedly boosting morale

-------------

The sun had finally dipped beneath the Barcelona skyline, painting the paddock in golds and oranges as the day wound to a close. Amelie stood near the edge of the McLaren hospitality, iced coffee long gone, holding the straps of her handbag with one hand and her phone in the other, refreshing messages out of habit. Lando had texted ten minutes ago saying he’d be out any second.

She was sticky with sweat, her feet a little sore from walking in heels all day, and her sunglasses now sat propped on her head, pushing her hair back. She was mentally preparing herself to spend the next twelve hours as part-time nanny, full-time Pixar hostage.

Footsteps padded up behind her and a familiar voice grinned into her ear.

—Miss me?—

She didn’t even flinch. Just smirked as Lando’s arm casually slid around her waist, his curls still a little damp from the post-quali shower, smelling like clean soap and something vaguely citrusy and boyish. Unfair.

—Only like a rash,— she said, leaning into his side anyway.

—Charming as ever.— He kissed the side of her head. —Ready for our very glamorous evening of diapers and Disney?—

—Don’t get too excited. One of them already farted on me earlier and the other one thinks biting is an appropriate love language.—

—So… basically your exact type?—

She elbowed him, but her smile betrayed her.

They started walking together, weaving through the thinning crowds as team members packed down equipment and journalists wound up their post-session analysis. Lando took the bags she was carrying without asking, slinging them over his shoulder like it was nothing, as they headed toward Racing Point where Stella was already waiting.

Carlota was asleep in her arms, cheek smushed against Stella’s shoulder, while Chequito sat on the ground dramatically playing with a Hot Wheels car and muttering something about "pit stops."

Stella looked up at the pair with a grin that said I win.

—Right on time,— she said, gently transferring the sleeping baby to Amelie’s arms. Carlota didn’t even stir, already dead to the world in that floppy, toddler way.

Amelie adjusted her hold, instinctively swaying a little side to side like she’d done it a thousand times. Chequito immediately stood up and launched himself at her legs.

—TITINA!—

She let out an oomph but didn’t drop the baby. That was a win. —Hey, buddy. Excited for your sleepover?—

—We brought the Lightning McQueen pajamas!—

Lando chuckled and ruffled the boy’s curls. —Solid fashion choice, mate. Gotta respect the classics.—

Stella handed over two safety seats and a duffel bag full of what looked like a week’s worth of supplies. —Diapers, wipes, snacks, clothes, the tablets, chargers. Oh, and Carlota’s bunny. Don’t lose it. She’ll go nuclear.—

Amelie blinked. —This is an overnight stay, not a two-week expedition through the Andes.—

—I pack for every possibility. And you should too. You’re outnumbered.—

—You’re going to hell for this,— Amelie muttered, Carlota’s drool already soaking into her top.

—Worth it,— Stella sang, blowing a kiss before slipping off with a spring in her step and the unmistakable aura of someone who was about to have uninterrupted sex for the first time in weeks.

Lando watched her go and exhaled a laugh. —She’s a menace.—

—She’s Satan in Lulu leggings.—

They made their way to the car. Carlota was still asleep in Amelie’s arms, cheek now glued to her collarbone, while Chequito clung to her other hand babbling about how he wanted spaghetti for dinner but only if it came with shaped cheese. Lando juggled both car seats and the duffel like a dad in training, slightly winded but pretending otherwise.

They reached the car.

And that’s when it hit them.

Lando stared at the seats. Then the car. Then the seats again.

Amelie adjusted Carlota, looked at him, and said what they were both thinking.

—How the fuck do we put these in?—

Lando blinked. —...I thought you knew.—

—Why would I know?! I don't have kids!—

—You babysit them all the time!—

—Yeah, in their house! Where their car seats are already installed like they magically live there!—

Lando was staring at the seat like it had personally offended him. —It has so many straps. Why are there so many straps?—

—It’s like a BDSM puzzle box,— Amelie muttered, staring at the plastic latch system like it might bite.

Chequito, entirely unbothered by the rising chaos, sat cross-legged on the sidewalk and started singing the Cars theme song at full volume.

Lando crouched by the backseat, unboxing the first car seat like it was a bomb. —Okay. There’s like… anchors? Or hooks? Or something.—

—It has a diagram. Look.— Amelie leaned over, pointing at a tiny, incomprehensible stick-figure illustration. —Okay no, that looks like a man being consumed by an octopus. Never mind.—

Carlota stirred slightly and let out a tiny whine, her hand tightening in Amelie’s shirt. She bounced gently, patting her back. —Okay, we need to hurry or she’s gonna wake up. And if she wakes up before dinner, it’s game over.—

Lando took a deep breath. —Okay. Okay. We’re two semi-intelligent adults. We can figure this out. Together.—

They both crouched, eyeing the car seat like it might spontaneously combust.

Amelie squinted. —What if I YouTube it?—

—What if we call Charles and make him do it?—

—I’d rather chew glass.—

They eventually managed it. After fifteen minutes of swearing, one near head injury, Carlota briefly waking and then falling back asleep on Amelie’s shoulder, and Chequito somehow managing to stick a fruit gummy to the ceiling of the car.

But by some miracle—and the help of a French YouTube dad with a soothing voice—they got the seats locked in, kids buckled, snacks distributed, and bags stacked in the trunk.

Lando closed the car door and looked at Amelie, who was now barefoot, makeup-smudged, and completely worn down. She looked back at him with the dazed expression of someone who had just returned from war.

And still. He smiled.

—You’re really hot when you wrestle with child safety equipment.—

Amelie laughed, high and exhausted, leaning her head against the side of the car. —You’re disgusting.—

Lando just grinned, brushing a curl from her cheek. —You like it.—

She huffed, but didn’t deny it.

The drive to the hotel started off peacefully. Miraculously so. Carlota was fully passed out, head slumped to one side in her seat, bunny tucked safely beneath one chubby arm. Chequito was zoned into Cars 2 on the tablet, jelly worms half-melted in his palm like battle scars. The hum of the tires on the road was almost soothing.

Amelie sat in the front passenger seat, arms crossed loosely, her head tilted to watch Lando at the wheel. He looked too good, even in the low glow of the dashboard. Forearms flexed just enough when he turned, jawline sharp in the shadows, curls messy from where he’d run his hand through them twenty times during the car seat war. He glanced at her and caught her looking, his smile all smug and boyish.

She immediately looked out the window. God. No. Nope. Absolutely not.

But her stomach was doing that thing again. The stupid flip.

The same flip it did every time he touched her shoulder. Or made her laugh. Or looked at her like that.

She should have known. She should have prepared. Because now it was just them, in the dark, in the quiet, and her brain wouldn’t stop imagining what would happen if they were alone. Really alone. If the kids were asleep and he leaned in, all warm skin and teasing smile, and just...

Nope.

Nope nope nope.

Abort mission.

She knew she had to do something. Fast.

Without thinking, she pulled out her phone, her fingers moving on their own accord as she texted a quick message to the only people who might be able to save her from this mess:

Ames: Help. Babysit the kids.

She hit send and immediately cursed under her breath, knowing exactly who she had just summoned.

-------------

liked by lanmelieupdates, f1gossipgirl, and others

lanmelie.truther: Lando just posted this adorable pic of Amelie baby-sitting his nephew tonight and I’m losing it 😭💖

View all 47,134 comments

f1.sluttycorner: so we’re just pretending this isn’t a preview of their future family?? → charleslemonade: @f1sluttycorner if i see lando holding a baby in 5 years i’m FLYING to monaco to throw a wedding → paddockwhisperer: @f1sluttycorner same, i’m RSVPing in advance

lanmelie4ever: OKAY BUT WHO’S BABY IS THIS, LANDO? → sunshinelando: @lanmelie4ever it’s his nephew and you know damn well he’s already imagining what their kids would look like

pitlaneprincess: she’s already got the “best auntie” energy

f1sluttycorner: you can tell they’re both in their “i’m ready to be parents” era → gridgossip: @f1sluttycorner he’s definitely practicing dad jokes already → landosleftglove: @f1sluttycorner he’s probably already googling “how to change a diaper”

mclarenmistress: this picture is the softest thing I’ve seen all week → amesfan22: @mclarenmistress imagine them babysitting together, they’d be too cute to handle

lanmelifanclub: they’re literally co-parenting in 4k and still saying “just friends” 💀 → landoismydad: @lanmeliefanclub i’ve seen romcoms start with less

daymanxdrs: that baby is living my dream life rn

mclarengossip: lando posting her with her NEPHEW is such dad-coded behavior → wagwhisperer: @mclarengossip he’s giving “family man who makes pancakes on Sundays”

gridbabies: this child doesn’t know it but he’s witnessing history

-------------

Dinner was finally done. Carlota had gone down like a felled tree—out cold the second her head hit the pillow, clutching her bunny like it held the key to her survival. Chequito, still buzzed on spaghetti and shaped cheese, had been harder to wind down. But now he was planted on the hotel suite’s sofa, a little human burrito wrapped in his Lightning McQueen blanket, tablet balanced on his lap, eyes glazed as Cars began for what had to be the fiftieth time that month.

Amelie stood at the kitchenette sink, sleeves rolled up, hands submerged in warm soapy water as she scrubbed at a dish with slow, circular motions. The suite was quiet save for the low volume of the movie and the gentle clink of cutlery.

Her body ached in that soft, post-chaos way. Like she’d just survived a storm. She didn’t even mind doing the dishes—there was something grounding about it after a day of chaos and overstimulation. Rinse, scrub, stack. Predictable. Mindless. Safe.

Until Lando walked up behind her.

She didn’t hear him at first—he was always too good at that. Moving quietly. A ghost in socks.

But then his voice came, low and warm, just over her shoulder.

—Need a hand?—

She startled slightly, water splashing over her wrist. —Jesus, Norris, you can’t just sneak up on people. I almost threw a fork at you.—

He chuckled, utterly unbothered. —Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve tried to stab me.—

She shot him a glance over her shoulder—and immediately regretted it. He was close. Too close. The kind of close that made her head buzz and her throat go dry.

Lando, oblivious to his own gravitational pull, leaned against the counter beside her, his eyes on her face, then her hands, then her mouth. Like he couldn’t decide where to land.

Amelie swallowed, trying to focus on the plate she was rinsing. Her fingers were starting to prune.

—You were good with them today,— he said, softly, almost like it wasn’t meant for her to hear.

She gave a small shrug. —They’re good kids. I just bribe them with food and cartoons. Pretty foolproof.—

He smiled, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. —Still. You make it look easy.—

The air between them thickened. Her hands slowed. She could feel the heat of him next to her, his arm brushing hers every time she moved. She knew she should say something else, change the subject, make a joke. But her brain had short-circuited.

Lando took another step closer. Not touching. But close enough that she could feel the pull of him.

—You know,— he murmured, eyes flicking to hers, —I’ve been dying to kiss you again since Hawaii.—

Her breath caught. Her heart flatlined and restarted in the same second.

She turned slightly, their faces inches apart now. The kitchen light above them buzzed faintly. The only sound in the world was the splash of water and Chequito humming along to the Cars soundtrack from the other room.

—Lando...— she started, but it wasn’t a protest. It wasn’t anything coherent. Because all she could think about was the way his gaze dropped to her lips.

He was going to kiss her.

Finally.

Her fingers trembled. Her whole body leaned without realizing, just the slightest tilt toward him...

Knock knock knock.

They both froze.

Amelie blinked, lips parted, still breathless. Lando took a single step back, jaw clenched, eyes flicking toward the door like it had just insulted his mother.

He exhaled sharply. —You expecting someone?—

Amelie ran a hand through her damp hair, cheeks flushed, voice dry. —Yeah.—

She padded to the door and opened it to reveal, of course, them.

George, Alex, and Charles stood there like the Three Stooges of Babysitting, each with an energy drink in hand and smug little smirks on their faces.

George blinked. —You look like we just walked in on something illegal.—

Alex peered past her into the suite. —Did we interrupt some adult time?—

Charles tilted his head. —Is it too late to un-come? Should we wait outside? Pretend we never saw anything?—

Amelie sighed and stepped aside. —Get in before I change my mind.—

They poured in like they owned the place. Charles immediately beelined to Chequito, ruffling his hair and settling on the floor beside him like some overgrown toddler. George flopped onto the armchair like it had offended him earlier, and Alex wandered toward the kitchenette, already eyeing the fridge like it might contain something other than juice boxes and leftover pasta.

Amelie lingered at the door for a second longer, forcing her heartbeat to slow. When she turned, Lando was still by the sink, jaw tight, hands now shoved deep into his pockets like he needed somewhere to put the tension.

She couldn’t look at him. Not properly. Not when her lips still tingled with the almost.

Instead, she moved past him without a word, grabbing a towel and pretending to dry plates that were already dry. She could feel his eyes on her, hot and confused.

—Alright,— George said, kicking his feet up, —who’s up for Uno and unrelenting emotional violence?—

—I’m getting the wine,— Alex announced, already opening cabinets.

—Why are you acting like this is your suite?— Amelie muttered.

—Because I knew you’d say yes if we asked,— Alex replied with a grin, producing a bottle of red from seemingly nowhere.

—Also, you love us,— Charles chimed in, not looking away from the screen, already quoting lines from Cars under his breath with Chequito.

Amelie rolled her eyes, tossing the towel onto the counter. She turned, heart still thudding unreasonably in her chest.

Lando hadn’t moved.

He was still staring at her like he hadn’t quite accepted that the moment was gone. That they were gone—at least for now.

—Uno sounds illegal in this emotional state,— Amelie muttered, crossing to the table with a falsely casual sway to her steps. Her pulse was still rattling under her skin, her brain still spinning in the static of almost.

Lando remained silent behind her. She felt it like a shadow. Like pressure.

She had to keep moving.

—Alright, alright,— George said, pulling out the deck like it was a weapon, —let’s establish rules. No stacking, no mercy, and absolutely no reverse psychology jokes.—

—So just normal Uno but with trauma,— Alex said, already pouring wine into mismatched mugs like a man possessed.

Amelie accepted hers gratefully. She wasn’t sure she even liked this wine. But her hands needed something to hold. Something that wasn’t the weight of Lando’s almost-kiss burning on her mouth.

She perched on the far end of the couch, deliberately close to Charles and Chequito, who was still glued to Cars. The safest corner. The farthest corner. The Landoless corner.

He didn’t fight her for space. But he watched her. She felt it every time she glanced up and met his eyes—those soft browns turned stormy. Frustrated. Confused. Just as unsaid as she was.

And god, he looked good in the quiet of frustration. Like he wanted to fight the air between them. Like he didn’t understand why she’d retreated after he finally said it. After she’d almost let him kiss her.

But what was she supposed to say? Yes, please, kiss me stupid in front of the Cars soundtrack and our friends knocking like the fates themselves have it out for us?

Not likely.

Uno was chaos. Chequito decided he was playing too, shoving random cards into the pile and declaring “RED!” every turn regardless of the actual color. Charles supported this decision with no remorse.

Amelie laughed. It was easier to laugh. To lean against Charles’ shoulder and pretend her skin wasn’t still humming with the echo of Lando’s voice.

I’ve been dying to kiss you again since Hawaii.

She should’ve been smarter than to let those words settle into her spine.

But she wasn’t. She felt them, every syllable stitched into the lining of her chest like thread tugging her closer to something dangerous. Something beautiful. Something she wasn’t ready for.

—Your turn,— George said, flicking a green card toward her like it was a dagger.

Amelie blinked. —Huh?—

—Green. Unless you want to draw four and cry.—

Chequito gasped. —NO CRYING!—

Charles nodded solemnly. —He’s right. No crying. Only vengeance.—

Laughter rippled around the room again, and Amelie played a green nine like she wasn’t drowning in red flags and almosts. Lando was quiet. Playing half-heartedly, throwing cards without looking. His draw pile was growing like a metaphor.

She didn’t dare meet his eyes again. Not when the memory of his breath against her cheek still lingered.

They made it through two games and a glass and a half of wine before Chequito started to snore into Charles’ lap, a stuffed McQueen clenched in one fist and a half-eaten biscuit in the other. Charles looked down at him fondly, already halfway asleep himself.

Amelie stood up, stretching her arms above her head, her muscles aching in the most satisfying way. She moved quietly across the room, her mind too full for words. The hum of conversation and laughter from the guys didn't reach her as she moved toward the bedroom. She glanced over her shoulder, catching Lando’s gaze. His eyes were still stormy, still swirling with that same question he'd thrown her way in the kitchen.

He didn’t say anything, but the unspoken tension was thick between them. She almost wished he would. Almost.

Without another word, she stepped into the bedroom, closing the door behind her and leaving the chaos of the living room behind. The quiet was welcome, even if it only added to the weight in her chest.

Carlota was curled up on the bed, still wrapped in the soft blankets from earlier, her tiny snores the only sound filling the room. Amelie walked over to the bed, settling Chequito beside her sister before pulling the blankets over both of them.

She lingered for a moment, watching Carlota’s peaceful face, the little flickers of light dancing across her features. It was such a stark contrast to the knot of tension twisting in her own stomach.

A soft knock on the door made her jump slightly. She knew exactly who it was.

She took a deep breath, straightened herself, and went to open it.

Lando stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, looking like a man ready to go to war. His eyes immediately found hers, that same stormy look still flickering in the depths of them.

She could already feel the weight of the conversation coming. He wasn’t going to let it go.

—Can we talk?— His voice was quiet, but it held an edge, a pull.

Amelie nodded, stepping aside to let him in, but her steps were heavy, like the floor might swallow her whole if she didn’t keep moving.

Lando shut the door behind him, the click of the lock sounding final. He didn’t waste any time.

—Why are you running away from me?— he asked, his voice low, frustrated.

Amelie couldn’t meet his eyes. She wanted to, god, how she wanted to, but she couldn’t. Not with everything spinning out of control.

—I’m not running away,— she said, her voice tight. —I just... I can’t do this, Lando.—

He took a step forward, his gaze unwavering, as if he were trying to pierce right through her. —Can’t do what?— he asked, confusion and hurt bleeding into his tone. —You know what this is, Amelie. I don’t want to play games anymore. I...—

—We’re just friends, Lando,— she blurted out, the words coming out faster than she intended, the finality of them crashing against her chest.

His face faltered for just a moment, as if he were trying to process what she’d just said. The storm in his eyes calmed for a second, replaced by something more vulnerable—something she hadn’t expected to see.

Lando didn’t speak right away, his gaze searching hers, like he was hoping for some kind of confirmation that what she’d just said wasn’t true. His lips parted, then closed again as if he were weighing his words carefully.

For a long moment, Amelie couldn’t breathe. It was like the space between them was filled with a thousand unsaid things, each one louder than the last. She wasn’t sure how to feel, how to reconcile the heavy weight of those words with the ache in her chest. She had said them, but a part of her wasn’t entirely sure she believed them herself.

Lando’s shoulders tensed, his expression shifting from confusion to something else—a quiet resignation, as though he had just made sense of the impossible.

—Right,— he said, his voice barely above a whisper. His words hit her like cold water. —Just friends. You’re sure?—

Amelie nodded, her throat tight. She had to be sure. If she wasn’t, this would unravel everything. She couldn’t let that happen. Not now, not when everything felt so fragile and uncertain.

—Yeah,— she replied, her voice cracking slightly. —We’re just friends, Lando. That’s it. It’s... it’s safer that way.—

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he took a step back, as if her words had physically pushed him away. She didn’t know if that was a relief or a heartbreak.

Amelie watched him carefully, but he didn’t meet her gaze. His jaw clenched, his brow furrowed, and his fists tightened at his sides. For a split second, it seemed like he might say something else, something that would challenge her, force her to explain herself, to clarify the unspoken things hanging between them. But then he just exhaled sharply, turning his back to her, hands still tightly clenched.

—Okay,— he muttered. His voice sounded hollow, drained of the earlier intensity. —If that’s what you want.—

Amelie felt the sting of his words more than she expected. She swallowed, trying to push down the bitterness in her mouth. But there was nothing left to say. She had already said it all.

[anchorsfm]

Adriana’s smile lingered for a moment, soft and full of something unspoken. Pride, maybe, or something closer to family. “She’s strong,” she echoed, her voice gentler now. “I’ve always known that. But she’s also… one of the most important people in my life. So I can only imagine how it must be amplified by like a billion times for you.”

There was a quiet pause before she continued, her tone shifting with thoughtfulness as she looked out toward the fire. “I used to think I’d be perfect on my own. I figured if things ever quieted down, if it was just me, I’d finally have space to breathe. But now that I’ve got it?” She shrugged, her smile tilting just slightly. “Sometimes it’s too quiet. And I don’t even know what to do with that... Things are good with work and-" She froze, and flicked her eyes back to him, warm again with a flash of familiar excitement. “Oh! I totally forgot! I got a promotion.” She gave a proud little grin, lifting her chin with mock drama. “You’re looking at the new media relations manager. I even did a little celebration dance in my office, and yes, it was embarrassing. No, I have no regrets.” But as quickly as the joy had surfaced, it turned into something more reflective again. “Things are good,” she admitted. “Like, really good. Like.. too good? I’m climbing up in my career, checking the boxes… but lately it’s felt like.. Like when you leave the house and forgot something important, but you can't remember what you left.”

She paused again, poking at the sand with her toes absentmindedly. “And maybe this is silly, but I think I miss raising my siblings. I hated it when I had to do it. It was exhausting.. But now they’re growing up, they don’t need me in the same way, and I guess I don’t know who I am without that role.” She glanced back at him, her voice quieter now, a shared understanding hanging between them. “I think I’m feeling what you’re feeling. That ache of something missing.” A breath escaped her, more longing than sad. “Sometimes I wish we could go back for just one day. One day where I could’ve really appreciated it.. chaos, noise, and just all of it. Just to live in it a little longer while it was still mine.” Her gaze met his again, steady and full of that same care he’d shown her all her life. “I don’t know if I ever said it, but thank you... For seeing me back then. I mean actually seeing me. For treating me like someone worth believing in. You three gave me something I didn’t even know that I needed, let alone deserved, and I’ve never forgotten that.”

compared   to   his   wife,   søren   was   an   open   book.   he   had   to   be.   he   had   learned   in   his   youth   that   keeping   things   bottled   up   would   only   serve   to   hurt   the   ones   he   loved,   and   so   the   doctor   had   become   the   man   that   bought   flowers   for   his   wife   every   week,   that   stayed   up   and   told   bedtime   stories   to   his   daughter,   that   had   time   for   every   patient   to   tell   him   their   stories   —   even   if   the   clinic   overran   and   it   meant   he   was   home   late   for   dinner.   whenever   he   was   faced   with   a   decision,   a   crossroads,   søren   always   took   the   path   of   the   most   kindness.   his   life   was   brighter   for   it. honesty   was   common,   but   solemnity   was   not.   despite   that,   the   jokes   quickly   fell   away.   søren   focused   on   his   hands,   twirled   his   wedding   ring   around   his   finger,   and   spoke   in   the   measured   way   that   a   doctor   would   —   slow   and   careful,   considered,   as   though   giving   a   terminal   diagnosis.   “i   appreciate   that.   you   looking   out   for   her.   i   know   she   can   handle   herself   —   she   has   her   mother’s   fire   in   her   —   but   that   doesn’t   mean   i   don’t   worry.   i   don’t   think   i’d   be   a   very   good   father   if   i   didn’t.”   although   he   found   himself   having   to   check   himself   often.   whenever   søren   reached   for   the   phone   to   send   signe   a   text,   he   took   ten   seconds   to   ponder   whether   it   was   just   him   being   an   overthinker   (   it   came   with   the   profession,   he   thought   )   or   whether   he   was   simply   being   a   father.   he   had   seen   the   way   the   world   was,   the   darkness   within   it,   and   although   søren   had   chosen   kindness   in   the   face   of   tragedy   he   was   also   sworn   to   protect   his   daughter   from   the   same   fate   that   had   befallen   him.  losing   himself   had   made   him   a   better   man.   søren   didn’t   want   signe   to   ever   have   to   make   that   decision.  “i   don’t   think   you   ever   truly   know   how   you’re   going   to   react   to   something   until   it   happens.   i   never   thought   it   would   be   easy,   but   i   also   never   thought   it   would   hurt   so   much.   i   walk   past   her   bedroom   and   see   that   her   bed   hasn’t   been   slept   in,   and   i   just   …   ”   there   was   a   tug   in   his   heart.   he   grimaced   at   the   feeling.   “it’s   always   been   the   three   of   us.”

[claraoswalds]

#mrs flood who are you: time lord edition

[hauntingsunshine14]

summer olympics 2028 in a universe with no exy we have:

star gymnast neil josten

heavyweight champion andrew minyard

tennis pro kevin day

rugby goddess allison reynolds

d pole laxer matt boyd

marathon swimmer renee walker

volleyball libero aaron minyard

hockey forward dan wilds

synchronized diver nicky hemmick

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Mr. Cube I have a question of utmost importance for you as literally the only Magneto main I know of. HOW... DO YOU PLAY HIM. Do you have any tips. I want to look at him.

So You Want To Be Pretty OK As Magneto In Marvel Rivals

(3 March, 2025) a beginner's guide written by your resident magneto main snapperoni because now i get an excuse to talk about marvel rivals magneto extensively and in gross detail

*this guide will be treating you as though you have never used magneto in your life and will go into extreme depths at explaining his abilities as well as what it means to be a tank player. if you feel confident in understanding his abilities, feel free to skip the abilities section and head straight to the bottom for talk on strategy and tips

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

TLDR ROLE INTRODUCTION ABILITIES Melee/Greatsword Primary Fire/Iron Volley Secondary Fire/Mag Cannon Metallic Curtain Metal + Iron Bulwark [TEAM-UP ABILITY] Metallic Fusion [ULTIMATE] Meteor M [PASSIVE] Magnetic Descent TIPS AND STRATEGIES Iron Volley + Mag Cannon Combo Bubble and Shield Usage Two Tanks Are Better Than One Metallic Fusion How to Use Meteor M CLOSING THOUGHTS

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Too Long, Didn't Read:

Magneto is a poke tank meant to be played at medium-to-close range whose priorities should lie in acting as a living wall for his teammates. preserving his abilities mostly for himself yet sharing them when the situation calls for it.

While his priorities should be defense-based, when it comes to going on the offensive you want him to target strategists and duelists and only engage in tanks if the rest of the team is with you. As far as aiming goes, he's very friendly and isn't hitscan reliant, and you should find yourself picking up his aim style easily with time.

He's not a super flashy character like the rest of the cast, but he's far from useless and, at this moment in time, stands as one of Rival's best tank options alongside Doctor Strange and Hulk, whether you're running two tanks or running solo.

Overall, the two-star difficulty he is awarded is very fitting: available to newcomers to pick up and start playing, however offers a little something extra to those with a better understanding of him; he's generally straight forward as far as tanks go, but picking up a few extra tips and tidbits never hurt anyone. Except your enemies, of course.

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Role Introduction: Vanguard/Tank

As a vanguard unit, Magneto's top priority should be taking the brunt of the team's damage on the front line and should give the team either opportunities to push forward, or shoot behind the cover you provide.

With 650HP (without shields), while he has average health for a vanguard, his defensive kit allows him to be a formidable wall when his abilities are used tactfully and you work in tandem with your support/s. Unlike dive tanks like Venom and Captain America, Magneto is much more stationary, and his kit rewards playing defensively and close to the team.

A common misconception with FPS games is that your top priority is to get the most eliminations as possible and to exclusively hunt for the next kill (unless that is the objective of the specific map you're playing on, then kill away). There are several errors with this philosophy: for starters, you begin to neglect the objective, which can lead to a game loss.

The amount of kills you have won't matter if you stay off point and the other team takes the objective. No matter what anyone says, don't stress about your eliminations so long as you know you're protecting your team, securing the point, and overall providing value to the game (though it is important to be able to land a shot....).

Moreover, playing under this philosophy is a sure-fire way to not only get you killed and remove your time away from the field (which should truly be your game philosophy: die as little as possible), but specifically as a tank you'll bring your teammates down with you as they lose what should be a reliable line of defense. As a tank, you should be opening up opportunities for your teammates to get the eliminations and protecting your strategist/support units.

All of that said, tank is not for the passive player: as tank, you need to be firm about the playing field being yours and making sure the enemy team knows they're going to have a hard time taking it from you. Fitting for Magneto, really.

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Ability Review

Before dissecting Magneto's abilities, I will preface and say I calculated his damage using Doctor Strange (600HP) and Scarlet Witch (250HP) as damage dummies. The numbers I have here may not be accurate, so to circumvent this potential error I'll describe how many shots it takes to use a specific skill in order to eliminate certain enemies.

Melee/Greatsword

Attack speed: ~1 second

Damage Output: 40 (About seven swings to KO a 250HP enemy)

Utilizing Doom Bot remains, Magneto swings with a grandiose blade. The problem with this sword is it's not only one of- if not the- slowest melees in the game as of right now, but it has very little to compensate for its poor speed. Should very rarely be used in place of a well-aimed primary fire.

Primary Fire/Iron Volley

Reload time: ~1 Second

Damage Output:

Direct Damage: 80 (About four shots to KO a 250HP enemy)

Edge Damage: 40 (About seven shots to KO a 250HP enemy)

Fall-Off Damage: 40 (About seven shots to KO a 250HP enemy)

Magneto's Iron Volley asks that you lead/predict your shots. Moreover, his Iron Volley will explode automatically once reaching 25M(eters), whether it hits a target or not. At 25M, your shot will no longer do 80 damage, but will do half instead. As noted before, Magneto's primary fire will explode when it comes into contact with a wall, floor, or enemy. As such, the explosion has a small hitbox- doing just about half of a regular, direct shot. Because of this, you shouldn't be too stressed if you're not the greatest at aiming: Magneto's primary fire makes up for any minor imperfections and is rather generous so long as you're in the general area of your target.

Secondary Fire/Mag-Cannon

Reload Time (Without Bulwark Aid):

One Ring: ~4 Seconds

Two Rings: ~8 Seconds

Full Power: ~12 Seconds

Damage Output:

One Ring: 40 (About seven shots to KO a 250HP enemy)

Two Rings: 80 (About four shots to KO a 250HP enemy)

Three Rings/Full Power: 100 (About three shots to KO a 250HP enemy)

Edge Damage: N/A

Similar to Iron Volley, you will need to lead your shot when firing off a Mag-Cannon. Unlike his primary fire however, Magneto's secondary fire will keep going until it hits a wall or enemy. Moreover, it doesn't suffer any damage fall-off, nor does it offer any edge damage. How many rings you possess show both on Magneto physically, but they can also be tracked by the purple arrows below your crosshair. As a bonus, the Mag-Cannon momentarily stuns and pushes back any targets it hits which can either cancel an enemy's advancement, or open the floor for a follow-up attack.

Metallic Curtain

Recharge Time: 3 Seconds

Replenish-to-Full Time: 10 Seconds

Duration: 1.5 Seconds

Shield HP: N/A

Putting up an impenetrable wall just shy of two seconds allows Magneto and his allies to pull back safely from oncoming damage or provide just enough cover to make an adequate push forward. Not to mention, this indestructible wall scoffs in the face of any ult coming your way. Once the shield has been spent, a white bar will appear on the right side of your crosshair. This bar indicates how long you can hold your shield up the next time you use it before it's fully charged, where then the bar will fade. Finally, you can put your shield down early. While this means you'll have to wait the full three seconds for it to be available again, this means your shield will have more durability the next time you use it.

Metal Bulwark + Iron Bulwark

Recharge Time: 12 seconds

Duration: ~3 Seconds

Shield HP: To be calculated, but it does exist: be cautious of the damage you and your teammates take.

Magneto can spring a magnetic bubble over either himself or an ally. The bubble not only negates any incoming damage and protects allies from Scarlet Witch's Reality Erasure, but once the bubble has popped or faded Magneto will regain some Mag Cannon rings relative to the damage absorbed.

[TEAM-UP ABILITY] Metallic Fusion/Chaos

Recharge Time: 30 seconds

Duration: 10 seconds

Damage Output:

Direct Damage: 100 (About six shots to KO a 600HP enemy)

Edge Damage: N/A

Being his only team-up ability as of writing this post, this father-daughter duo ability allows Magneto to fire at an impressive 100 damage per second as he finally finds use in his otherwise-inadequate greatsword, adding a truly dangerous ability to his typically defensive kit. It's as though every shot taken was a Mag Cannon with a wider hitbox- however this hitbox varies from being vertical or horizontal and thus can be a little unpredictable if you aren't aiming carefully. Is used best at medium-close range, but don't neglect its potential to snipe enemies from across the map.

[ULTIMATE] Meteor M

Duration: 4 Seconds

Magnetic Range:

Lowest to the ground: 30M

Nearest to the skybox: 5M

Damage Output (No Charge):

Edge: 150 (About over half of a 250HP enemy's health bar)

Direct: 300 (About half of a 600HP enemy's health bar)

Damage Threshold Before Explosion: To be calculated, however can be tracked by the counter below the crosshair

Automatically floating into the air, Magneto stays true to his name and acts as a magnet for all incoming projectiles; extracting enemy projectiles to build the power of his metal meteor and granting Magneto the ability to float freely, Magneto's ultimate doubles both as an offensive and defensive ability. You're able to see your magnetic field + blast radius by observing the purple ring on the ground. Remember: you can rise and descend freely so long as your ultimate is up, use this wisely. I affectionately refer to the meteor as "rock", however this ultimate has garnered a reputation for not doing as much as some believe it should. Hopefully this guide helps you in ensuring your meteors make the impact they deserve.

[PASSIVE] Magnetic Descent

Manipulating the magnetic field around him, Magneto decreases his fall speed by 50% when holding the jump button. Nuff said. People have a hard time aiming up in FPS's so if you find yourself with the opportunity to float around a bit (especially using Rocket's jump pack) then by all means terrorize from above as you descend.

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Tips and Strategy

Iron Volley + Mag Cannon Combo

A basic tip, but a valuable one nonetheless. To eliminate an enemy with 250HP- assuming you land all your shots directly- it takes about 3 seconds, four shots. Again, this is assuming you hit all your shots and if the enemy doesn't regenerate any health. Alternatively, utilizing the PRIMARY-SECONDARY-PRIMARY combo allows you to not only stun an opponent with your secondary fire, but it should take nearly half of the time spent then if you only used primary fires, so make sure to use your secondary shots responsibly. Remember that your primary fire has, at max, 25M of utility: afterwards, it won't be able to do much. Fine for picking off low-health enemies while they're fleeing, but don't expect to hit any enemies close to the skybox or far away from you without moving in a little bit first- that's what your secondary fire's for. As Magneto, your targets should be squishy characters like support and DPS. Because of his relatively-slow DPS, Magneto doesn't fair well against other tanks and shouldn't engage in 1v1's if possible (they're not unwinnable, but they could be a great distraction and leave your team vulnerable).

While I'm here, I'm just going to stress to not use your melee. Like. At all. You're much better just using your primary fire. At most you can set it up as Hulk's turning into Bruce if you'd like but that should really be it: your primary fire is much more effective than your sword.

Bubble and Shield Usage

As a tank, you want to act as a wall for your teammates, and this can be done effectively by being more conservative and selfish with your shields: you are the wall. Remember. Draw the enemy's fire towards you by being an irritant. While Magneto is healthy in shields, remember you have natural cover from stage obstacles and structures as well. Magneto can be regarded as a 'poke' tank: a tank who is meant to attack sporadically and in short bursts. He is best played at a medium distance from the enemy front line and to not to be wholly damage focused when he is much more defense focused. 'Poking' the enemy from behind structures is not only a great way to conserve your abilities, but it utilizes Magneto's primary and secondary fires well due to their moderately-slow start up and overall DPS, letting him take cover when need be.

While attacking on the front line, once you notice your health start to dip below half or you feel as though the crowd is about to overwhelm you, raise your Metallic Curtain and step back to give yourself some air. Bubble yourself as a last resort if you still need to back up- be sure to fire your Mag Cannon beforehand so you'll immediately have it replenished if your bubble pops during your escape. It's important to remember Magneto has zero movement abilities and it takes 5 seconds for him to traverse 30M: it doesn't sound too bad, but when there's a large crowd in front of you, you'll wish he could move faster. Don't push too far ahead, and be aware of exits around you.

That being said, be conscious of your teammates. This is a TEAM game after all. We've covered Magneto and Scarlet Witch's team-up ability before and how valuable it is. As a result, you'll need to learn to play well with any Scarlet Witches on your team, and this means having your bubble ready to protect her when she decides to ult (this also means making sure to check the scoreboard occasionally for your teammate's ult charge as well as, again, being ability-conscious of those around you). Only when she's in immediate danger do you bubble her, not before: this ensures the bubble lasts long enough for her to get her ult off (or there's a better chance it'll be executed, anyhow). If you feel as though you won't be able to react fast enough, then you can try to bubble her beforehand; don't stress out about timing the bubble perfectly, just make sure she's protected. In general, bubble your duelists when they're deep in a crowd to give them a chance to escape (but don't stress out about protecting them. After all, there's only so much you can do before you put yourself in danger or use a bubble inappropriately when someone else could have better benefited from it). Besides Wanda, it's naturally best to look after your support units and to make sure they're not being overwhelmed. Don't helicopter them and neglect the rest of the team, but just make sure to check on them every now and then. Ultimately, your bubble priority should be Supports -> Yourself -> Others. After all, your support/s can't help you or the team if they're dead.

Two Tanks Are Better Than One

Magneto has the fortitude to be able to tank by himself comfortably, however the rare days you find yourself partnered up with a second tank, know these are the days you can be more generous with your bubbles and shields to your teammates. Your second tank will help cover with you and should make it easier for you to escape the crowd when need be, so bubble-hogging is less of a necessity. Make sure to help your tank too if they're in a bind and they're out of defenses/movement abilities (but again, not at the detriment of yourself or your supports: once more, Magneto can tank by himself if need be so long as you use your abilities carefully).

Metallic Fusion

It's tempting to want to use Magneto and Scarlet Witch's team-up ability the second you have it, however it's best to save it for crowd control. That being said, once it is active, make the absolute most of it: there's no consequence to holding down the primary fire, so just let loose and go crazy (with reason, of course: don't run in and get yourself killed and don't forget your teammates).

How to Use Meteor M

Someone asked me this midmatch once and I scrambled to come up with an answer. Both because the round was about to start in five seconds but also because I truly didn't know the answer at the time. The longer I've played though, I think I finally have the answer- or a better one besides "spray and pray" at least. As noted before, Meteor M is a fickle ultimate and how you use it is dependent on the situation (many such cases about anything, honestly). At times, you'll want to play higher to the skybox to ensure your meteor doesn't explode immediately. Alternatively, a quick throw of the meteor might do the trick in some situations where it's both safe to build meteor charge close to the ground, and the faster you remove a target/s, the better. This is also dependent on how many projectiles are being thrown out onto the field: if you're in a situation with predominantly melee opponents, it's best to use your meteors to single-out troublesome duelists and supports- there's little chance your meteor's going to exceed 30+ charge in those kinds of matches. Generally, you'll want to use it to counter support ults like Cloak + Dagger and Luna Snow (NOTE: a raw meteor will NOT KO an ulting Luna. You need at least 30+ charge before a direct hit can KO her. Cloak + Dagger can be KO'd from the get-go with a direct hit). Don't be afraid to throw out a meteor if you see a cluster of low health/squishy enemies without any defenses, however. Just remember it's ok to hold onto an ult if it means it gets greater value later on, and that you shouldn't hunt exclusively for team wipes. If you find yourself popping ult and the crowd's dispersed, support units should be your default priority (unless there's a duelist/DPS unit using their ultimate: take them out instead if you can). Initiating Meteor against Punisher's Final Judgement can be tricky if you aren't fast enough, as Frank's ammunition will quickly push your meteor to its limit. If you don't throw your meteor fast enough, you could potentially risk your teammates their lives and waste an ultimate in the process. Use your meteor against Punisher with caution. Similar notes to be said about Star-Lord's Galactic Legend, only now your problem is also throwing at a flying enemy. If he's close enough to your 25M range, I personally would shoot him down with a regular primary/secondary as his DPS isn't nearly as grand as Punisher's and a meteor could be superfluous. Otherwise, focus on getting to cover and protecting your vulnerable teammates. You'll especially want to be wary of enemy tanks and their shields as they'll without a doubt cancel out your ult with ease, more specifically enemy Magneto's and Doctor Stranges. Be cautious that Captain America can deflect your ultimate, though I personally have had minimal trouble with Captains. In general, you should track enemy ability usage, but especially the prior two if you hope to pop your rock soon.

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Closing Thoughts

Ultimately, improving at Marvel Rivals in general comes with time and willingness to acknowledge you're bad at the game sometimes but to not let that stop you from playing who you wanna play, whether you're playing as Magneto or not. While you can do your best to improve your aim in Rivals' practice area, things like game sense are something that can only really be accumulated through experience and playing the game.

Sometimes I watch back old games/moments of mine to figure out where I could've gone wrong to improve next time, but you don't HAVE to do that: just play the game, have fun, and love Magneto.

And throw a rock at every support you see for me okbyethankyouforreading

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Bonus: My Credentials so you can determine if i'm reliable or not. or something.

[PS: every hero Not Mags/Wanda/Adam is purely my brother i swear im loyal]

[angee1011]

finally caught up on when the phone rings and what can i say that hasn’t already been said ?

those two freaks are mad obsessed with each other and

i. love. to. see. it.

[julla]

briefly scrolled though the bigbang subreddit like recommended and - true, it definitely is active! which is fun. one of the first things i saw is that someone got into listening gd bc they knew him from the shoe world 😭😭 i mean that's just amazing lmao

[kinkystims]

genuinely who decided to make me a stone bottom with a tickling fetish?? a butch pillow princess who also Has to be tickled????? what are we doing here. complete compatibility is simply not in the cards. and then you add the t4t .. lesbian .. black .. autistic .. puppy .. sub .. disabled .. covid safe .. masking everywhere .. my god it's over for me. destined to be incompatible with everyone ever forever. if it ain't one thing it's another !!!!