#anyways i think they have this thing when they finally get together

[morgluvsconnie]

calling them someone else’s name for a prank!

with aot men! (except it’s their friends name 😏)

a/n ~ this was inspired by a request but i just wanted to add everybody in there. enjoy!

CONNIE

when connie told you he loved you, and you said “I love you too, ony- connie.” he shut tf downnnn.

he didn’t even look at you, just kept staring at his phone with almost no expression, just a small dry laugh. “who?”

“you, I said you.” you said, widening your eyes for a split second, avoiding eye contact. connie just pursed his lips together, moving his legs together and apart while manspreading.

you glanced at him, trying your best to hold in a laugh. “i said i love you too.”

“you said ony.”

“no i didn’t.”

he finally looked at you. “you did.”

you groaned, throwing your head back. “i didn’tttt, how many times i gotta tell you?” you rolled your eyes at him.

connie swallowed, looking you up and down. “please don’t play wit me right now. you fuckin wit ony?” the way this boy was bouda unfriend one of his best friends quickkkk.

but you couldn’t help but laugh and tell him you’re just playing, making him smack his lips and laugh. “alright dude.”

ONY

if ony heard you call him connie, he wouldn’t have cared really. he’s always around connie, and you and connie were cool.

he always said his name, which would probably make you say it too, especially if it was something like “shut up connie” or “ask connie” which was rare anyway.

but, when you were saying your daily “i love you”s and your daily “ill miss you”s when he was about to go only to the store, the last name he’d expect after your “ill miss you” would be connie’s.

he just slowed his movements at the door, going silent.

“what you say?” he asked, glancing at you and grabbing his car keys. you looked back at him with raised eyebrows, playing along. “i said ony.”

“no you didn’t, you said connie.” he wasn’t even bouda play along with the lie.

you rolled your eyes. “okay. well i meant ony.” you waved him off. that just irritated him even more. he wasn’t that mad, but he was confused, which was making him mad 😭.

“how you get ony mixed up wit connie? y’all must been around each other recently?” he asked, leaning on the door and crossing his arms, staring at you.

you smacked your lips.

“i told you what i meant.”

“well ion believe you, so ima call connie-”

“i’m playing.” you couldn’t help but burst out laughing. ony stared at you with serious eyes before slowly smiling. “ight bruh.”

EREN

now when you pranked eren, he wasn’t even hesitating to take that shit serious quick as hell.

when he was tickling you, and you were laughing, tryna push him off you, hearing the words “stop armin!” come out your mouth just made him stop immediately and stare at you.

wiping tears that formed on the corners of your eyes, you sat up on the bed, letting out a breathy laugh. “what?”

this man’s death stare was piercinggggg.

he wasn’t even trying either, he just looked at you with dead eyes.

“armin. okay.” he nodded, standing up. you tilted your head and frowned. “what?”

“armin.” he said back nonchalantly, stretching before going towards the door. “eren.” you said, tilting your head and standing up. “it was a mistake, duh.” you tapped your head.

eren stared at you and blinked, making you laugh and melt your facade.

“it’s a prank.”

eren swallowed and took a deep breath, sighing. “dontttt piss me offfff.” he groaned, dragging his hands down his face.

ARMIN

when you were on the phone with a friend, and they asked what your boyfriends name was, the last thing armin would think is that you’d stammer over eren’s name before you said his.

it was more awkward than embarrassing or angering because he just looked at you for a few seconds, waiting for you to get off the phone.

he tried to avoid the fact that you’d said his best friends name instead of his by saying something like “who was that?”

“just a friend, why?” you looked at him like nothing was wrong.

and there wasn’t anything wrong at all, i mean he literally didn’t even care. he just went along with his day, doing the same things he did every day.

but when you were getting ready for bed, that’s when he decided to bring it up.

“what? i said armin.” you almost forgot to tell him it was a prank, but now it was later than expected. he just slowly shook his head, uncertain at first, but then shook it quickly.

“yeah, nah, you said eren.” he corrected you while laying on your stomach. he tried not to make it seem like it was a big deal.

you shook your head. “no, i said armin.”

armin looked up at you, furrowing his brows. “i know what you said y/n. if y’all got something going on just tell me now. i won’t get mad.”

you couldn’t help but feel bad and laugh. “i’m kiddinggg, it was a prank, i forgot to tell you.” you ruffled his hair.

armin clicked his tongue, groaning. “don’tttttt do that.” he laughed a little.

this is a draft from veryyy long ago, hope y’all like it

[screaminglygay]

third time is a charm, right? (part ten)

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader, wanda maximoff x fem!reader, natasha romanoff x wanda maximoff, carol danvers x fem!reader (platonic), past carol danvers x natasha romanoff

summary: you and wanda force carol and natasha to have a "civil" conversation, which leads to some closure for all the sides.

warnings: swear words, natasha being jealous (but she´s working on it i promise), explicit content, power dynamics, teasing, bdsm, reader being tied to a bed, scissoring, smut overall, punishment, edging, overstimulation, natasha being slightly mean, dirty talk... phew that´s it i think?

word count: 10k

an: last part guys:( but i do have to say i put my heart and pussy into this one, so i hope its a nice way to end this:)

(italica = your thoughts)

Time passes, and things settle into something that feels real. Not just nights tangled up together, not just teasing touches or fleeting moments, but something steady, something solid, that few weeks ago seemed like a one big illusion. Dates here and there, stolen moments in their busy schedules, slow mornings with Wanda, pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder while Natasha grumbles about early meetings.

It’s different now. More than just physical. You belong here. You truly do.

That’s when they invite you to stay at their place for a while. A little vacation, as Wanda puts it, a chance to be with them without the constant interruptions of the outside world.

You hesitate at first. "But I have to go to work, I can´t just stay, you know?"

Wanda waves a hand. "Oh, well, we said you’re still recovering from your ankle."

You blink, processing her words. Then, you frown. "You did what?"

Wanda and Natasha exchange a look, and Natasha lifts a shoulder in a lazy shrug. "It made sense. You needed time off anyway."

You push back from the couch, standing as frustration bubbles up. "Don’t do that. Don’t speak for me like that, especially about my job." Your voice is firm, but there’s no real anger behind it. Just disappointment. "I get what you were trying to do, and I appreciate the thought, but that’s not okay. I can handle things myself."

For a moment, there's silence. Then Natasha sighs, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Noted."

Wanda presses her lips together, then gives you an apologetic smile. "You’re right, detka. We won’t do it again."

"Good." You exhale, shaking your head, but the tension eases.

Natasha watches you for a moment before smirking. "You know, I never thought I’d see the day where you scold us, but here we are."

You cross your arms, raising a brow. "I mean it."

Natasha’s smirk softens just slightly, and Wanda steps closer, brushing her fingers along your wrist in a small, reassuring touch. "And we hear you."

“But we already called, so…” Wanda says, tilting her head at you with a knowing smirk.

You huff, uncrossing your arms, but the warmth in your chest betrays you. “Fine, yeah, okay. I won’t say no to that.”

Wanda grins in victory, and Natasha just shakes her head, clearly amused. The day continues with a quiet small moments. Dinner filled with light teasing and the occasional brush of fingers, the kind of effortless affection you never thought you’d have with them. A movie follows, and though you try to pay attention, you find yourself more focused on the feeling of Natasha’s hand lazily tracing patterns on your thigh and Wanda’s head resting against your shoulder.

A few more days pass, and it’s all still… nice. Too nice. Which is why you finally bring it up one evening, curled up on the couch between them.

"But what about your CEO jobs?" you ask, glancing between them. "Don’t you two have empires to run?"

Natasha chuckles, draping an arm over the back of the couch. "We’re the CEOs. If we want a break, we’ll take one."

"Bucky’s handling everything," Wanda adds, reaching for her wine glass. "No worries." Then, after a thoughtful sip, she smirks. "He might need a wellness retreat after, though."

"More like therapy with all the idiots he has to deal with," Natasha mutters, rolling her eyes.

You snort, "Poor Bucky."

Neither of them disagree, and as you settle in, completely at ease, Natasha’s phone buzzes on the coffee table. The screen lights up with a text from Bucky: "You owe me BIG TIME."

But this is not the only message that stirs some emotions over the time you’re with them.

It starts small, just casual texts exchanged between you and Carol. She’s been nothing but a good friend, someone easy to talk to, and the connection is effortless. You check in on each other, share jokes, sometimes send random pictures. You don’t think much of it.

Natasha, however, does.

She doesn’t say anything at first, but Wanda notices. As always.

One evening, while you’re in the shower, Wanda finds Natasha in the kitchen, staring at her phone, brows furrowed. Wanda raises an eyebrow as she approaches, watching the way Natasha’s thumb hovers over the screen, unreadable emotions flickering across her face.

"You gonna tell me what’s going on, or do I have to drag it out of you?" Wanda teases lightly, leaning against the counter.

Natasha exhales sharply, locking her phone and shoving it onto the counter. "It’s nothing."

Wanda hums, unconvinced. "You sure? Because you’ve been acting off every time she texts Carol."

Natasha’s jaw tightens.

"Nat," Wanda coaxes, stepping closer. "Talk to me."

There’s a pause. A beat too long. Then Natasha sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I just… don’t like it."

"Her texting Carol?"

"Her spending time with Carol," Natasha corrects, pushing off the counter and crossing her arms. "I mean come on, Wanda. You saw how much time she spends with her. They are close."

Wanda tilts her head. "And?"

Natasha scoffs. “And it’s Carol.”

Wanda laughs, shaking her head. "You’re being ridiculous. Carol is her friend."

"And my ex-" Natasha stops herself, running a hand through her hair in frustration. "I don’t like the way Carol looks at her."

"Carol looks at everyone like that," Wanda points out.

Natasha glares. "That doesn’t make me feel better."

Wanda sighs, stepping closer and placing a hand on Natasha’s arm. "She’s with us, Nat. Not Carol."

"She was with us before, too," Natasha mutters, and there it is the real reason behind her unease.

Wanda softens. "And she came back."

That doesn’t seem to settle Natasha’s nerves, but she doesn’t argue. Instead, she nods once, pressing her lips together in that way she does when she’s holding something in. Wanda lets it go, for now.

Except, later that week, the conversation reignites in full force.

You come home, arms full of bags, smiling as you kick the door shut behind you. "I´m back! I was at this market, and Carol convinced me to get some plants and fruits and stuff-"

Natasha doesn’t even let you finish. "That’s what I was talking about!" She throws her hands up, looking at Wanda like she’s just proven a point. "See?"

You blink. "What?"

Wanda sighs, rubbing her temples. "Natasha…"

"No, don’t ‘Natasha’ me," she huffs, crossing her arms. "You’re always with her."

Your smile falters, confusion settling in. "I text her sometimes. We hang out. So?"

"So," Natasha emphasizes, her voice sharp, "I don’t like it."

Silence.

You exchange a look with Wanda, who gives you a patient, knowing glance, one that says, Let her talk.

So you do. "Why?"

Natasha shifts on her feet, avoiding your gaze. "Because she’s Carol," she mutters like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You sigh, setting the bags down. "Nat, she’s my friend."

Natasha clenches her jaw. "She wants more than that."

You shake your head. "No, she doesn’t."

"She does," Natasha insists. "I know Carol. I’ve known her for years."

"She knows I’m with you and Wanda."

Natasha scoffs. "Does she?"

"Nat," Wanda interjects gently, placing a hand on Natasha’s back, "maybe you should talk to Carol."

Natasha turns to her, incredulous. "Talk to her?"

"Yes," Wanda says simply. "Before you explode."

You cross your arms. "I think that’s a great idea."

Natasha glares between the both of you, but ultimately, she knows she’s lost. So, begrudgingly, she agrees.

You find yourself curled up on the couch, phone in hand, fingers hovering over Carol’s contact. This is stupid, right? They’re both adults. Natasha is just… Natasha. But the longer you sit in their apartment, the more you realize that things won’t settle unless you make them. So you finally type out a message.

You: Can you come to my flat?

The reply is almost instant.

Carol: If this is your way of asking me to be your thing on the side, then no.

You snort, shaking your head.

You: Very funny.

Carol: I thought so.

You: No, seriously. I need you to come over.

A pause. Then you see the three little dots.

Carol: You in trouble?

You: Not exactly. It’s about Natasha.

There’s another pause, longer this time.

Carol: Oh, this just got interesting.

You exhale sharply, rubbing your temple.

You: Can you be serious for like five seconds?

Carol: I can try, but no promises.

You groan and decide to just spell it out.

You: Natasha thinks you’re trying to steal me away.

This time, there’s no immediate reply. You stare at the screen, watching the three little dots appear, then disappear, then appear again. Finally, a message comes through.

Carol: …Wait, is this an intervention? Am I the problem?

You: Yes, you little shit.

Carol sends a string of laughing emojis.

Carol: That’s honestly kind of impressive. Didn’t even have to try.

You: Carol.

Carol: Fine, fine. So what’s the plan? I come over and what? Let her yell at me? Sounds fun.

You: I just need you two to talk. Like normal, civil adults.

Carol: Oh, I don’t know. Civil is a stretch.

You: Carol.

Carol: Alright, alright. I’ll come over. But only because this sounds way too entertaining to miss.

You let out a slow breath, already regretting this decision.

You: One condition... don’t make it worse.

Carol: No promises.

You stare at the screen for a long moment before flopping back against the couch with a groan. This was either going to solve everything… or end in disaster.

Maybe both.

A few days later… your apartment feels smaller than usual. Maybe it’s because of the tension hanging in the air, or maybe it’s because Natasha looks like she regrets every life choice that’s led her to this moment.

She’s sitting on your couch, arms crossed, her usual composed demeanor slightly crumbling as she mumbles under her breath.

"This is so stupid," she mutters. "This is ridiculous. I don’t even know why I- this is just… stupid."

Wanda, perched beside you on the arm of the couch, hides her amusement behind her cup of tea, watching as Natasha stews in her own bad decisions. You nudge her with your elbow, but she just smirks, clearly enjoying the sight of the great Natasha Romanoff spiraling.

There’s a knock at the door.

"Oh, this is gonna be good," Wanda murmurs under her breath before taking a sip of her tea. Shockingly she enjoys this a lot, taking the fact that Carol is Natasha´s ex, which suprise you a little.

You shoot her a look before pushing off the couch and heading to the door, steeling yourself. You swing it open, and there stands Carol, leaning against the doorframe, casual as ever, her usual shit-eating grin firmly in place.

"Well, well, well," she says, eyes sweeping past you to where Natasha is seated, visibly tense. "The moment we’ve all been waiting for."

Natasha exhales sharply. "I already hate this."

Carol steps inside like she owns the place, looking between the two of you. "You called for a meeting, I delivered. What’s next? Trial by combat?"

You glance at Wanda, who glances at you. Without a word, a silent agreement is made.

"Coffee?" Wanda asks casually.

"Coffee," you agree.

And before Natasha can even register what’s happening, you and Wanda are already at the door, stepping outside.

"Wait- " Natasha starts, but you just flash her an innocent smile.

"You got this," you say sweetly.

And with that, you and Wanda shut the door behind you, leaving Natasha and Carol alone in your apartment.

There’s a beat of silence before Carol hums, looking around. "(Y/N) should get a punching bag, though."

Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose. "You are insufferable."

Carol grins. "You love it. So, what? The one left standing wins?"

Natasha huffs out a short laugh, shaking her head. "Still have your wit, I see."

Carol shrugs. "What can I say? I like to keep things interesting."

Natasha rolls her eyes. This is going to be a long conversation.

Carol leans back against your kitchen counter, the usual cocky smirk still there, but her eyes are softer now. Less teasing, more genuine. She exhales, shaking her head with a little chuckle.

"Okay, I’ll ease up on the jokes," she says, crossing her arms. "I actually wanna talk."

Natasha, still sitting on the couch, just raises an eyebrow. "That’s new."

Carol rolls her eyes. "Do you really think I’m trying to steal her away?"

Natasha huffs out a laugh, the smirk that follows just as cocky as ever. "And you´re not trying to do that?"

Carol tilts her head, watching her for a moment. Then something clicks. "Ohhh," she says, dragging it out with an exaggerated nod. "So, it’s insecurity."

Natasha stiffens. "What? No. I’m not- no."

Carol just grins. "Nat, you forget we dated for quite some time. I know you."

Natasha glares, but it’s not as sharp as it should be. She looks away, jaw tightening slightly. "That was a long time ago."

Carol shrugs. "Still true, though." She pauses, then adds, "Besides, I’m not even single. I’m in a happy relationship."

Natasha’s head snaps back toward her, her frown deepening. "What?"

Carol blinks at her. "You didn’t know?"

Natasha narrows her eyes. "She didn’t tell me that."

Carol bursts out laughing, shaking her head in amusement. "Oh, she’s a little shit."

Natasha groans, rubbing her temple. "Unbelievable."

Carol just grins, before her expression softens. "Look, I get it, alright? You’re used to being in control, and she’s… well, she’s a wildcard."

Natasha stays silent, listening.

Carol smirks. "But she’s yours, Nat and you´re hers. You know that, right?"

Natasha doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, quietly, "Yeah. I know."

Carol watches her, then lets out a teasing whistle. "Damn. You’re soft for her. It’s cute."

Natasha’s glare returns instantly. "Shut up."

Carol just laughs, shaking her head. "Alright, alright. I’ll stop. But, really, you don’t have to be weird about me and her. She’s your girl, and I wouldn’t mess with that."

Natasha sighs, finally relaxing just a little. "Yeah. Okay."

And just like that, the tension that had been lingering between them starts to fade. "But if you break her heart again, I will kick your ass."

"Please do," even Carol can see that Natasha is different this time, she truly mean it. Truly mean the love for you.

Meanwhile, you and Wanda are sitting at a cozy little café, sipping on warm drinks, completely relaxed... well, almost.

You tap your fingers against your cup, glancing toward the door like you might somehow see through it back to your apartment. Then, with a smirk, you say, "Five dollars on Carol annoying the hell out of Natasha."

Wanda doesn’t even hesitate. "Twenty dollars on that."

You laugh, shaking your head. "You’re that positive?"

Wanda sips her coffee, completely unbothered. "Oh, absolutely. I love Natasha, but she is terrible at hiding when something is bothering her. And Carol? She lives for that kind of thing."

You hum, considering. "Yeah, fair point. I just hope they don’t break anything in my apartment."

Wanda raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching. "I mean… you did lock them in together. That’s like throwing a match into a room full of gasoline."

You sigh dramatically. "Should we go check on them?"

Wanda shakes her head, stirring her coffee lazily. "Nope. If Natasha hasn’t texted for backup, it means they haven’t killed each other yet."

You purse your lips. "What if she’s too stubborn to ask for help?"

Wanda tilts her head, considering. "Good point… but also, we should let her suffer a little."

You chuckle, clinking your cup against hers. "Agreed."

You swirl your coffee absently, watching Wanda as she takes another slow sip of hers. The curiosity that’s been lingering in the back of your mind finally pushes itself forward.

"Wan?" you ask, tilting your head slightly.

She hums in response, lifting her gaze to meet yours. "Hm?"

You hesitate for a second before deciding to just ask. "Can I ask you something?"

A small smirk tugs at the corner of her lips. "That depends. Am I going to regret saying yes?"

You chuckle, shaking your head. "No, it’s just… I was wondering." You pause, biting your lip. "How come you’re not jealous?"

She blinks at you, clearly not expecting that question. "Jealous?"

You nod, leaning forward slightly. "Yeah, I mean… with all this Carol and Natasha tension, you seem so chill about it. Like, I get that Natasha is over Carol, and Carol is over Natasha, but still. Most people would be at least a little weirded out."

Wanda tilts her head, considering your words for a moment. Then she shrugs. "I don’t know. I guess I just don’t feel the need to be."

You raise an eyebrow. "Just like that?"

She chuckles, setting her coffee down. "I mean, it’s not like I’ve never been jealous before. But with this? No. I know how much Natasha is over Carol. And vice versa. There’s nothing there anymore."

You nod slowly, trying to understand. "So it just… doesn��t bother you?"

"Not really," Wanda says, tapping her nails lightly against her cup. "I know Natasha. I know how she looks at me or you. And I know how Nat looks at Carol, like someone from her past, not someone she wants in her future." She offers you a small smile. "So, no. I don’t feel jealous. If anything, I think they just needed to talk. Some closure, you know?"

You exhale, nodding in agreement, "yeah, I get that."

By the time you and Wanda make it back to your apartment, the coffee has settled warm in your stomach, and the conversation from earlier still lingers in your mind. You weren’t sure what exactly you’d be walking into, but you had half-expected to return to a crime scene or at the very least, to Natasha pacing furiously while Carol grinned like she had just won a game.

Instead, when you unlock the door and step inside, you’re greeted by the sight of them… laughing.

Natasha is leaning back against the couch, her usual tension nowhere to be found, while Carol sits comfortably across from her, her arms lazily draped over the back of the chair. They’re mid-conversation, something light and easy, and whatever weight had existed between them before... it’s gone.

What?

You blink. Wanda does too.

"Huh," you say, exchanging a glance with Wanda. "Didn’t see that coming."

Carol looks up first, smirking as she gestures between herself and Natasha. "See? We didn’t kill each other."

"Shocking," Wanda quips, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

Natasha just rolls her eyes, but there’s a small smile on her lips as she looks at you. "You’re back early."

You snort, setting your keys down. "I figured we’d return to a mess, so we made it quick."

Carol grins. "Sorry to disappoint."

Wanda tilts her head, studying them. "So… you two are good?"

Natasha exhales, glancing at Carol, who shrugs like she already knew the answer. "Yeah," Natasha admits, and there’s something softer in her voice. "We’re good."

You watch as Carol nods in agreement, her teasing edge dialed down just a bit. "Told you."

Wanda leans into you, her voice warm. "Closure," she murmurs, and you smile, realizing that yeah this is exactly that.

You barely have time to settle in before Natasha turns her sharp gaze on you, arms crossed but a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Darling," she drawls, her voice deceptively sweet, "why didn’t you tell me Carol was in a relationship?"

Before you can answer, Wanda perks up beside you, her expression bright. "Ooooh! Congrats, Carol!"

Carol grins, clearly enjoying the moment. "Thanks."

You shrug, feigning innocence as you smile at Natasha. "Dunno… it was fun." Then, with a slow smirk, you add, "And you looked hot while being jealous, so."

Carol lets out a loud laugh, standing up and stretching like she’s been waiting for her perfect exit line. "Oop! My cue to leave." She winks at you. "Thanks for the fun closure, (Y/N). You guys enjoy the rest of what’s probably going to be a long night." She wiggles her fingers in a wave. "Byee."

With that, she strides toward the door, leaving behind nothing but an amused chuckle from Wanda and a very unimpressed Natasha.

You barely have a second to process Carol’s dramatic exit before Natasha raises an eyebrow at you, tilting her head in that way that makes your breath hitch. "Come here," she says, low and inviting.

Yeah Carol was absolutely right. This is going to be a long night.

Natasha pulls you on her lap, closing the distance with a slow, predatory grace that has your breath catching in your throat. Her hands find your waist, fingers pressing just enough to remind you who’s in charge here.

"You had fun teasing me, huh?" Natasha murmurs, tilting her head as she watches you with those sharp green eyes. "Keeping little secrets, making me jealous?"

Wanda hums from the couch, "oh, she really did," she smirks as she leans back, eyes flicking between you and Natasha with lazy amusement. "And now you have to deal with the consequences."

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out, especially when Natasha tugs you just a bit closer, her breath ghosting over your lips.

"I should remind you," Natasha whispers, her grip tightening slightly, "who you belong to."

Your stomach flips, heat creeping up your spine at the low possessiveness in her tone.

Wanda lets out a quiet laugh, stretching her arms above her head as if this isn’t affecting her at all. "Good luck, detka," she drawls, sounding entirely too pleased with herself.

You barely have time to glare at her before Natasha tilts your chin up with two fingers, her smirk deepening. "Let’s see if teasing me was worth it, hmm?"

Your breath catches as Natasha’s fingers trail along your jaw, her smirk never wavering. "What’s wrong, princess? No more teasing now?"

You try to say something... anything, but the way she’s looking at you, the way her body presses just slightly into yours, makes it incredibly difficult to think.

Mind is completly empty.

Wanda chuckles from her place on the couch, her amusement evident. "She was so bold earlier," she muses, shifting so she’s resting her chin in her palm, watching the two of you like this is the best form of entertainment. "Now look at her."

Natasha hums in agreement, her other hand slipping down to your hip, squeezing lightly. "Mm, I think she just likes pushing her luck," she murmurs, tilting her head. "Maybe she likes seeing what she can get away with."

You swallow, heat pooling in your panties. "I- "

"Shhh," Natasha cuts you off, leaning in just enough that your noses brush. "You had your fun, baby. Now it’s our turn."

Before you can even react, Wanda is suddenly behind you, her arms slipping around your waist, her breath warm against your ear. "I say we teach her a lesson," she says playfully, voice like velvet, her fingers grazing over you teasingly.

You barely stifle a gasp, your entire body tensing between them. "A lesson?" you manage to ask, your voice coming out weaker than you’d like.

Wanda hums, pressing the faintest of kisses just below your ear, her lips curving into a smirk. "Mhm. One that reminds her who she belongs to."

Natasha’s hand slides up your side, her fingers teasing along the fabric of your shirt, her smirk deepening. "What do you think, detka?" she murmurs, her voice all honeyed dominance. "Still enjoying your little game?"

You shiver, your knees almost buckling beneath you. "I- "

"Careful now," Wanda murmurs, "wouldn’t want you to get too overwhelmed too quickly."

Natasha chuckles darkly, her lips barely ghosting over yours. "Oh, I don’t know," she muses, her voice filled with pure teasing. "I think she likes being overwhelmed."

Wanda laughs softly. "Oh, she definitely does."

Wanda's lips trail lazily down your neck, her fingers tracing slow, agonizing patterns over your sides. Natasha, meanwhile, stays just close enough to be torturous, her smirk deep as she watches you squirm between them.

Natasha hums, her fingers barely ghosting over your arm. "Mhm. A little too much, I think." She tilts her head, feigning contemplation.

Your breath hitches, your hands instinctively grabbing at Natasha’s waist, trying to pull yourself closer. "Ah, ah. Naughty girls don’t get rewarded so easily," she chides, smirk deepening.

Wanda giggles against your neck. "Poor thing," she coos, mock sympathy lacing her tone. "Look at her."

You whimper, your body betraying you as more heat pools between your thighs. "No, no, please," you gasp out, tilting your head toward Natasha, trying to chase more.

Natasha chuckles, dark and pleased. "Oh, detka," she murmurs, her fingers finally dragging up your arm, agonizingly slow. "I haven’t even done anything yet, and you’re already this desperate." She glances at Wanda, her smirk turning absolutely wicked. "That’s the real fun."

Wanda sighs theatrically, as if considering something. "Maybe we should just leave her like this," she muses.

You shake your head quickly. "No, please, I- "

Natasha leans in, her lips brushing against your ear as she murmurs, "Begging already? Tsk. You really do love being at our mercy, don’t you?"

Your entire body shudders, and Wanda laughs softly, pressing a teasing kiss just beneath your jaw. "She’s adorable when she’s like this," she whispers, her fingers still tracing teasing, feather-light touches against your skin.

Natasha chuckles, her fingers finally gripping your chin, tilting your head up so you’re forced to meet her gaze. "Then let’s see just how much she can take."

And with the way their eyes darken, you know you're in for a long, torturous night.

"No cumming until we say, got it?" You nod at Natasha´s words, but that´s not enough for neither of them, so you feel nails dig into your hips.

"Yes!" you squal, and shake your head, "no cumming without your permission." You´re too desperate to notice the subtle exchange between Wanda and Natasha.

"Good. Girl." Natasha whispers into your ear.

Before you can fully process the heat ruining your panties, Natasha's hands slide down to your thighs, gripping firmly as she stands, effortlessly lifting you into her arms. A surprised gasp escapes you, and you instinctively cling to her shoulders, but she only smirks, her grip tightening.

"You’re coming with me," she murmurs, starting toward your bedroom with determined steps.

Behind you, Wanda chuckles, the sound low and knowing. "I’ll get it," she says vaguely, but before you can even think to ask what it is, Natasha is already pushing your bedroom door open and stepping inside.

The moment your back meets the mattress, Natasha is on you, caging you in with her presence, her hands bracketing your wrists against the sheets. Your breath hitches, your mind briefly scrambling to remember where Wanda went, what she was supposed to bring, but the thought disappears as quickly as it came.

Because Natasha is looking at you like she owns you. Like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

And with the way her knee presses between your thighs, pinning you down completely, all you can think about is her. And the need between your thighs.

Natasha’s lips trail down your jaw, slow and deliberate, her breath hot against your skin. She’s taking her time, making sure you’re completely occupied, lost in the way she presses against you, the way her fingers ghost over your sides, just barely enough to make you squirm.

"Look at you," she murmurs, dragging her lips along your pulse point before nipping at your skin, making you gasp.

You barely register the sound of the door opening again, too caught up in the way Natasha’s weight pins you down. But then-

"Miss me?" Wanda's voice is a sweet contrast to the wicked amusement in her tone.

You tilt your head, your eyes flicking toward her, but the moment you see what she’s holding, your stomach twists with anticipation.

Silky restraints.

Your breath catches. You hadn’t even realized Natasha had been keeping you distracted for a reason.

"Oh, she definitely missed you," Natasha smirks, shifting just enough for Wanda to crawl onto the bed and giving her space. "Didn’t even notice you were gone."

"How cute," Wanda mocks, straddling your hips, her fingers tracing along your arms as she guides them above your head.

You shudder at her touch, your pulse quickening. "Wanda- "

"Shhh, detka," she soothes, securing the restraints around your wrists, tightening them just enough to make you feel it. "It’s just a little something to keep you in place. We both know how much you love that."

Natasha hums in agreement, "and since you’ve been so naughty tonight…" She smirks, dragging her nails down your throat. "You don’t get to have everything you want."

You whimper, tugging lightly against the restraints, but Wanda only grins, leaning down to brush a kiss against your temple.

"Good luck," she purrs. "You’re going to need it."

You tug lightly against the restraints again, testing them, but they hold firm. Your breath is uneven, your skin buzzing with anticipation, but there’s also confusion swirling in your mind.

"But how did- "

Natasha cuts you off with a smirk, brushing her fingers along your jaw. "One thing about us that I thought you already knew," she murmurs, her voice smooth and taunting, "is that we always come prepared."

Of course they do.

Wanda hums in agreement, her fingers dancing over your stomach, barely touching, just enough to make you shiver. "It’s adorable that you still think you have the upper hand sometimes."

You whine, tilting your head back against the pillow. "That’s not- "

"Shhh, princess," Natasha coos, trailing a finger down your throat before pressing a teasing kiss to your collarbone.

Your hips shift instinctively, but Wanda tuts, her fingers gripping your waist. "Patience, detka," she chides, her voice dripping with amusement. "We won’t let you have it. Not yet."

A whimper escapes your lips, your wrists straining against the restraints as your body burns with the need for more.

"Aww," Wanda coos, shifting to sit beside you, her hand coming up to brush some stray strands of hair from your face. Her touch is feather-light, her voice deceptively sweet. "Poor thing. All tied up with nowhere to go."

You glare at her half-heartedly, but the smug little smile on her lips tells you she’s thoroughly enjoying this. "You´re being mean!"

"Mean?" Wanda gasps, pressing a dramatic hand to her chest. "I would never." Then, she leans in, voice dropping to a soft murmur near your ear. "I’m just here to make sure you don’t fall apart too soon."

Your breath catches, and you’re about to say something, maybe throw a challenge her way, when Natasha hums lowly.

"Don’t push it, Wan," she warns, a sharp but amused edge to her tone.

Wanda straightens instantly, her teasing demeanor shifting just a fraction. She glances at you, then back at Natasha, reading the shift in dynamic immediately.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Wanda muses, but there's something else in her tone now a touch of playful deference, a careful step backward. She’s testing her own limits, but she knows better than to cross the line.

You, on the other hand, are left somewhere between frustration and anticipation, entirely at their mercy.

"How about you keep your mouth occupied, hm?" Natasha´s hand slightly tug on Wanda´s hair and even in your state you can notice the shift in her eyes.

"Mhmm," Wanda mumbles as she shift closer to you and her hands start to take off your pants.

"Just because (Y/N) is getting punished doesn´t mean I can´t punish you as well, Maximoff." Natasha glares at Wanda.

Oh boy, this is making you so worked on.

Fuck.

Wanda nods, "I´m sorry," she hopes that this is enough, since she´s as desperate as you are.

Natasha hums and with a nod Wanda starts to take off your pants, but before she can take off your panties as well the redhead speaks up again. "Keep her panties on, I want them messy."

Wanda nods and even though she sees the vision, she wanted to devour you without any distractions.

Oh my god, they will be the cause of your death.

Even in the state Wanda was in, she will never ever forget to be a gentleman, so she softly and gently kisses her way into your panties, which makes Natasha chuckle.

You immedietly open your legs, needing her to touch you in the right spot. You´re lucky Wanda is as needy as you, because she doesn´t waste any more time and she pulls your wet panties to the side, making herself occupied with your warm pussy.

Natasha is so pleased about what she´s seeing, so she leaves Wanda to do whatever she wants... for now. You can feel her tongue on your clit, she´s eating you out like you´re her last and only meal.

For fuck sake her tongue is so so so fucking great.

What seems like a seconds to both you and Wanda, Natasha has been staring at the two of you for almost ten minutes, before she finally steps in.

"How about you left something to me, hm?" But Wanda doesn´t respond to Natasha´s words, she keeps going, licking every single of your wetness, which is not so amazing idea.

Natasha’s eyes darken, her jaw tightening as she watches Wanda blatantly disobey her. The room feels warmer, charged with something electric, and even in your dazed state, you can sense the shift.

"Wanda," Natasha’s voice is low, controlled, but there’s an edge to it. A warning. "I said, pull away."

But Wanda, ever the tease, only lifts her gaze slightly, a playful glint in her eyes. She doesn’t move, her lips curling into something dangerously close to defiance. "I heard you," she murmurs, but she still doesn’t obey and goes back to tasting you.

And you, of course, doesn´t mind at all.

Natasha exhales through her nose, tilting her head as if assessing her. Then, without breaking eye contact, she reaches forward, fingers grabing Wanda’s hair, just enough to make her listen.

"You’re pushing it," Natasha murmurs, tugging on her hair more, not rough, but firm enough to make a point.

Wanda shivers, and for the first time, the playful confidence flickers just slightly. She swallows, but still smirks. "Maybe I like pushing."

Natasha’s lips twitch, like she’s amused despite herself, but she doesn’t let it show. "So now I have two brats, hm?" she counters, leaning in so close that Wanda’s breath hitches. "Pull away or I´ll spank your ass so bad you won´t be able to sit through your nail appointment."

There’s a beat of silence, thick with tension, before Wanda finally exhales and pulls back. "Understood," she says, voice softer now.

"Good girl," Natasha murmurs, releasing Wanda’s hair.

You’re watching them, caught somewhere between fascination and pure awe, and when Natasha finally shifts her attention back to you, that cocky smirk is fully back in place.

"Now," she purrs, her gaze sweeping over you. "Where were we?"

You hesitate for a moment, thinking Natasha’s words were more of a statement than a question. But when the silence lingers, and her expectant gaze remains on you, you realize that she wants an answer.

"I- uh... Wanda was- you know and um..." You stumble over your words, heat creeping up your neck as you shift slightly under Natasha’s sharp, assessing gaze.

Her lips twitch in amusement. "Would you like to continue that?"

You nod so fast it’s almost embarrassing. "Very much so, yes please."

Natasha hums, dragging her fingers along your jaw before turning her attention to Wanda. "Wanda, entertain yourself." A smirk curves her lips. "But no finishing."

Wanda lets out a small, exaggerated sigh but doesn’t argue, instead tilting her head with that signature glint of mischief in her eyes as her hand make its way to her pants.

Natasha’s gaze flicks between the two of you, her expression unwavering as she leans in slightly. "Just because there are two of you doesn’t mean I won’t have control. Noted?"

"Yes," you and Wanda answer at the exact same time.

Natasha chuckles, shaking her head. "Good girls." She knows that both of you need to be punished, but it´s funnier to punish both of you while you´re both needy and completly at her mercy. So she´s leading the two of you exactly where she wants you to be.

"Please-" you let out softly, you need her. Her hands. Her mouth. Her tongue. Her anything and everything.

"Oh detka, look at you." She cooes, "poor thing, don´t worry, I will handle this-" Natasha´s hand meets your pussy with a quick smack that makes you flinch. "I will take care of this wet pussy," her eyes are dark, full of lust and you´re not sure if you´re supposed to be excited or scared.

Wanda on the other hand is already close to cum, she´s fighting so hard not to let go. Not to break the rules just one more time for her sweet release. But she knows what would have happen, she needs to hold on.

While Natasha´s fingers spread you open, she doesn´t miss the sounds Wanda is making, "stop if necessary, but don´t you dare to cum, Maximoff." Her words are sharp, that it makes your heart beat even faster.

"Uhm," the younger woman mumbles, as she stops fucking her fingers inside.

You quickly glance at Wanda, "eyes on me," Natasha leans in and grabs your chin, "there you go." She lets go of your chin and goes back to your dripping core. Fuck you´re messy. "Hips up, baby."

You shift and move your hips up as you watch Natasha pulls off your wet panties. Slowly and hungrily, you notice that Natasha puts your dirty black panties to her pocket, but your mind is occupied quickly, since Natasha is back to where you need her the most. Kissing your thighs softly, as she is also a gentle lady.

"Natty-" you whine out, so needy for anything the woman will give you. Your pretty noises makes Wanda moan out loud, you try your hardest not to look at her, so you can only imagine her long fingers deep inside her. Pumping in and out, while her juices are all over her.

"God, where did your patience go? Hm? Fine." And with that Natasha´s fingers slide into so easily. And she is not gentle, no... it´s the other way around.

Oh fuck.

She´s pumping her fingers fast and the only thought in your head is overstimulation. You´re so hapy, but at the same time you know that she will make you pay for everything you did and didn´t do.

Your mind is a blur, caught somewhere between pleasure and overwhelming sensation, every nerve alight as you struggle to ground yourself. But there’s no escape, not from the way Natasha is watching you, her sharp green eyes locked onto your every reaction, nor from the way Wanda is nearby, she´s also on the line between letting go and being Natasha´s good girl.

Natasha’s presence is suffocating in the best way, her touch deliberate, her movements calculated, her fingers curling in the right spot, and yet it’s the little things that overwhelm you just as much - the faint scent of her cologne, a mix of something deep and smoky with a hint of spice, clinging to her skin as she leans in close. The warmth of her breath against your temple, the quiet, knowing hum she lets out whenever you clench around her.

You don’t even realize you’re whimpering out loud until you hear Wanda needy chuckle, low and sweet. "Fuck-", tilting her head as if she’s committing every detail of this moment to memory.

You look at her weakly, unable to form proper words, and Natasha exhales a small, pleased laugh. "Oh, detka," she murmurs, voice smooth as silk yet carrying a weight that makes your stomach flip. "This is just warm up."

Your mind struggles to keep up, but then... her voice, smooth as velvet, cuts through the fog.

"Alright, my sweet little messes," Natasha purrs, her tone dripping with amusement. "You want to reach the finish line? Then you better earn it. Cum or don´t, but it will be your loss."

You barely process her words before she continues, her voice slow, teasing. "Ten."

Wanda stiffens, a flicker of confusion crossing her face, but Natasha doesn’t give either of you a moment to think.

"Nine."

Your body tenses, a desperate little whimper escaping before you can stop it. Wanda’s fingers twitch, like she’s already bracing herself, already feeling the weight of whatever Natasha has planned.

"Oh, you poor things," Natasha coos, eyes gleaming with mischief as her fingers speed up in your hole. "So desperate. So needy. And yet… so very helpless."

Your breath stutters, and Wanda swallows hard, her lips parting like she wants to protest, but Natasha just smirks.

"Eight," she continues, tilting her head as she drags out the word. "You still with me, detka? Or is the pretty little head too fogged up to keep count? I know Wanda is already gone."

Wanda glares at her, but there’s no real heat behind it, just frustration laced with anticipation. You, on the other hand, can barely function, and Natasha knows it. She clicks her tongue, mock pity dripping from her voice.

"Seven."

She watches you both like a cat playing with its food, eyes alight with something dangerous, something utterly intoxicating. "I should make you beg, really. Should make you tell me just how much you need me. But look at you- " she sighs, shaking her head with a grin. "You’re already wrecked, and I’ve barely even done anything."

Anything?! She´s fucking me with her-

You moan loudly as Natasha thrust her finger deep inside of you, and Wanda sucks in a sharp breath, shifting slightly like she wants to reach for you, but Natasha tuts, eyes flashing.

"Ah, ah, ah. No helping each other. If you want it, you’ll listen."

She leans in closer, her scent overwhelming, her voice dipping lower. "Six."

Wanda stays in her spot, staring at Natasha´s fingers disappearing inside of your pussy. As she copies Natasha´s pace.

"Five."

The number drips from Natasha’s lips like honey, slow and drawn out, as if she’s savoring every second of your anticipation. You’re barely holding on, body taut, brain fogged with nothing but her voice, her presence, her control. Your hands are hurting form how much you´re holding onto the silky restraints.

Wanda´s fingers twitching, thighs pressing together. She looks like she wants to do something, to rebel in some way, but Natasha just chuckles, shaking her head in mock disappointment.

"Poor baby," she murmurs, tilting her head "You don’t like waiting, do you?"

Wanda’s breath hitches, her lips parting, but no words come out. You feel like you’re in the same state... floating somewhere between desperation and the overwhelming feeling.

"Four."

A needy little whimper escaping before you can stop it. Natasha’s eyes snap to you instantly, dark amusement flickering across her features.

"Oh, detka," she purrs, leaning in closer, "you sound so pretty when you're falling apart for me."

You’re not even sure if you’re breathing anymore.

"Three."

She drags out the word, watching you and Wanda with the kind of confidence that makes your stomach flip.

"So cute," she muses, "all wide-eyed and obedient now. Not so mouthy anymore, huh?"

Neither of you dare to speak, but Wanda exhales shakily, her eyes darting to yours as if she’s searching for something. Reassurance, maybe. But before either of you can process it, Natasha’s voice slices through the haze again.

"Two."

Your pulse pounds. Wanda clench around herself, she needs to cum now. She needs it so fucking bad.

And then... Natasha leans in, brushing her lips against your ear, her voice nothing more than a whisper, but somehow more commanding than anything before. Her fingers are still at very fast pace, but she laso starts to thrust with more power now.

"One."

Your entire body is on edge, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach, but Natasha pulls back, just far enough to look between you and Wanda, smirking at your ruined expressions.

And then- "Zero."

She doesn’t give either of you time to think, her fingers leaving your pusssy and she immedietly leans to Wanda and she grabs her hand, snatching it away.

What?

The release, the rush, the moment you’ve been so desperately chasing.

But nothing happens.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you blink up at her, mind scrambling, body still wound impossibly tight. Beside you, Wanda lets out a broken sound, shifting in frustration, realization settling over both of you at the same time.

She... she bluffed.

Your chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths, and when you finally meet Natasha’s gaze, she’s just smiling. Smug, entertained, completely unbothered by the absolute wreckage she’s left in her wake.

"Oh, you should see your faces." She tilts her head, lips curling into a slow, satisfied smirk. "Absolutely priceless."

Wanda makes a frustrated noise, fingers curling into the sheets as she glares at Natasha. "That’s not fair."

You nod quickly, still struggling to find words. "Yeah! You- you can’t just- " You gesture vaguely, still feeling dizzy with need. "You said zero!"

Natasha just arches a perfect brow. "And? Since when did I say I had to let you finish?"

Your jaw drops.

Wanda’s brows furrow in pure, petulant frustration. "That’s cruel."

Natasha shrugs, clearly thriving in your combined suffering, she licks her fingers clean, loving the taste you left on her fingers. "You being a brat is cruel too." She leans in closer, eyes glinting with amusement. "Do I complain? No. I just make a payback."

You groan, shifting against the pillows, moving your hands in the restraints. Wanda crosses her arms, lips pressed into a thin line, but there’s no real anger there, just deep frustration.

"You’re evil." You pout up at Natasha, hoping - praying - that maybe, just maybe, she’ll take mercy on you.

She just chuckles, brushing her fingers over your jaw, a featherlight touch that makes your stomach flip. "Oh, detka," she murmurs, voice nothing but smooth, unshakable confidence. "You love it."

Wanda huffs, but Natasha just shifts her gaze toward her, amusement still dancing in her eyes. "And you," she muses, tapping a finger against Wanda’s chin. "Did you really think you could be a fucking brat and get away with it?"

Wanda swallows, "I´m sorry."

Natasha hums, her smirk widening. "Yeah. That’s what I thought."

You both groan in unison, completely at her mercy, and Natasha just thrives in it, dragging out the moment, letting the weight of her control settle in.

You don’t care anymore.

Maybe you should care, maybe you should hold onto the last shreds of your dignity, try to look like you’re not completely at Natasha’s mercy. But who cares? Not when your body is still thrumming, still aching with need. Not when Wanda is right there beside you, looking just as desperate, just as undone.

So you do the only thing you can think of.

You shift, trying to reaching for Natasha, even when your hands are still above your head, "Natasha, please," you murmur, voice soft, breathless. "I- please, don’t do this."

Natasha tilts her head, watching you with amusement, fingers trailing down your stomach with a featherlight touch that makes you shiver. "Don’t do what exactly?"

You whimper, frustration bubbling in your throat, but you don’t stop. Instead, you shift again, "I’ll do anything- just please- "

Natasha hums, clearly enjoying herself. "Anything?"

You nod, desperate, but then, then you hesitate. Because it’s not just about you, is it?

Your eyes flick toward Wanda, who’s been quiet, biting her lip, still wound tight with anticipation and frustration. And without thinking, without stopping to consider how needy it might sound, you turn back to Natasha and say, "Not just me. Please- please don’t leave Wanda like this either."

That does something.

Wanda’s head snaps toward you, eyes widening in surprise, a soft gasp leaving her lips. She wasn’t expecting that. She wasn’t expecting you to beg for her too.

And Natasha? Natasha’s amusement shifts into something else entirely. She watches you for a long moment, considering, clearly pleased by the way you’re falling apart for her, the way you’re still thinking of Wanda even when you’re this desperate.

Then, slowly, she smirks.

"What if I only let Wanda finish, hm?"

You freeze, eyes darting between them, heartbeat hammering. But then, after a moment, you swallow your pride and turn to Wanda, eyes searching hers, voice soft. "Okay. Fine. But- " You take a breath, looking back at Natasha, pleading. "Please. She didn’t mean to be a brat, she just- you know…"

Wanda stares at you, eyes flickering with something unreadable, something warm and surprised.

Natasha hums, her fingers tracing lazy patterns along your skin, her sharp green eyes flicking between you and Wanda. She looks amused, intrigued, entirely entertained by your desperation.

"You would let Wanda finish but not you?" she asks, tilting her head slightly.

You swallow hard, nodding without hesitation. "Yeah."

Wanda’s breath catches beside you.

And Natasha grins. "Look, darling," she purrs, turning her attention to Wanda, her fingers tilting your chin up so you can’t look away. "Look how precious she is toward you."

Wanda doesn’t respond right away, still staring at you like she can’t quite believe what just happened. There’s something unreadable in her gaze, something warm, something fond.

Natasha’s smirk softens just a little not enough to lose her edge, but enough to make your stomach flip. She brushes her knuckles against your cheek, her touch deceptively gentle.

"You’re so kind, baby," she murmurs, amusement laced in her voice, but there’s something deeper there too. Something indulgent.

Wanda exhales, still watching you with that unreadable look, and Natasha hums as if thinking it over.

Then, she nods.

"Well," she drawls, her thumb ghosting over your bottom lip, "being kind and such a good girl... that does deserve a reward, doesn’t it?"

Her grin sharpens, and you feel Wanda shift closer to you, anticipation crackling in the air.

“Go on then, make yourself cum." And with that Natasha just gives you and Wanda kiss a soft one, which suprises the both of you. Her hands falls on Wanda waist as she moves her closer to you.

Wanda just looks at Natasha, "it´s up to us?" And to that, the older woman just nods. Without missing a beat Wanda takes her pants and panties off, throwing it somewhere in the room. "Just lay pretty for me," she mumbles as you can´t really escape anywhere since you´re still tied to the bed. Wanda chuckles at that as she realizes, "sorry, baby."

She immedietly positions herself in between your legs, starts to move her hips and rub her pussy against yours. Wanda is very soft and gentle,  it's just the right amount of pressure and intimacy to feel amazing and ease your neediness. And since both of you are so wet, it´s very easy to move your hips. But Wanda´s nails digs into your thigh, "I said don´t move," she mumbles.

You listen, there is no way you´re risking another punishment, you moan out loud, which makes Natasha very proud, maybe you´re not so bratty after all.

Wanda moves her hips faster, she´s so close and so are you. Of course the redhead notices that, so her hands rubs Wanda´s back and she whispers, "you can let go, you did so good." Then her green eyes meets yours, "go on baby, cum for me."

And you did. No need to be told twice.

Oh those sounds, Natasha is a little sad she didn´t record this, hearing the both of her girls needy like this, letting go for her. But that´s a thing for some other time.

She helps to move Wanda back to the bed, laying her next to you, then she softly unwrap your hands from the restraints. You sigh contentedly, your body warm and pleasantly exhausted, but as Natasha starts to move away, you instinctively reach out, wrapping your arms around her waist and pulling her back to you and Wanda.

Natasha huffs out a surprised laugh, her body colliding with yours. "Oh my god, how come you´re so strong," she teases, but she doesn’t resist. Instead, she settles in, draping herself over you with a smirk. "Okay, okay, cuddles it is."

Wanda chuckles softly from the other side of you, tucking herself against your shoulder. "You’re insatiable, detka," she murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw.

You hum in satisfaction, basking in the warmth of both of them. Natasha’s fingers trace lazy patterns along your arm, while Wanda strokes a hand through your hair, her touch gentle and soothing. It’s quiet for a moment, just the sound of steady breathing and the occasional sleepy sigh filling the space.

Then, unexpectedly, Natasha presses a kiss to your temple and murmurs, "Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back."

You grumble in protest, tightening your grip, but she chuckles, prying herself free. "Just trust me, sweetheart."

Wanda shifts, watching Natasha with knowing amusement as she disappears into the bathroom. A moment later, you hear the sound of water running.

You blink up at Wanda. "What is she doing?"

Wanda smiles, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Something that means more than she’ll ever admit."

A few minutes later, Natasha returns, rolling her eyes at your confused expression. "Come on," she says, reaching for your hand. "Bath’s ready."

You hesitate, glancing toward Wanda, but she just grins, her eyes soft with understanding.

As they settle into the aftercare routine, Natasha is quiet but efficient. She doesn’t just clean you up, she draws a bath, making sure the temperature is perfect, adding something relaxing like lavender essential oil she found out in your bathroom. The steam fills the air, carrying the soft floral scent, and she tests the water with her fingers before turning to you.

"Come on, sweetheart," she murmurs, her voice softer now. She helps you in, her hands steady as she guides you down into the warmth. The heat soaks into your muscles, easing every lingering ache, and you sigh, melting into it.

But then, Natasha does something unexpected. Instead of just handing you a washcloth and letting you clean up, she rolls up the sleeves of one of her shirts and kneels by the edge of the tub. She picks up a soft cloth, dips it in the water, and starts to wash you herself. Slow, careful strokes over your arms, shoulders, and back.

At first, you don’t think much of it, just letting yourself be taken care of. But Wanda comes, sitting on the closed toilet lid, notices immediately. She watches the way Natasha moves, the usual precision of her hands softened into something far more intimate.

A slow smile spreads across Wanda’s lips, but she doesn’t say anything just yet.

Natasha doesn’t rush. She takes her time, running the warm cloth over your skin with a tenderness that feels almost out of place for her. But she doesn’t hesitate, it´s like this is as natural as breathing.

Then, when she runs the cloth over your wrists, where the restraints had been, she pauses for just a second. Her thumb brushes over the faint marks left behind, and she murmurs, almost to herself, "Don’t want you hurting."

It’s quiet. Simple. But something about it makes Wanda’s gaze soften even more.

Because she knows.

This isn’t just Natasha taking care of you, it’s her way of saying I love you.

And Wanda, recognizing the moment for what it is, "softie."

Natasha rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny it. Instead, she just smirks, flicking a little water in Wanda’s direction before turning her attention back to you.

You giggle, then you look back at Natasha, "but what about you-" she doesn´t even let you finnish.

"Just shut up and let me take care of you," she mutters, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead.

And you do. Because, for once, you don’t need to do anything but let yourself be loved.

Wanda can´t help but giggle again, which makes Natasha raise her eyebrow, "I don´t like when you two team up, so get your ass in here as well." She orders to Wanda and she takes off her shirt and joins your bath.

As the night winds down, you’re curled up between Natasha and Wanda, warm and drowsy under the covers of your bed. Natasha’s fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm, while Wanda presses soft kisses to your shoulder. The comfort of it all makes your eyelids heavy, the steady rhythm of their breathing lulling you toward sleep.

Then, your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

With a tired groan, you reach for it, blinking at the brightness of the screen. A new message from Carol.

Carol: You’re welcome for getting laid. 😉

You snort, biting your lip to stifle a laugh. Wanda shifts beside you, murmuring sleepily, "What’s so funny?"

Still grinning, you tilt the screen so they both can see. Natasha huffs, shaking her head. "I swear to God…"

Wanda just laughs, pressing her face against your shoulder. "She’s not wrong, though."

You hum, setting your phone aside and settling back into the warmth of their embrace. "Yeah, yeah. Maybe I should send her a thank-you gift."

Natasha groans, dragging you closer. "Absolutely not."

Wanda smirks. "I dunno, Nat. I think it’s only fair."

"Don’t encourage her."

You giggle, pressing a kiss to Natasha’s jaw, then Wanda’s lips, before closing your eyes with a satisfied sigh. "Fine. No thank-you gift. Just… remind me to buy her a drink next time."

Wanda hums, already half-asleep. Natasha mutters something in Russian under her breath, but you catch the way she tightens her hold around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

And as the three of you drift off, tangled together in the soft glow of the night, you think, yeah, maybe I do owe Carol a drink.

In the end... third time is truly a charm. Wow. It´s the end you guys:( thank you so much for reading this series it was so fun to write, thank you thank you! it so amazing to read your comments, im kicking my feet like a little girl at every single one<3 i hope you will like some of my future projects as well!

taglist:@arualdcg, @beholdagaywriter, @snowdrop1026, @itsdoni, @newawakening9​, @aliherreraaa, @zzswiftyzz, @lesbiantothemoonandback, @maggieromanov @milflovers4

[kooffeecup]

bridges we almost burned 𓇼 𓂂 ˚ ◌

when you see your boyfriend giving ride to the new intern frequently because he thinks it’s convenient, something snaps inside you.

genre : angst, romance

pairing : jungkook x reader

★ requested by a reader

banner made by me

picture credits to the rightful owners

You stood outside Jungkook’s house, your arms crossed as the cold evening breeze nipped at your skin. You had been waiting for him, eager to finally spend some time together after his long work hours.

But instead of his usual solo arrival, your eyes locked onto something that made your stomach twist, Jungkook’s car pulling up, and stepping out of the passenger seat was a woman.

Daun.

The new intern at his company. The one you had heard about in passing, the one he had casually mentioned before. 

You watched as she smiled, thanking him before walking toward her house just a few doors down. Jungkook remained in the driver’s seat for a second, running a hand through his hair before finally stepping out. His eyes widened slightly when he noticed you standing there.

"Hey, baby," he greeted, his tone light, but there was something in his gaze,like he knew exactly what you had just seen. You tried to swallow the lump in your throat. "You gave her a ride?"

Jungkook sighed, shutting his car door. "Yeah. She lives nearby, and I was heading this way anyway."

"Right," you nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. "And how many times have you done that?"

He hesitated for a second too long. "A few times," he admitted. "But it's not a big deal, baby. She’s just an intern, and I was just being nice."

Your stomach churned at his choice of words. "Not a big deal?" You let out a short, humorless laugh. "Jungkook, I’ve been waiting outside your house for an hour, and I found out you were out giving another woman a ride home? You never even mentioned this to me."

He stepped closer, his voice softer now. "I didn’t think it was something worth mentioning. You trust me, don’t you?"

You met his gaze, searching for something, anything to ease the ache in your chest. You did trust him. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. That didn’t mean the sight of them together, so casual, so comfortable, didn’t leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

"Did she ever ask you for these rides, or did you offer?" you asked. Jungkook’s jaw tensed. "She asked once when it was raining, and after that I just figured it was convenient since we were heading in the same direction."

Convenient. You hated that word.

"Would you be okay if I got rides from some guy at work regularly and never told you?" You tilted your head, watching his expression shift.

Jungkook exhaled sharply. "That’s not the same."

"It is the same," you cut in. "And you know it." Silence stretched between you both, heavy and suffocating.

"Are you jealous?" he finally asked, his voice gentle. Your lips pressed into a thin line. "I don’t know," you admitted. "Maybe I just don’t like feeling like I’m the last to know things about my own boyfriend."

Jungkook reached for your hands, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. You exhaled, trying to sort through the emotions tangled in your chest. Jungkook’s grip on your hands tightened slightly, his brows furrowing. "I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to hurt you. I’ll stop if it makes you uncomfortable."

You let out a slow breath, pulling your hands away. "Don’t stop just because you think I have a problem with it, Jungkook. Stop when you realize why it’s a problem."

His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something, but you didn’t give him the chance.

"And no," you continued, your voice calm but firm, "I don’t get jealous." You took a step back, the weight in your chest slowly lifting as realization settled in. "I just lost interest."

Jungkook’s expression dropped. "What?" You shook your head, turning on your heel. "I’ll see you around."

You didn’t wait for his response. You didn’t care to hear whatever excuse he’d come up with next.

Because the truth was, the moment he hesitated, the moment he justified it instead of understanding, something inside you just… faded.

And you weren’t going to beg for clarity when he should have known better.

Jungkook stood there, frozen, watching as you walked away. His heart pounded against his ribs, his mind scrambling to process what had just happened.

"Wait " He took a step forward, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t turn around. You didn’t hesitate.

For four years, you had loved him. You had trusted him. And yet, in that moment, as you walked away, it felt like you weren’t leaving in anger. You were leaving in indifference. And that scared him more than anything.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He wanted to chase after you, to explain, to make you understand that it had never meant anything. That Daun was just…nothing. But would that even matter now? Would you even believe him? Or worse… had he already lost you?

He clenched his jaw, fists tightening at his sides as he watched your figure disappear down the street.

For the first time in years, Jungkook felt a kind of fear he wasn’t sure he could fix. Jungkook stood in the same spot long after you disappeared, his breath uneven, his heart hammering in his chest. He pulled out his phone, fingers hovering over your contact. He wanted to call. To text. To say something that would pull you back. But what would he even say? That he didn’t mean to keep things from you? That it was just a ride, just convenience? Would that even change anything?

The words echoed in his head like a haunting reminder of what he had just let slip through his fingers. A sudden rush of panic surged through him. He couldn’t let it end like this. So he ran.

His feet pounded against the pavement as he chased after you, his lungs burning, his mind screaming at him to do something, anything, before it was too late.

When he finally spotted you, you were about to get into your car. "Wait!" he called out, his voice breathless. You stilled but didn’t turn around. Jungkook swallowed hard. "Don’t just walk away like this."

You sighed, gripping the car door. His chest tightened. " Let me fix it."

You turned then, finally looking at him. And what he saw in your eyes made his stomach drop, emptiness. Not anger. Not sadness. Just… nothing.

"You don’t get it, Jungkook," you said quietly. "It’s not about Daun. It’s about you. About the fact that I had to stand there and watch you hesitate. Watch you defend something that you should’ve already known was wrong."

He shook his head. "I wasn’t thinking"

"Exactly," you cut in. "You weren’t. And I’m tired of waiting for you to start."

Jungkook felt something crack inside him. "Please," he murmured, taking a step closer. "Don’t do this. Don’t leave."

You exhaled, a slow, tired breath. Jungkook’s breath was uneven as he stood in front of you, desperation clear in his eyes. "Please, don’t just walk away like this."

You sighed, rubbing your temple. Your body was exhausted not just from standing outside his house for so long, but from the weight of this entire situation.

"I’m tired, Jungkook," you said, your voice calm but firm. "I waited outside for you for over an hour. I just want to go home and rest."

He opened his mouth, but you held up a hand before he could speak.

"We can talk later. When you finally get it."

Jungkook’s jaw tensed, frustration flashing in his eyes. "Get what?"

You exhaled sharply. "Exactly."

You didn’t wait for his response. You turned, got into your car, and shut the door.

Jungkook stood there, watching as you drove away, the sinking realization setting in.

You weren’t running away. You weren’t giving him an ultimatum. You were just… done waiting for him to understand something he should’ve known all along.

—

Jungkook sat at his desk, unable to focus. His fingers hovered over his phone, rereading the last message he had sent you late last night, one you never replied to.

His office felt colder today, quieter, even with the usual background noise of employees moving around. But all he could think about was you.

The door suddenly knocked, and before he could answer, it opened.

Daun.

"Good morning, sir," she greeted with a small smile. "I brought the reports you asked for."

Jungkook barely glanced up, his mind elsewhere. "Leave them on the desk."

She hesitated for a second before placing the files down. "Um… I just wanted to say thank you again for the rides. It really helped me out."

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. The rides. The same ones that led to the situation he was in now.

"Yeah," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "Don’t worry about it."

She shifted slightly. "I hope your girlfriend wasn’t too upset about yesterday…"

Jungkook’s eyes snapped up to her, sharp and unreadable. "That’s none of your concern."

Daun’s smile faltered. "Oh right. Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep."

Jungkook exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "It’s fine. Just, just go." She nodded quickly and left, the door clicking shut behind her.

Jungkook leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He hated the way things felt right now, the way he didn’t even know if he’d see you today, if you’d even want to talk.

His phone buzzed suddenly, and his heart jumped. But when he looked at the screen, it wasn’t your name. It was a meeting reminder. Jungkook exhaled sharply, shoving his phone into his pocket.

You said you’d talk when he finally got it. And the truth was he did now. But was it too late?

—

Jungkook sat in his car, gripping the steering wheel, his mind heavy with thoughts of you. The whole day had been suffocating, meetings he couldn’t focus on, calls he ignored, and the weight of your absence pressing on his chest. He checked his phone for the hundredth time. Still nothing from you.

A knock on his window pulled him from his thoughts. He turned his head and saw Daun standing outside, smiling.

He rolled down the window, his expression unreadable. "What?"

Daun blinked at his cold tone but quickly recovered. "Oh, I was just wondering if I could get a ride home again."

Jungkook exhaled slowly, gripping the wheel tighter. This, this was the moment. The moment he could make the right choice. He didn’t hesitate this time.

"No."

Daun’s smile faltered. "Oh… are you heading somewhere else?"

"No," Jungkook said flatly. "I just don’t want to." Her face fell slightly, and she shifted awkwardly. "Did… something happen?"

Jungkook let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, Daun. Something did happen. And I should’ve realized it sooner."

Daun swallowed, sensing the shift. "I didn’t mean to cause any trouble between you and your girlfriend"

"You didn’t," Jungkook cut in, his voice firm. "I did." For the first time, he saw it clearly. You weren’t upset about the rides. You were upset that he never even considered how it would look. How it would feel. He had been blind, careless. And now, he might have lost you for it.

Jungkook sighed, rolling the window up without another word. Then, without sparing Daun another glance, he drove off. There was only one place he needed to be right now. With you.

Jungkook drove with one hand on the wheel, the other gripping his phone, debating whether to call you. But he knew words over the phone wouldn’t be enough. He needed to see you.

When he reached your apartment, he hesitated for only a second before stepping out of his car. His heart pounded as he rang your doorbell.

Seconds felt like hours. Then, finally, the door opened. You stood there, looking exhausted, your arms crossed as you leaned against the frame. Your expression was unreadable. "What do you want, Jungkook?"

He took a deep breath. "To talk. Properly this time."

You sighed, rubbing your temple. "I told you, I’d talk when you finally get it."

Jungkook nodded. "And I do now." His voice was quieter this time, more certain. "You were right."

You raised a brow, waiting. He exhaled sharply. "It was never about the rides. It was about me not realizing how it looked. How it felt. How I should’ve never made you feel like you had to stand outside waiting for me, watching me drop off another woman."

Your fingers tightened slightly against your arms, but you didn’t say anything.

Jungkook stepped closer. "I should’ve understood the second I saw your face last night. And I hate that it took you walking away for me to get it." His voice dropped. "But I do now. And I’m sorry."

You studied him for a long moment. "So what now?"

"I stopped giving her rides," Jungkook said instantly. "Not because you told me to. But because I finally understood why I should have stopped in the first place."

Your gaze softened just a little, but you didn’t let him off that easily. "And what if I never said anything? Would you have realized it?"

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, guilt flashing in his eyes. "Maybe not right away," he admitted. "But that’s the problem, isn’t it? That I was too blind to see it on my own." He swallowed hard. "But I see it now, and I swear, I’ll never make you feel that way again."

Silence filled the space between you. Then, finally, you let out a slow breath. "You really get it now?" Jungkook nodded. "Yeah. And I don’t want to lose you over my own stupidity."

You stared at him for a moment longer before finally stepping aside. "Come inside."

Jungkook didn’t hesitate. He stepped in, knowing this wasn’t an instant fix but it was a start. And this time, he wouldn’t take it for granted.

Things weren’t instantly perfect, but there was progress. Jungkook had been more mindful, more present. He made sure to communicate, to show you not just with words but through his actions that he truly understood.

But there was still a lingering tension, a gap that hadn’t fully closed.

That evening, you sat on the couch scrolling through your phone when the doorbell rang. You sighed, standing up to answer it. When you opened the door, Jungkook stood there, holding a small bag in one hand and a guilty smile on his face.

"I know you’ve been tired lately," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, I brought dinner. Your favorite."

Your brows raised slightly. "You brought food?" He nodded. "And I swear I didn’t just order from anywhere I went all the way to that one place across town because I know you like it best from there."

You studied him for a second before stepping aside. "Come in."

Jungkook entered, placing the bag on the table. He glanced at you, hesitant. "How have you been?"

You sat down, opening the takeout containers. "Fine." It was a simple answer, but he could tell there was more beneath it. Jungkook sat across from you, watching as you took a bite. When you didn’t say anything else, he finally spoke.

"I know things still don’t feel the same," he admitted. "And I don’t expect one apology to fix everything. But I just want to know is there still a chance for us?"

You put your chopsticks down, looking at him seriously. "It’s not about whether there’s a chance, Jungkook. It’s about whether you’ll keep understanding even when I don’t have to explain things to you."

He nodded immediately. "I will." You sighed, leaning back slightly. "Then we’ll see." Jungkook didn’t push for more. He simply nodded, accepting that trust wasn’t rebuilt overnight.

But as he sat there, watching you eat, sharing quiet conversation, he felt something he hadn’t in days hope.

And he was willing to do whatever it took to make things right.

Jungkook had been consistent. He didn’t just say he understood he showed it. He made sure to be more present, to check in with you without making it feel forced. He was more aware of the little things, more careful with his actions, and most importantly, he didn’t let you feel like you had to spell things out for him.

You were at your apartment when your phone buzzed. Jungkook.

Jungkook: Can you come outside?

You frowned slightly but grabbed your jacket and stepped out. When you reached the parking lot, you found Jungkook leaning against his car, his hands tucked into his pockets.

"You’re acting mysterious," you said, eyeing him. "What’s going on?"

Jungkook pushed off the car, opening the passenger door. "Get in. I want to show you something."

You hesitated for a second before sighing and slipping into the car. He didn’t say much as he drove, but his hand reached for yours, squeezing it gently. It was the first time in days that he had done something so natural, without hesitation.

After about fifteen minutes, he pulled into a small, quiet spot overlooking the city skyline. The view was breathtaking, the soft glow of the city lights stretching far into the distance. You turned to him. "Why did you bring me here?"

Jungkook exhaled, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. "Because I’ve been thinking a lot about us. About how close I was to losing you." He turned to look at you, eyes serious. "And I don’t want to be that guy who just assumes things are fine now. I don’t want you to just settle for us being okay. I want you to feel secure. To know that I see you, Y/N."

Your chest tightened. "Jungkook "

"I love you," he said, his voice unwavering. "And I never want to make you feel like you have to question that again." The weight of his words hung in the air. You looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the sincerity in his eyes.

For the first time in weeks, you let out a small, genuine smile. "I love you too," you admitted softly.

Jungkook exhaled a breath. Slowly, he reached for your hand again, lacing his fingers through yours. This time, you didn’t pull away. And in that quiet moment, with only the city lights as witnesses, you both knew this was the beginning of something stronger.

[alwritey-aphrodite]

hii ! can i request this prompt « my ex doesn't understand it's over, so I tell them I've already got someone new » with sirius or remus ? tysmmm

I went with Sirius, I hope you enjoy!!

Sirius is sitting at the table, peeling an orange and methodically removing any of the “stringy bits”, as you call them, so you won’t have to go back and do it yourself and ruin your freshly painted nails, courtesy of days and days of bugging on Sirius’ end. You’re washing dishes, and clearing your throat over and over like you have something to say.

“Just spit it out already,” Sirius gripes, still cleaning off the orange, after you clear your throat only to stay silent for what feels like the millionth time.

“I have a favor to ask,” you say, somewhat uncomfortably, drying your hands on the dish towel before turning to face him, leaning your hip against the counter as if you need the support.

“Shoot,” he replies, not bothering to look up at you for more than a glance, determined to get the orange spotless.

“It’s kinda a lot,” you cross your arms around your middle, and from your tone Sirius knows you’re practically crawling in your skin, so he finally puts down the orange and gives you his full attention.

“I’d do anything for you, you know that.” He tells you, voice dripping in sincerity, and his heart practically glows when you smile at him in response, a soft, shy thing as if he hasn’t seen you dancing on tables and stumbling home and lounging around in your rattiest, comfiest pajamas for a junk food and movie marathon. Sirius is your best friend, and even though you know you can come to him with anything, the fact that he’s your best friend makes your favor slightly more than a little awkward.

“Can you take me out on a fake date on Friday?” You ask, jumping in without providing any sort of context so you don’t chicken out.

“Darling, I’d love to, but what the fuck does that mean?”

Pushing off the counter, you sigh, all big and dramatic as you make your way over to where Sirius is sitting at your kitchen table and throw yourself into the chair next to him.

“So, you know Henry, right?” Sirius’s nod is accompanied by a rather exaggerated eye roll, but you plow ahead anyway, “Well, I saw him when I went out for a walk yesterday, and it seemed like he didn’t really understand the fact that we’re broken up for real.”

“What do you mean?” Sirius asks, suddenly more alert than he was moments before.

“Nothing, really,” you attempt to quell his fears, knowing exactly where his mind went the second the words left your mouth, “just that he kept asking me to go out and do things together that seemed pretty couple-y, and he’s nice enough, but I broke up with him for a reason.”

Pausing in your story to take a breath, you see Sirius nodding along, but can tell he’s not really sure where the whole fake date situation comes into play. The fact that he’s even listening, even entertaining this bizarre idea of yours, makes your heart seize up, just a little, with affection and all sorts of things better left unmentioned and unnamed. 

“I just really wanted to let him down easily, so I said I couldn’t because I have a boyfriend, and he asked who and I could have made up a name but I was just thinking about you, because I had just bought the stuff for that salad you told me about, so I said you.” 

Unsure of what to say, Sirius just tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, and you plow on ahead.

“And I said we had plans on Friday and he asked where so I said that Italian place you like and apparently he works there.”

‘Well, I could have told you that,” Sirius says, his first contribution to the conversation since you started your little rant.

“I’ll buy you dinner and it doesn’t have to be anything too weird, we’ll just walk in holding hands and maybe a kiss on the cheek and we’ll just look like we’re in love if he happens to walk past us,” you’re practically pleading now, taking Sirius’ unusual silence for proof that this is one favor that’s too much, too awkward. 

“Please, I’m not that awful,” he slides the plate with the orange, now split in half, over to you, “I’ll pick you up at six and pay for your meal because I’m a gentleman.”

“Thank you, really, I owe you one,” you say, picking up your half of the orange as Sirius does the same.

“Hell yeah you do,” he responds, as if going out to dinner, out on a date, with you is some big chore he has to do, and not something he’s been thinking about for months now.

[harrywavycurly]

I still think about how soft Harry turned for his sunshine girl and I imagine all the random voice notes he’d send her during the day when he can’t call her or maybe the voicemails he’d leave and how sweet his little rants would be😩🥹

Hiii babes!! I miss my little lovey dovey HWC Harry so I’m gonna give you some examples of his rant-ish voicemails and voice notes to his sunshine girl! I hope you enjoy!!💖

Find all things Handle With Care here✨

Tag List: @gmikaelson @ell0ra-br3kk3r @tulips4harry @mellamolayla @mads3502 @empathyroad @idk199o @sassamanda77 @maudie-duan @macy-tpwk @namoreno @coralferrio1 @stylesftcher @mema10 @cherryloveshs @umadirectioner @styleswithaseaview @sunflower-tia @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @triski73

Summary: These are some voice notes and voicemails your lovely ex frat daddy boyfriend Harry sends you during the week✨

Monday’s Voice Note: “Good morning sunshine it’s…uhh shit…oh sorry don’t be mad…ah okay it’s seven fifteen in the morning and I’m about to go for a run and then come see you before you go to work. I hope you slept good? How did that weird sleepy tea taste? Did it work?…m’not totally sure all those things are actually good for you but if they help then I’m all for it because my sunshine girl needs her full eight hours or she’s a bit prickly…but I don’t mind when you’re a little grumpy..makes you more cuddly and we both know how I feel about cuddling so-oh bloody hell why is all my coffee gone? m’gonna kill that Irish fuck-I mean I love you baby I’ll see you in a bit…I wonder if you’re dreaming about me right now? Hmmm…you’ll have to tell me what you dreamt about when I see you. Love you!”

Tuesday’s voicemail: “Hey baby I’m just seeing if you’re free for dinner tonight? I forgot you had a meeting during lunch today so just call me back whenever you can…I miss you…oh and I love you…yeah okay that’s it. Love you…I already said that didn’t I? Oh well you can hear it again…I love you…bye sunshine.”

Wednesday’s voicemail: “I am so sorry I couldn’t walk you to work this morning I forgot to set an alarm and when I woke up I saw all your missed calls and…god I’m-shit I’m so late…I’m sorry sweetheart but I hope you have a good day and I’m going to come see you for lunch! I’ll bring your favorite…I love you! I’ll see you soon! Make sure to save a few smiles for me okay? Don’t give them all away…love you.”

Thursday’s Voice Note: “Goodnight my sunshine girl…thank you for letting me pick the movie tonight even though it’s technically your night…I love you and I can’t wait until you finally stop telling me no when I ask you to move in because we both know you want to live with me…or maybe it’s that we both know I really really hate not being able to wake up next to you everyday..two floors of separation is killing me baby and I know one day soon…you’ll just stop fighting it and just accept the fact we are going to be together forever so might as well start forever as soon as we can…and before you say anything yes I stole parts of that from when Harry met Sally but it’s the truth…remember when you said you’d be okay with the wife thing after our first kiss? Well that was almost a year ago…but anyway…I love you…a lot…actually it’s more than just a lot but there’s not a word to describe the amount so…a lot will just have to do for now…I know you’re just now getting out of your bath and putting on all your lotions and potions that make you all soft and uhg…I miss you…fuck this…ohh sorry baby…let me just grab my sweatshirt and—where are my socks? Oh okay here they are…I’ll be there in three minutes and forty five seconds…prepare for a sleepover because I miss you too much. I love you! Don’t fall asleep before I get there!”

Friday’s Voice Note: “Hey sweetheart did you know Niall has a key to your apartment? I didn’t until he walked in while I was in the living room and he scared the shi-crap out of me…when did he get a key? Did he steal it from you?…oh and I’m making pizza for dinner does that sound good? I hope you’re having a good day at work…Miss you and love you like crazy.”

Saturday’s Voicemail: “Hey baby…m’a little drunk but s’all Niall’s fault and god I love you. I’m gonna marry you when you finally let me. But you know that yeah? Yeah…yeah you know that…god hallways are so long and…and ugly? Why are the hallways so hideous? M’gonna come cuddle you is that okay? If it’s not just…kick me off the bed okay? Yeah..yeah I’ll see you soon sunshine��my sunshine..you smell like flowers and sunshine because you’re my sunshine girl…that I love so…so much a lot…m’gonna go now okay? M’at the door! Love you!”

Sunday’s Voice Note: “Baby where are you? You just left me in bed with a bottle of water and some aspirin with a note on my forehead saying…br…feast? That’s…that’s not a real word?…wait oh it says…breakfast…did you go get breakfast? God I’m so lucky that you’re my…my everything…you’re too good to me. I’m gonna go shower because I smell like the floor of a shitty bar…but I love you and miss your cute face so hurry back? Please?”

[norrisradio]

BETTER TOGETHER ‪‪

❤︎‬ PAIRING: alex albon x reader | ‪‪❤︎‬ WC: 4.0K ‪‪ ❤︎‬ GENRE: fluff with a little bit of angst (nothing sad I SWEAR)‪‪ ❤︎‬ INCOMING RADIO: buzzer beater for alex's birthday! | a part of my new ONLY EXCEPTION series‪‪ ❤︎‬ RECOMMENDED LISTENING: only exception, paramore ● better together, jack johnson ● home, edward sharpe & the magnetic zeroes ● gravity, john mayer ● peach, kevin abstract

‪‪❤︎‬ SUMMARY: If this is madness—if you are the exception to every rule—then maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t mind it at all.

Alex doesn’t stay up late.

His body is a finely tuned machine, and sleep is the fuel it runs on—eight, nine hours if he’s lucky. Rest, recovery—they’re sacred to him, like the quiet before dawn. But then there’s you, nestled into the corner of the couch, the soft glow from the city lights casting shadows on your face. Your eyes are alight with a thought you can’t quite shake, a question that nags at you with quiet insistence.

“And then I started thinking,” you begin, your voice threaded with that animated energy that always seems to bubble up when you're on the cusp of an epiphany. “What if Federer never picked up a racket? Would he have been great at something else, or was he only ever meant for tennis?”

Alex’s head tilts slightly, a brow quirked, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He can see the wheels turning in your head, the way your fingers absentmindedly twirl a strand of your hair as you wait for him to respond. He loves this—your strange, whimsical questions that don’t need answers, but instead are invitations to explore the edges of whatever thought just ran through your mind.

He knows what he should do. He should remind you that it’s well past midnight, that he has to be up in a few short hours to train. He should tell you that sleep is more important than philosophical musings. But instead, he feels himself leaning into the cushions, his arm stretching lazily along the backrest, already too comfortable to move. He has to admit, he’s captivated by you, by the way you think, how you see the world in a way he’s never quite been able to.

“You think people only have one thing they’re meant for?” he asks, his voice a mix of curiosity and something else—something lazy, something that wants to stay in the moment with you. His fingers absentmindedly tap against the edge of the couch, but he’s not really paying attention to them.

You don’t answer immediately, your lips pressing together in thought. He watches as the shadow of the streetlight outside dances across your face, highlighting the sharpness in your eyes, the way your eyebrows furrow as you deliberate. “I don’t know,” you reply after a moment, eyes finally meeting his, your expression steady and searching. “Do you?”

Alex chuckles, more to himself than anything. He can’t help it. Do you think Federer could’ve been a baker instead of a tennis champion? 

“Maybe,” he murmurs, pretending to consider it with the kind of drama that would make any serious philosopher cringe. “But, like... what if he was meant to bake croissants? Imagine that. Best in the world at croissants.”

You laugh, that sharp, sudden burst of sound that’s contagious enough to make him smile, too. “Now that I’d pay to see.”

The hours slip by unnoticed as the clock ticks past one, past two. He’s sure he’s feeling the pull of exhaustion, but somehow it seems to fade into the background as your voice continues to fill the space between you. He fights back a yawn, but you catch it anyway, your lips curling into a soft, teasing smile.

“Tired?” you ask, your voice a little gentler now, almost like a whisper, as though you're suddenly aware of how late it’s getting.

He shakes his head, but his eyes betray him—his lids heavy, the weight of the day finally sinking in. He leans in, slow and deliberate, pressing a kiss against your forehead, a soft promise that he’ll stay in this moment for as long as you need him to. His lips linger there for a moment, warm against your skin.

"Keep talking," he murmurs against your hair, his voice low and content, like he's found a corner of peace in the middle of a busy world.

And you do.

Alex doesn’t get jealous.

Jealousy has never been a part of Alex’s vocabulary. It’s a concept that feels foreign to him—something reserved for those who are unsure of their place, unsure of what they have. Love, to him, has always been something expansive, something that grows when shared freely, not hoarded. There’s no need to stake a claim, to guard it like a precious thing. It’s always been enough to know that it exists, that it flows easily between people who trust each other.

But then he sees you, across the room, your laughter ringing out in the crowded space. It’s warm and light, the kind of laughter that makes the world feel a little less heavy. Lando has said something funny, and you tilt your head back, eyes gleaming with that effortless joy that’s always drawn people to you.

There’s something about the way you glow in that moment, the way the room shifts around you as though it’s orbiting your presence, that unsettles something inside him. He doesn’t recognize the feeling right away. It’s a tightness in his chest, a fluttering he can't quite name. It’s subtle at first, but the longer he watches, the more the feeling takes root—something akin to possessiveness. The kind of thing he’s never felt before. A sudden, uninvited sting that makes his stomach drop.

He knows he has no reason to feel this way. There’s nothing to be threatened by. But as he stands there, a foot away from the crowd, the absurdity of it settles in his chest like a weight. He’s never been this kind of person. Why now? Why this?

The thought flits through his mind, but he pushes it aside quickly. It’s nothing. Just a fleeting moment, a trivial pang. He’s being irrational, and he knows it.

But still, the feeling persists, gnawing at him. Without realizing it, his feet are moving toward you, slow but steady, like he’s being pulled by some invisible force. His gaze doesn’t leave you as he approaches, watching you laugh again, this time at something else—another harmless joke from Carlos this time, someone he has no reason to be jealous of. Still, it doesn’t feel harmless.

As he nears, he slides his arm around your waist, pulling you gently into his side. The move is casual, almost instinctive, but to him, it feels like a reminder—his presence, a quiet claim. The subtle warmth of your body against his calms him, but it doesn’t quiet the strange knot in his chest. His heartbeat quickens as he leans in, pressing his lips to your temple in a soft, almost hesitant kiss, as if to erase the thought that’s been lingering too long.

You turn to him, the corner of your lips lifting in a playful smirk as your brow arches.

“Something wrong?” you ask, eyes dancing with the amusement you always carry when you know he’s thinking too much.

Alex doesn’t answer right away, instead looking at you, feeling the softness of your body against his, the way the tension in his chest slowly begins to ease. He wants to tell you that nothing is wrong, that it’s nothing, but the words get caught in his throat. He can’t quite explain the tightness he felt watching you, the way it wrapped itself around his ribs like a dark cloud. It feels silly now, standing here with you, the feeling dissipating in the light of your gaze.

“Just missed you,” he says, his voice low, a little more vulnerable than he intended. The words are simple, but they carry a weight he hadn't anticipated. He hadn’t meant for it to sound so much like an apology.

It’s not a lie. Not entirely. 

His heart slows as he feels your hand brush against his arm. He doesn’t need to justify the strange surge of possessiveness, but the words come out anyway, a quiet confession in a sea of unspoken things. It wasn’t about him not trusting you—it was about something inside him, a crack in his carefully constructed composure that opened for just a moment. Something he didn’t even know he needed to confront until now.

Your gaze softens, and you smile at him, a knowing expression that makes his chest tighten in a way he can’t quite explain. It’s like you understand the quiet fight he’s had with himself, the things he’s been trying to untangle.

You don’t say anything more, and for a moment, that’s enough. His arm around your waist feels natural again, and the tension slips away, leaving only the sound of your voices and the low hum of the crowd around you. 

Alex realizes, then, that some things don't need to be justified. 

And maybe, just maybe, that’s okay.

Alex doesn’t break his pre-race routine.

Superstition is just logic in disguise. Rituals. Routines. They’re the backbone of everything Alex does. His pre-race routine is meticulous, each step honed to perfection over years of trial and error. It’s superstition, yes, but more than that—it’s a foundation. It’s not just superstition. It’s a foundation, one built from trial and error, trust in repetition, the reassurance that in a world of chaos, some things remain unchanged. 

But in the dying light of the late afternoon, in the quiet of the hotel room, alone with his thoughts, something new is creeping in. It isn’t unwelcome, but it feels foreign, like a shadow that stretches a little longer than it should.

You’re there, barefoot on the cool floor, moving like you don’t quite belong in the stillness of his space. The rustle of your movements barely breaks the silence, but to him, it’s louder than the hum of the city outside. Your presence is soft, gentle, but somehow, it pulls at the edges of his focus. It shifts something inside him—this rhythm he’s relied on for so long, suddenly disrupted.

He can feel your gaze before you even touch him, a heat that builds between you in the quiet, unspoken. You reach for him, just the simple press of your hand against his chest, a reminder of something warm and steady. His body tenses at first, a reflex, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he lets himself sink into the touch, feels the way your palm molds against him. 

“Good luck,” you murmur, voice thick with sleep, and there’s a teasing note to it, like you’re not sure if you’re serious or just making light of the situation. “Don’t crash.”

It’s just a joke. A lighthearted jab at the nerves he can’t escape. But it lands differently now. 

Alex rolls his eyes, half-amused, half-ashamed of the way his chest tightens at your proximity. The tension in his shoulders loosens just a fraction, but he doesn’t step back. Instead, he leans in, his lips brushing your cheek in the most casual of gestures.

He doesn’t pull away right away. His arms slide around your middle, drawing you closer, your body fitting against his with an ease that makes him feel like he’s always known this rhythm. He holds you, just for a second longer than usual, something in the way his breath catches betraying the stillness of his exterior. 

And for the first time, the ritual feels just a little bit different. Not worse. Just... more. More than he expected. More than he knew he could need.

Now, this is part of the foundation. He won’t leave—he can’t leave—until you say something. Until you touch him again. Until you make some offhand comment that calms the nervous hum beneath his skin. 

Alex doesn’t let people see him lose.

Disappointment is a quiet thing. It never yells or demands attention; it sits in the corners, folding itself into the spaces between breaths, hiding beneath the weight of expectation. He’s trained himself to swallow it down, to press it into the depths of his chest where it won’t make a sound. A bad day is just that—a day. It does not own him. He doesn’t let it.

But the weight of it lingers a little longer today. He feels it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his chest constricts with every shallow breath, each one just a little more labored than the last. When he steps into the driver's room, it’s like the air shifts around him—colder, heavier. Normally, the buzz of the team, the hum of equipment being packed up, fills the silence. 

But not today. 

Today, it’s just you—waiting in the stillness, sitting cross-legged on the couch, your presence the only thing that pulls him in. There’s no expectation, no questions waiting to be asked, nothing but the quiet comfort of you being there.

And in that silence, he doesn’t have to wear a mask. He doesn’t have to pretend that the sting of defeat doesn’t hurt, that the weight of letting down so many people doesn’t sit heavy in his bones. He doesn’t have to smooth over the frustration that flares up inside him, wanting to lash out but knowing it would only hurt more. You’re there, and for once, he allows himself to feel it—the quiet ache that’s been building since the race ended.

He exhales deeply, the sound escaping like a slow leak, and finally sinks into the seat beside you. His body feels like it’s made of lead, the weariness pulling him down into the cushions. His head tilts back against the upholstery, and he stares at the ceiling, his gaze unfocused. The lines and cracks of the tiles above blur, just a soft landscape of thoughts he doesn’t want to organize yet.

“You okay?” Your voice is gentle, a thread of concern woven through it, but there’s no pressure. No demand for answers. You let the silence stretch, giving him space to find his words.

He smiles faintly, though it’s a thin thing, barely a curve of his lips. “I’ve been better.” It’s a truth, but it’s not the whole truth. The whole truth would be too much. The whole truth would crack something open he’s not ready to share.

Silence again. 

You don’t rush in to fill it. Instead, your hand slides over his, soft and steady, pulling him from the noise that’s circling in his mind. Your fingers lace with his, a simple connection that speaks volumes. It’s grounding in a way nothing else can be—just the quiet pressure of your touch, the warmth of it curling into the edges of him, easing the sharpness of his frustration.

He turns his palm up, feeling the rough calluses of his skin brush against the softness of yours. It’s a small thing, but the way his fingers curl against yours is almost an instinct—something necessary, something he can’t avoid, even if he wanted to.

“You’re allowed to be upset, you know.” Your words are soft, like they’re meant to ease the weight rather than fix it, and for a moment, the heaviness in his chest lightens just enough to let him breathe a little easier.

“I know,” he says, his voice quieter now, the rasp of it a reflection of the quiet he’s been holding inside. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t break the connection between you. Instead, he stays there, allowing himself the simple comfort of this moment—the warmth of your hand in his, the silence that wraps around you both, and the fact that, for now, there’s no need to be anything other than exactly what he is in this moment.

He doesn’t have to be strong, doesn’t have to hide the disappointment from you. 

Not here.

Not now. 

In the space between your fingers, he finds something soft enough to hold on to, something he hasn’t allowed himself in a long time.

Alex doesn’t lose his cool.

He’s easygoing, the kind of man who wears patience like a second skin. He’s made a career out of controlling the narrative—on the track, in interviews, even in the most frustrating of moments. He smooths over the rough edges with a joke, a lopsided smile, a charm that’s second nature. But then there’s you—your name trending on Twitter, and the words flashing across the screen: Alex and His Beau: Is it over?

The post is incendiary, speculative, designed to tear apart something people don’t understand. And the worst part? It’s gaining traction. He’s used to the noise, the mindless chatter of fans and critics alike, but this? This is different. His thumb slides over his phone screen as the same words echo in his mind, What’s going on with Alex and his lover? Something’s not right. The words are poisonous, aimed right at you. 

You’re sitting on the couch, eyes glued to your screen, your face an unreadable mask as you scroll through the flood of comments and replies. The room feels too small suddenly, the air too heavy. 

Alex sees it before you even speak, the tightness in your jaw, the flicker of disbelief in your eyes as you scroll, then stop, then scroll again. He doesn’t need to ask. He can feel it. The waves of frustration and hurt you’re trying to hold back.

"Who the hell are these people?" you mutter, a half-laugh, but there's no amusement in it. "And how do they know so much about me when they've never even met me?"

Alex knows this about you—how you handle the chaos, how you confront the worst of it with a joke and a broken smile. He watches your fingers brush over your phone, reading the comments, the well-wishes, the questions, all of it. You look up at him for a brief second, your gaze soft but knowing.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you murmur, and for a second, the tension in his chest unfurls. “We don’t owe anyone an explanation.”

But Alex is not as forgiving as you. 

The venom in those tweets makes his blood run hot. He can feel it in the pit of his stomach, the desire to fire back with every insult, every single thing he’s dying to say. To rip into the faceless cowards who dare to speak about you like they know anything at all. But Alex doesn’t lose his cool. He never does.

Not on the outside, at least.

Instead, he snatches his phone from his pocket, fingers hovering over the keyboard, muscles tense. He’s seen this kind of thing before, heard rumors that have no truth, no foundation. But he can’t help it—his mind races, his heart quickens, and the urge to respond surges like an electric current. He wants to tell the world exactly who you are to him, how these rumors are nothing more than noise. He wants to protect you, to shield you from this distortion of reality. His thumb hovers over his phone screen, ready to type something sharp, something cutting, something to silence the accusations. A few taps, a snarky message sent into the void of Twitter: 

Some people really should stick to things they understand. idk, silence is a great option. 

He hits send before thinking twice.

Then, he stands there, watching you, heart a little tighter than usual. Your lips twitch at the corners, and you roll your eyes, even as you try to stifle a smile. He knows he shouldn't have responded, but damn it, you didn’t deserve any of that, not even for a second.

“Alex…” you start, but you don’t finish. You don’t have to. You already know that whatever else might happen, he’s got your back.

He lets out a breath, shaking his head. “What? You think I’d let them talk shit about you and just sit back? They’ve got the wrong idea, babe. I’ll fight them if it comes to that.”

It’s not a boast. It’s a fact.

You look at him then, and in your gaze, there’s this soft, unexpected vulnerability—a gratitude that you don’t have to say a word to communicate. 

Alex doesn’t lose his cool. 

But for you? He would tear down the whole damn world.

Alex doesn’t make big gestures.

For Alex, love has always been quiet. It’s never been about grand declarations or showy displays. There’s no need for flash mobs or extravagant gestures when something is already understood, already deeply rooted in the everyday. Love, to him, is in the quiet moments—the way you both sip coffee together without needing to speak, the way his hand naturally finds yours when the world feels too loud. He believes in something steadier, more enduring than that. But then there’s you, and suddenly, the rules don’t apply.

He’s standing in line at the airport, the hum of voices around him, the distant chatter of announcements, and he’s holding his boarding pass in his hand, wondering if this makes sense. Less than 24 hours. An absurd turnaround. He only has 48 hours before he needs to be in Shanghai. 

He could have waited. He could have let this trip pass by, just like all the others. But then, there’s you, and the thought of not seeing you for even a moment longer than necessary gnaws at him. So, he’s here, in the airport, wondering if this makes any sense at all.

The line moves forward, but he stays where he is, watching people bustle around him, their minds already halfway across the world. He can feel the exhaustion creeping in—the hours of travel, the missed sleep—but the thought of your face and the way you laugh pushes him forward. It doesn’t matter that he’ll barely have time to sleep before his next flight. It doesn’t matter that it’s ridiculous to rush across the globe for a few hours with you. It doesn’t matter that the world might think he’s out of his mind.

He could have waited. He could have let the distance stretch just a little longer. But the idea of being apart from you for even a few hours is suddenly unbearable.

It’s quiet, too quiet, in the hallway of your shared apartment building. He knocks, his hand lingering on the wood as if it’s too soon, too sudden. But then the door opens, and there you are, blinking at him in confusion, your hair tousled, your eyes still heavy with sleep.

He watches your expression shift—bewilderment to surprise to something else, something soft that tugs at the corners of his heart. The grin that spreads across his face is almost involuntary, and he can’t help the breath of laughter that slips past his lips. “I missed you, baby,” he says, his voice a little hoarse from the early hours, but there’s no mistaking the amusement that laces it.

“You’re insane,” you laugh, your voice light and incredulous, your disbelief apparent, but there's something about the way you say it that tells him you're not mad. Just...surprised. Maybe a little impressed.

Alex just shrugs, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, trying to keep up the cool façade. “Maybe.”

You stand there for a moment longer, eyes still narrowing at him, like you’re waiting for him to crack. And then—just like that—you’re on him, your arms flying around his neck, your lips finding his cheek in a flurry of kisses. They’re warm and a little messy, the kind that can only come from someone who’s missed him as much as he’s missed you. His breath catches, and for a moment, the world feels like it’s been dialed down to a whisper. 

“If this is insanity,” Alex murmurs between your kisses, “I think I’m okay with it.”

You pull away just enough to smile at him, the kind of smile that tugs at something deep in his chest. He watches your lips, the way they curl up, the way your eyes light up with amusement. “Well, you’re certainly out of your mind,” you tease, tapping a finger against his nose, and it’s so ridiculously normal, so familiar, that the knot in his chest unravels completely.

“I can live with that,” Alex says, his grin turning softer, more real. He’s about to say something else when you press another quick kiss to his lips, catching him off guard in the best possible way.

He pulls you closer, arms wrapping around you as he spins you, a laugh bubbling up between you both, the sound a little too loud for the quiet hallway. It feels ridiculous, like something out of a rom-com he’d never admit to watching, but in this moment, he doesn’t care. The world feels right. The ridiculousness of his actions are washed away in the joy of having you close.

If this is madness—if you are the exception to every rule—then maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t mind it at all.

[atlabeth]

bend an ear

pairing: peter parker x fem reader

summary: your boyfriend doesn't listen to you. good thing your friendly neighborhood spider-man does.

a/n: there's just something about him idk. andrew garfield spidey bc of course! look at him! this came from me playing the spider-man game after it went on sale and yearning for peter parker (will prob have to rewatch the movies bc of this) anyways hope you like it

wc: 3.6k

warning(s): reader's bf is shitty -- they argue for a while and he lowkey slut shames her. but this is basically all fluff otherwise bc childhood best friends to lovers babby!!! real yearning loverboy hours!!!

Peter just wants to go home. 

It’s been… a day. He got his ass kicked by an English test (he doesn’t have time to do the readings when he’s fighting crime), got his ass kicked by Flash Thompson (it’s not like he can fight back with his super strength and pulverize his ribs), and has spent every second since his final class ended fighting petty crimes around the city. 

Stopping ATM thefts and minor muggings feels good, sure, but on days like these, it doesn’t really make up for failing intro literature classes and getting absolutely zero sleep. He’s just thankful May is still letting him live with her while he studies at ESU—if he had to do all of this in addition to trying to make his rent? He doesn’t really want to think about it. 

So he swung his way to the roof of some random building, and he’s taking a break. Sue him, but Peter thinks he deserves it. What’s the point of living in a city like New York if you can’t have a second to yourself every once in a while? 

He’ll go home soon. Grab a bodega sandwich, maybe stop another crime, and then get home for some much needed rest. But for now, he’s just going to sit on this rooftop and relax for a second. Even Spider-man needs some peace and— 

“Babe—” 

“Why are you following me?”

Peter winces as the door slams open, an argument following close after as a girl storms out onto the roof followed by a guy speeding to keep up with her. His first instinct is to swing away as soon as possible, but for some reason, he stays. 

“Because I want to talk!”

“God, do you even hear yourself?” 

“You keep talking over me, so I really—” 

“You don’t get to babe me right now!” 

As if his day hadn’t been bad enough, now he’s accidentally made himself privy to some couple’s dispute. He’s about to web himself out of this third wheeling nightmare when the girl turns around with a groan, revealing her face, and Peter realizes who it is. 

It’s you.

This is your apartment complex. Peter came here without even realizing it, but can he really be surprised? Your name is synonymous with peace in his brain. Comes with the territory of being friends for so long—it still calms him, even when you’re being the opposite of peaceful. 

“I don’t get why you’re acting like this!” the guy exclaims, frustration clear in his voice. 

Of course. Why wouldn’t your shitty boyfriend be here too? The only reason you live here is because you scored this place together; said he didn’t want you living on campus anymore. Ethan Frey might be the bane of Peter’s existence after two and a half years of him being your boyfriend. 

“Because you and your posse are acting like complete jags in front of all my friends!” you shout back. 

He laughs in disbelief. “I’m just being myself, babe. Besides, you’re the one who said I could invite them!” 

“Because you complained about it just being my friends,” you grind out. “You weren’t even supposed to be here, Ethan! You just can’t handle the thought of me being around guys that aren’t you!” 

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to think, huh?” He gestures wildly. “You spend every second with that geek and I’m supposed to believe you’re not into him?” 

And now he’s eavesdropping on a conversation between you and your boyfriend about him. How could this get worse? 

“God, it isn’t like that at all!” you exclaim with a mirthless laugh. “Peter is my friend— my best friend since elementary school. You knew when we got together that wasn’t going to change.” 

“Yeah,” he says, nodding lazily, “but that was before I knew how obvious his hard-on for you was.” 

Peter feels his face heat beneath the mask, wants to wipe the sweat off his palms. That’s how it could get worse. 

Your nostrils flare as you turn away, your hands flexing while you shake your head. “Get out of here, Ethan.” 

“Oh, of course that’s where you draw the line,” Ethan mocks. “When I bring up fuckin’ Peter Parker.” He pauses then chuckles. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” 

Peter nearly intervenes right then and there, wanting to stop this mess before Ethan does anything to hurt you. But revealing himself sounds like the worst possible thing to do, so for once he listens to the rational part of his brain over the emotional. 

“He’s not even here!” you retort. “I live with you, not him. I’m dating you, not him. Why are you bringing him up?” 

“Because I’m not blind.” Ethan crosses his arms. “Y’know, I thought you’d get over this little thing after you let me take you out, but for some reason, it’s exactly the same. I swear you spend more time with him than me.”

Your hands clench into fists. “Get out of here.” 

He scoffs. “You want me to leave you up here?” 

“Yes,” you nod. 

“God, you’ve been acting crazy this whole night!” he complains. “You’ll freeze up here. Just get over it—we’ll go back down, I’ll get you a beer—” 

“I hate beer.” 

“Then I’ll get you a fucking apple juice,” he spits. “Just stop being so dramatic.” 

“You’re not listening to me!” you shout. “I want you to leave me alone!” 

This time he says your name, and you shake your head. 

“Go back to the apartment,” you interrupt. “Because if I have to spend another second with you, our relationship might not make it through the night.”

For once, Ethan is silent as he stares at you. You stare back with no sign of giving up. Eventually, he just huffs and shakes his head. 

“Whatever.” He starts walking towards the door. “You better cool off up here, because I’m not dealing with this shit when you come back down.” 

You stare at the door for a good twenty seconds once he closes the door—slams it, rather—before you angrily kick a stray soda can. Your childhood days of rec soccer must still be in you, because you get an arc on it. Just before it can go over the side of the building, Peter shoots a web to catch it wholly on instinct. 

Your eyes widen as you dart around, and Peter is finally spotted from his place on top of the roof door building thing. What is that even called? He doesn’t really have time to think about it. The aluminum can crunches as it flies into his hand, and you stare at him in complete shock. 

“Uh,” his mouth suddenly feels very dry, but he has to make some excuse for why he’s up here, “littering is bad.” 

Good one, Parker. 

“You’re Spider-man,” you say, eyes still wide. 

“The one and only,” he nods. 

“Oh my god,” you mumble, finally seeming to break out of your shock as you cover your mouth and turn away. “Oh my god, Spider-man just heard my relationship falling apart.” 

“I didn’t hear anything!” Peter exclaims. “I—”

You shoot him the withering look he loves so much, that was able to get his bullies to shrink on the spot in high school—it feels weird being on the receiving end of it. 

“I’m not stupid,” you say. 

“I kn—” He has to stop himself from saying I know, because realistically Spider-man has no idea who you are. “I’m sorry.” 

You huff and cross your arms. “Do your superhero duties include eavesdropping on failing couples?” 

“It was an accident,” Peter says. “I was up here before you were. So technically, you were eavesdropping on my actual superhero duties.” 

You laugh, and he smiles just at the sound of it. One benefit to wearing the mask, because it would expose him right on the spot. “Oh yeah? And what are those?” 

“Patrolling the streets,” he says. “I’ve got a very good vantage point from up here.” 

You hum, your mood turning a bit more morose as you glance away. “Well, I’m sorry you had to hear all that during your patrol.” 

“I’m sorry you had to go through it,” he says. “Your boyfriend sounds like an asshole.” 

You roll your eyes. “He’s fine, most of the time. Just had a little bit too much to drink.” 

Peter will never understand why you defend Ethan so much. You’ve been together since freshman year and he’s only gotten worse since then—maybe he hides how he is around you, because he hasn’t really shied away from showing Peter how much he hates him this past year.

“He looked pretty sober to me,” Peter says. “And trust me, I have plenty of experience fighting guys that have had too much to drink.” 

You huff. “What are you, a spider-therapist?” 

“I’m good at a lot of things,” he says. “And I’m always good for bending an ear.”

“Surely you have better things to do than listen to me complain.” 

Peter shakes his head. “My schedule’s pretty clear right now, actually.”

“Really?” you marvel. “There’s no crime in New York City at,” you check your watch, “11:37 pm?”

“Absolutely none,” he says. “I solved it all. At least for now.”

You laugh again at that and gesture with your head as you walk over to the edge of the roof. “Then I guess I’ll take you up on that offer.”

Peter jumps down and follows you over. You hoist yourself on top of the wall, legs dangling over the edge, and he feels himself frown as he leans his back against the wall and looks up at you. 

“Isn’t that a little dangerous?” 

“You’ll catch me if I fall,” you say. 

“Obviously,” Peter says. “I’m supposed to encourage safe behavior in New Yorkers, though.” 

You laugh and tilt your head up towards the night sky. The moonlight reflects in your eyes and Peter knows he could get lost in them forever. “Just this once, then.” 

“I think I can let it slide.” 

“Good.” 

A comfortable beat of silence passes between the two of you, and Peter finds himself smiling. No wonder he ended up at your place out of instinct. There’s nothing else like your company. 

“I always think it’ll be different,” you murmur. Peter glances up at you, your expression shifted to something more melancholic. “We’ll have a good day, which’ll turn into a good week and a good month, but he always does something to mess it up. It’s like it’s in his DNA.” 

He stays silent as you think. Most of the time when you rant to Peter, you just want to be heard, not given advice. At this point, he’s an expert at listening to you. It’s not like he minds. 

“I want things to work out. I— I still love him. I mean, I think I do. But everything is a fucking struggle with him. If I don’t do things the exact way he wants, if I try to do something for me instead of him, if I can’t read his fucking mind, then he loses it and we argue. And I’m so fucking tired of arguing!” 

Your voice has risen by now, and you bite down hard on your cheek. Peter doesn’t realize he’s started reaching towards you to comfort you until you look back down at him, and he runs his hand over his head in an effort to cover it up. 

“I’m sorry,” you sigh. “I promise, I’m a much nicer person than this. You just caught me at the worst time.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I know.”

Your brows rise. “Spider-man knows I’m a nice person?”

“I can just tell,” he rushes, trying to save himself. He’s doing a real good job at not revealing his identity. “I’m good at reading people.”

You chuckle and shake your head, then adjust your position so your back is towards the open air. It makes Peter nervous, he can’t lie, but it’s not like he’s not a superhero. 

“So, spider-therapist,” you say. “Any advice?” 

So this is one of the rare times you do want answers. Peter wonders if you’ll leave your boyfriend if Spider-man tells you to. 

“He doesn’t sound great,” Peter says, inclining his head. “How many times have you argued this week?” 

“Four,” you say. “Five, if you include tonight.” 

He whistles. “And it’s only Wednesday.”

You tip your shoulder. “We’re efficient.” 

“And unhappy, it sounds like.” 

“We’re not unhappy,” you defend. “We’re just…” 

“You’re up here talking to me instead of down there with him,” Peter says wryly. “That doesn’t exactly scream ‘happy couple’.” 

You shake your head with another sigh. “It’s because he can’t get over Peter.” 

He tries to act as nonchalant as possible when you bring him up. Is this an invasion of privacy? Letting you talk to him about all this when you have no idea who Spider-man actually is? 

Instead of floundering over moral qualms, he just clears his throat. “And who’s he?” 

“My best friend,” you say. “The one person who’s been by my side since the second I moved to New York. He means everything to me.”

Peter feels his heart skip a beat. “Yeah?” 

“He’s like— like the opposite of Ethan, and it’s wonderful. I guess that’s why Pete irks him so much. Y’know,” you pull out your phone and start typing in your password, “maybe I should call him. He always knows what to say.” 

“No!” Peter exclaims with a bit too much force, causing you to give him a look. “No— I mean, it’s late. He’s probably asleep. And— and it’s a school night?” 

You tilt your head, and Peter exhales when it seems to work. “True. He’s probably studying for that biochem test.” You grimace. “I should be doing that too.” 

He watches you type out a few texts and send them, and Peter’s never been more thankful to have his phone on silent. What a way that would be to blow his cover. 

You shove your phone back in your pocket with another sigh. “I just hate that my boyfriend and my best friend don’t get along. I love them both—why can’t they like each other?” 

“I mean…” Peter trails off when you look at him, and he gestures with his head. “It seems pretty obvious why they don’t get along.” 

“Yeah,” you say dryly. “Because Ethan thinks Peter likes me, and he probably thinks I have some secret crush on him too. I swear, he’s always looking for a reason to fight.” 

God, could the universe be calling him out any more? It’s honestly ridiculous how this is going. 

“Do you?” Peter asks, because he can’t help himself. “Like him, I mean.” 

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “I love Pete, I do. It’s always been the two of us no matter what. But I…”

He holds his breath as he tries not to look at you, tries not to make it too obvious that he might have stumbled his way into his simultaneous dream and nightmare scenario. 

He’s had a crush on you for what feels like forever. Since you stood up for him against his bullies in elementary school, honestly, and it’s only grown over the years as the two of you have grown. From recesses spent together and bike rides through the city; spending the night in Peter’s apartment because it was easier for your sister to let it happen than try and drag you back home; endless nights with heads bent over textbooks trying to study for tests, over college applications trying to get into the same place, and now studying and researching near every damn weekend together because you’re both unfortunate enough to try for ESU STEM degrees. 

You were there when Ben died. He’s there on every anniversary of your parents’ accident. Without knowing it, you were there when he got bit and his whole life turned upside down. 

You and Peter have been there every step of the way for each other, and it’s why he’s content with just friendship—Peter wants you in his life no matter what. But he can’t lie and say he doesn’t hope. 

No, actually. He yearns. He’s doomed to be a yearner for the rest of his life because he’ll never stop loving you. How could he? 

“I’m not sure,” you finally say with a sigh. “All I know is that I’d rather be with Pete tonight than Ethan.”

Peter wonders if your chest compressions are still as good as they were in high school, because he feels like he’s about to have a heart attack. 

You’d rather be spending tonight with him than your boyfriend of two years and seven months, and Peter isn’t even supposed to know. 

You mistake his silent freakout for nonchalance, and you clear your throat as you jump back onto solid ground. 

“Well, I’ve spilled my soul to you,” you say wryly, crossing your arms. “Anything a superhero can spill in return?”

Peter thinks for a good, long second. His hands itch to take off his mask, to do what he’s wanted to do since he got bitten by that stupid spider and show you who he really is. 

How many times has he been a total asshole, canceling plans on you because he had to go stop some supervillain from wreaking havoc in Times Square? How many times has he been late to something important to you because he was caught up stopping dime a dozen muggings? He still remembers the look on your face when he showed up just in time to miss the entirety of Les Mis’s opening night with your first lead role. 

You were a better best friend to Peter than he was to you because of this stupid mask. If he took it off, it wouldn’t make every mistake fade away, but it would sure help explain some of it. 

But Peter has been doing this since high school, and he has seen far too many times what happens to the loved ones of heroes. They’re used as leverage, used for ransom, sometimes just straight up killed.

You’ve been friends with Peter since you and your sister moved into the apartment next to May’s thirteen years ago. It doesn’t matter if you never share Peter’s feelings. You’re one of the only constants in his life, and he’s not going to lose you because he’s too selfish to keep a secret. 

Losing you would be the last straw. He couldn’t take it. 

So Peter pushes all thoughts of secret identities revealed out of his mind and tries to chuckle convincingly. 

“I’m allergic to peppermint, believe it or not.” 

You stare at him, deadpan. “That’s nowhere close to all the shit I just gave you.” 

“It’s true!” he exclaims, holding up his hands. “Happened after I got bit by the spider. They’re repelled by peppermint oil, and I guess I am too.” 

You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe Spider-man is a coward.” 

“A superhero’s gotta have some secrets,” he says, and he taps the side of his head. “Otherwise this thing doesn’t do much good.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “Whatever.” 

A chill suddenly goes up Peter’s spine and he whips around—he can hear a distant scream followed by a distant gunshot, and he mentally curses. 

“Duty calls?” you ask, drawing his attention back to you. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sorry—” 

“Don’t be.” You smile, and it’s genuine. A nice change from the state Ethan effortlessly puts you in. “You went out of your way to cheer me up. Pretty super of you.” 

“I hope it makes up for the eavesdropping,” he says. 

“More than,” you nod. “Now get out of here. Your city needs you.” 

Peter nods too, and he backflips onto his original spot. “Have a good night. You’re real special to somebody.” 

He’s gone before you can say anything else, already zipping across the rooftops to get to the scene of the crime. Peter can only think of your face as he swings through the air—all the things he’s too scared to say to you. 

The crime, which turns out to be yet another petty theft, is resolved easily enough with some punches, kicks, and a snappy one-liner. Once he’s retrieved the woman’s purse and alerted the police, he’s back in the sky. 

Peter only stops once he’s swung a couple miles away, perching on the edge of some rooftop for some actual peace and quiet. He checks around once or twice to make sure he’s not somehow back at your place, and when he’s sure it’s all clear, he pulls his phone out. He swipes past all the notifications he’s racked up until he finds the one he’s looking for: the texts from you. 

hey pete, I know you’re prob asleep rn but you were right. I really need to study for that test lol

wanna meet me at the library tomorrow after QM? I’ll buy the coffee this time i promise <3 

as long as you use your roomie’s dining dollars to get me a croissant lol 

Peter can’t help but smile, larger than anything tonight. This is why he’s okay with being nothing but your friend for the rest of his life. 

Deal. Anything to get you an A 

lol

asshole 

Never 

Try to get some sleep. No good studying on a tired brain 

Three dots appear for a good long second, enough to constitute a decent paragraph—then they disappear. In its place: 

I’ll try just for you 

night boy genius

(How could he not love you?) 

Night, girl wonder

[kinardsevan]

Ngl, I was so optimistic after last episode but the newest OS interview dumped my mood af… do you think there’s still hope for BuckTommy ending up together?

I’m gonna say the same thing I’ve been saying for months: yall gotta stop reading so much into those interviews. Oliver quite literally cannot tell you that a reunion is coming. In terms of storytelling, that would be such a major spoiler that it would defeat the purpose of bothering to tell it at all.

They are so limited on what they can actually say versus what they can’t, and I have also done myself the favor of not reading most of the interviews anyway. The video ones where we can hear context? Sure. Because tone of voice does a LOT for understanding what someone is saying. The only one I watched this week was the one in which Oli stated that Buck has both personal and professional hurdles to overcome in the coming weeks.

Realistically, we’ve just opened the door for bucktommy again. The fight we all so desperately want still needs to happen. They still need to hash things out. They both presented themselves at that bar as having gotten on with their lives just fine, when we know the reality of it (for Buck at least and I’m sure also Tommy) is not the case. Literally one episode previous to this one, he was saying to Eddie that everything was right in his world until he and Tommy broke up.

I will also specify (because I’m assuming this is the interview you’re referring to based on the one quote I’ve seen), where some people are taking his “I don’t know, I don’t think so” as he’s not still in the same place, I read it as, he hasn’t moved on. You can still very much be in the same place emotionally about someone but believe they aren’t coming back to you/that things are over. That doesn’t actually mean that they are.

We know that 814/15 is coming. I know some people are assuming LFJr is only going to be in one of the episodes. I’ve assumed he’s going to be in both, in some form or another. And given the assumption that the story is going to be based on Birds of Prey, my own inclination is to believe that they’re using these episodes as a soft launch of “if we give this character more of a story, will people care?”. We, the bucktommy fandom, have wanted him to stick around for a while now, but from a storytelling standpoint, all TM&Co know is that when they broke up, it upset the fandom and GA alike. In a perfect world with endless money and time, the answer would be just to make more space on the show to tell Tommy’s story. But I think the latter half of this season really has to go to the point of showing their work and being able to go back to the network and say “this is the impact if we give him a bigger role”, regardless of whether RG stays or goes after this season.

Beyond that, I’ve personally questioned if we won’t see some form of (at the very least Maddie) Evan’s people kinda giving Tommy the cold shoulder for how he ended things. I don’t think it’s lost on anyone that Evan isn’t over him, and how much the break up hurt him. But I could very much see the narrative as “you left and hurt him needlessly” without the full context of the fact that while we know they love each other and want a future together, we don’t know that anyone else does because we haven’t seen Evan actually tell anyone about the context of the breakup. I’ve also wondered if we won’t see some version of Maddie seeing Tommy and coming to that conclusion herself, and that softening the edges a little.

Another thing I’ve wondered about, especially as we’re moving into the latter half of the season, is if we aren’t moving towards a version of events where Evan finally tells people he gets to make his own decisions, and maybe even tells the team off a little for checking out on Tommy. They’re all supposed to be his friends, right? And yet we know Eddie stopped calling him. I get the whole “Eddie was busy, had stuff going on” of it all… except we know that Evan wasn’t doing well following the break up and er can infer Tommy wasn’t with his “resisting the urge to call”… and you’re telling me Eddie could send a text? When we know for a fact that even Tommy was thinking about texting Evan, but was likely too scared? It says to me even more that the only time Eddie cares about a friendship is when he can gain something out of it.

Ultimately, I don’t actually know how we get to the reconciliation, but I have zero issue in believing it’s coming. I’ve watched way too many romcoms, procedurals, and second season breakup stories to know how this ends. And it doesn’t end with Tommy walking off our screens single. Yall have to let the story continue to be told. Everyone thought after 806 that these two were dead in the water, and yet Lou was back in 811.

Let it simmer and marinate. We’ll get there.

[nebulaafterdark]

Exile (Part 5)

Summary: Y/N Undersee thought the games were over after becoming a victor. Unfortunately, life outside the arena has become just as dangerous. Prequel to Moves & Countermoves

Trigger warning: forced prostitution, explicit sexual content, alcohol abuse and other mentions of trauma. 18+ ONLY

Part 4

“Sorry I…freaked out.” Are the first words out of Y/N’s mouth, the moment she realizes that Haymitch is awake.

“I’m sorry you’re in pain.” If she were bleeding on the outside, there are things he could do to help. A bandage, a tourniquet, kiss it better. There is almost nothing he can do to stop her from bleeding on the inside.

“It hurts less when you’re here.”

“I’ll be here.” Haymitch vows. He’ll hold his hand over her broken heart and apply steady pressure to her wound. He’ll make it better.

“But you won’t let me get too close.”

“You’re plenty close.” This is all there is. All that’s left of me and it’s yours.

“Snow’s gonna use me against you anyway.”

Haymitch huffs a laugh. “I’m very aware.”

“I meant what I said.” Y/N reminds him, “I won’t leave.”

“I’m not afraid of you leaving.” Good on you if you get away.

“Then what are you afraid of?”

Haymitch pauses for a long moment to consider, weighing the risks and benefits of telling her everything.

Forgive me, Lenore Dove and know that I do not love her like all-fire. I love her much gentler than that. No more and no less. I love her softly as the mangled sunflower held precariously together with Maysilee’s glue made of flour and spit.

“There was a girl…someone I loved.”

Y/N nods.

“Snow killed her too, not just my family.”

“Haymitch,” Y/N sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Being happy with you feels like I’m-”

“Betraying her?”

“I thought I’d never…” love again.

“Thank you for telling me.” Y/N rests her hand over his. It all makes a little more sense now.

Once he starts talking, the dam breaks, with every dirty detail pouring through the cracks.

Her name was Lenore Dove.

She was eternally proud of her Covey roots.

She loved the woods.

She believed there was freedom outside the districts.

“She used to raise geese.”

“Makes sense.” Y/N lifts a shoulder.

“In what way?” Haymitch laughs.

“You’re like a goose,” she tells him. Taciturn, loyal to a fault.

“You might be onto something.” If I tell her that I love her, Snow will surely kill her, somehow, someway. Maybe he’ll make me do it myself. But if I never get the chance to tell her, it will surely kill me…and as she once confessed in the arena, Y/N is afraid of being alone. “We gotta get ready.” The tributes are waiting.

It must feel better, getting it off his chest. One day maybe she could talk about…things. The things that upset her mother enough her father forbade Y/N of speaking on them.

“Do you think that…. maybe with a good sponsor we could save one of them? If so, which one?” The boy or the girl?

“The girl.” He decides, “a good sponsor isn’t gonna save her from the careers but if she plays her cards right…maybe.” She’s not going to leave her kid brother behind.

“Ok.” Y/N nods.

————————————————————————

“When the gong sounds, don’t forget to run, grab a pack of supplies if you can. Search for water and high ground.” Y/N reminds Maximus, on the elevator to the hovercraft.

During Haymitch’s…sabbatical from mentoring, Y/N had to decide which tribute to join in the elevator. Usually the child who seemed most afraid. To bring some sort of comfort to them in their final moments. Last year she took the girl and Haymitch the boy, now they’ve switched.

Maximus is shaking and trying hard to hide it. “When will I see my sister?”

“Denali is waiting for you on the hovercraft, you’ll be together there.” Y/N assures him.

The boy nods, “thank you for trying to get us sponsors. It was real nice of you.”

“Honey, you have sponsors.” Y/N says, “all you need to worry about is-”

“Water, high ground, grab a pack if we can.”

“Yeah,” Y/N smiles, gnawing at the inside of her cheek.

“Do we hug or something?” He asks as the elevator doors open.

“We can.”

“Just don’t tell my sister.” Maximus insists, wrapping his arms around his mentor.

“Ok,” Y/N rests her cheek against the top of his head. Feeling the bones of his shoulder blades beneath her hand. Even though he hasn’t got much of a shot, she will not turn her back on this little boy.

“Time to go,” a peacekeeper reaches in through the open doors, dragging the boy away.

“I’ll be watching the whole time,” you won’t be alone. “Don’t be afraid.”

————————————————————————

The viewing room is full, with Capitol higher ups crowding around Y/N. Naturally the cameras follow.

“Look at you! So beautiful.”

“Your dress is a masterpiece.”

“Y/N! Did you see?” A particularly eccentric woman, wearing some sort of orange fur, motions to her nose. “Just like yours.”

Over the woman’s shoulder, Haymitch is laughing it up with a man she’s not familiar with.

“Wow,” Y/N smiles. “That is very nice.”

“I know the best surgeon. Everyone who is anyone-”

Y/N catches a glimpse of Cecelia, a fellow victor, from district eight. The first year Y/N came to mentor alone, most of the victors had already settled into cliques.

They were all polite enough, but no one was overly eager to explain the sponsorship system or how to send parachutes once she raised the money.

“You have to take the money up to the table and select from the menu.” Cecelia whispers.

“Oh, uh…thank you.” Y/N nods.

“Are you here by yourself?”

“Yes.”

Cecelia purses her lips, “you can sit with me if you want.”

Y/N sits with her for the next two years. Until last year, when she convinced Haymitch to join her, effectively sparking Snow’s curiosity.

The Capitol woman is still talking.

“Would you mind showing my husband?” Y/N asks. “He’s going to love this.”

“Of course!”

“Haymitch,” Y/N hails him over.

“You better go.” The Capitol man claps him on the back. “We mustn’t leave your lovely bride waiting.”

Haymitch’s blood runs cold. Did you watch? No. He stops himself. Knowing won’t help anyone. Instead he nods, stepping a few feet away to wrap a protective arm around his wife.

“This is my new friend, Synchrony.” Y/N tells him.

Some part of the woman is familiar to him, though he can’t put a finger on it. “Haymitch. Nice to meet you.” He extends a hand, which the woman swiftly takes.

“Likewise.”

“She was just showing me her nose.”

Her nose…your nose?

“Almost an exact replica.” Synchrony gushes.

“What do you think?” Y/N turns her head, so he can see from all angles.

“Well,” Haymitch chuckles. “It’s a great nose.”

“I thought so too.” The woman says, before flitting away at the sound of the anthem. “The games are about to begin.”

Y/N surveys the room, District one is cocky, as usual. Gloss, last year’s victor, has a sister who volunteered. And he couldn’t be more proud.

“District one, number one!” He exclaims at the sight of his younger sister lined up on her pedestal.

Her long blonde hair is held away from her face in two intricate braids. Cashmere.

Denali and Maximus have been placed at a notable distance, with careers on either side of the boy.

Haymitch sighs. She’s not gonna be able to get to him.

The surrounding forest seems to chitter with a life all its own. Cameras pan over the trees, revealing the horrors within. Spider mutts with fangs dripping venom and glowing red eyes. Weaving glistening webs, large enough to catch their human prey.

“Spider forest.”

“Not my favorite.” Y/N shifts closer to Haymitch.

The games begin with the sound of cannon and the tributes are off. Denali makes a mad dash for the cornucopia, grabbing two packs and a weapon. She does manage to reach her brother. They are nearly to the trees when Maximus takes a spear through his spine.

It’s the boy from two.

“Wooohooo, let’s go two.” His mentors rejoice.

First blood is always celebrated…by those who partake in celebrating death.

In a blind rage, Denali charges the careers, wielding her blade as though she’s trained for years to do it. She manages to take out the male from one, now abandoned by his partner.

Perhaps Cashmere did not consider the careers could become a target of the grieving girl from twelve.

Denali runs her weapon through the girl in two, after taking a good beating herself. Saving the boy for last.

“I was just playing the game.” He stammers, realizing that he will now have to take on the crazed girl hand to hand. No more spear. No weapon at all.

“Game over.” Denali murmurs, all the light has left her eyes. She does not fear death. She has nothing to live for, apart from killing her brother’s murderer. She feels no pain.

Her cannon sounds not long after the boy from two’s, as though she hung on just long enough to hear it.

“I’ve gotta hand it to you, twelve.” Gloss calls, raising his glass to Y/N and Haymitch, “that was one hell of a show.”

I hope you choke.

————————————————————————

The viewing room begins to clear out around sunset. With both their tributes gone, the Abernathys are expected to attend the nightly festivities. Plutarch Heavensbee is hosting tonight.

Y/N excuses herself to the restroom before they’re escorted to a second location. In the fleeting moments, standing before her reflection at the sink mirror, Y/N has a moment to process what has happened.

Grabbing for the pristine white hand towel and dabbing it directly along her waterline. A trick Vanity taught her.

‘I do not care if you cry. Just don’t ruin your makeup.’

She used to cry more, in those first years after the games. Like a faucet that never stopped running.

“Are you ok?” A voice to her left whispers, announcing their presence.

“Cecelia,” Y/N whispers back.

“This is the only place the cameras don’t follow you these days, huh?” Her friend remarks. “That’s what happens when you buy into their agenda.”

“You think I bought into the Capitol?”

“You married your least favorite person in the world.” The woman lifts a shoulder. “If that’s not selling out, I don’t know what is.”

“I didn’t sell out, they were gonna sell me.” Y/N fights the urge to scream at the top of your lungs.

“I’m sorry, I had no idea.” Cecelia blanches.

“You could’ve asked,” Y/N snaps.

They stand in uncomfortable silence for a moment.

“They didn’t though, did they?” Sell you?

“They…recorded us. And sold it.” Y/N lowers her voice even further.

“Jesus Christ.” Cecelia’s stomach turns. “B-because you’re married? Do they do that to all victors?”

“Cecelia, I don’t know.” Y/N shakes her head.

Terror etches itself into the features of her face.

“I think it’ll be ok.” Y/N decides, “Teddy isn’t a victor. If they wanted to sell you, they would’ve done it by now.”

Cecelia nods.

“Just don’t draw any unnecessary attention.”

“Y/N,” Cecelia breathes. “You draw the attention.”

“Oh.” Oh, that hurts. It burns.

“They don’t care what I do, they never have. I’m not terribly interesting, or knowledgeable or pretty, I’m just Cecelia. The cameras and the people only hung around-”

“Because of me,” Y/N finally understands.

“It’s probably best if we…” keep our distance.

“Yeah,” Y/N twists the obnoxious diamond of her engagement ring around her finger.

————————————————————————

The Heavensbee estate is sizable, while lacking the grandiosity of President Snow’s mansion.

“Welcome, welcome.” Plutarch himself greets them. “Can I get you anything? Wine? Champagne?”

“How about some real liquor? Don’t hold out on me, Plutarch.” Haymitch says, keeping hold of Y/N’s hand, as they step over the threshold.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Plutarch grins. “Follow me.”

Party goers smile and wave as they pass, making their way to Plutarch’s personal stash. He hands Haymitch a bottle of deep caramel liquor.

Haymitch uncorks it, lifting the bottle to his nose and inhaling with an appreciative hum.

“Two glasses?” Plutarch looks to Y/N now.

“No thanks,” Y/N shakes her head, “just for Haymitch.”

Plutarch doesn’t argue. Reaching quickly for a crystal tumbler, before Haymitch can begin chugging directly from the bottle.

“Thank you,” Haymitch fills his cup to the brim.

“Of course.” Plutarch replies, “I was hoping you’d show.”

“Why’s that?”

“I haven’t had a chance to properly introduce myself to your wife.”

“Nice to meet you,” Y/N extends her hand for a shake. “I’m Y/N.”

“Plutarch,” he grips her hand, firmly, before releasing. “I know you’re the talk of the town, so I won’t take up too much of your time.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Would you join me for a game of chess?”

“Sure,” Y/N catches Haymitch’s gaze as Plutarch begins leading her away.

If she were in any real danger he would follow, but he doesn’t. Leaving only Y/N, Plutarch and his chessboard, in a room unsuitable for a party.

“You’ll have to forgive the mess, I don’t have many visitors here.”

“The all exclusive chess room,” Y/N deadpans, “everybody has one.”

The man chuckles. “I assume you know the rules.”

“My dad and I used to play.”

“Wonderful! You’re a shoe in. Please, sit.” Plutarch motions to the chair.

Despite the layer of dust and cobwebs covering a majority of the room, the purple velveteen chairs are perfectly preserved.

Y/N takes a seat, his pieces are red to her white. “This is a beautiful set.” Handcrafted, down to the pawns.

“It was a gift.” Plutarch says, making his first move.

Y/N considers trying to get more out of him, but it’s late and she doesn’t care all that much. Instead she moves her own piece into place. Her favorite play is the Queen’s Gambit, but he’ll surely be expecting that. She’ll have to take a quieter approach.

He’s paying more attention to the way she moves than the number of pieces she captures.

What’s your game, Plutarch?

“See that?” Plutarch grins, “you won.”

“I don’t give a shit about winning the game, I want to break the board.” Y/N smiles, in return.

“Life is a series of choices, much like chess. If you break the board, there will be a new board. You’ll get where you’re going a lot faster if you learn to play the game.” The man says, “moves and countermoves.”

Taglist: @spideysimpossiblegirl @ancientbeing10 @1-800-styles @l3xi3luv @lam-ila @druby2011-blog @liballer @readinginthe-am @rae-11 @champomiel @mariechristine00 @solacestyles @inky-sun @dadbodfanatic-x @sandorcleganeslutt @indigoashh @mustainelove @darkened-writer @ch3rrybutterfly @boredomquest @theladyofmanyfandomsofficial @kisskittenn @kwllakka @feeblemindedfool @oopsieikilledan @that-one-fangirl69 @just-levyy @thisisthepartwhereishutup @alixxhere @quackitys-amor @pepelachanel @lurkingsparrow @faithalsip09 @cwallace02sblog

[lsunstreakerl]

just imagine the walk of shame as I bring you all this fic, please and thank you. 6.6k of the tentacle verse I clearly said I would not be revisiting. if you aren't caught up, this verse was born during the smut prompts of February, and you can probably guess what the prompt was! this has also been referred to as the sea creature charles au. part one, part two.

helllooooo this is explicit! there's a chunk in the beginning, and then I got lost in the sauce for worldbuilding, and then back to being explicit near the end.

pairings: charles leclerc/max verstappen

relevant heads up: literally everything from the first two fics, a dash of body horror, uh, biting in a violent way, and sharkstappen. questionable dietary habits when you think too hard about it.

Charles has been a massive dick the entire season, and Max is over it. He doesn't want anything to do with him, even though Charles keeps shooting him quick glances at the drivers dinner. He's been trying to get a moment alone with Max for weeks, but Max isn't interested.

He's going to sleep for a week, eat junk food, maybe go clubbing with Daniel, and play video games. It's his entire plan for the break, and nowhere in it does he have Charles.

Charles tries to corner him after dinner anyways, frowning as he boxes Max in a hallway corner as everyone is leaving.

"Max, can we talk? Please? I know you are upset with me, and I want to fix that-"

"You did not seem interested in fixing it during the season."

Max isn't interested in what Charles has to say- wants this conversation to be over with already.

Charles presses his lips together, eyebrows furrowed.

"I know, and I'm sorry, but even if I could just see you over break? Get lunch?"

Whatever gets him off of Max's back.

"Sure."

Max doesn't mean it- has no intention of actually following through, but Charles seems relieved, shoulders relaxing as he gives Max an apologetic grin.

"Thank you."

------

Max has come up with an excuse the last three times Charles had reached out to him, but he really does mean it this time- he's not feeling well.

He's dizzy constantly, thirsty and weak. He has no idea what's wrong with him, and no combination of over the counter medications have been able to get rid of the ache in his gut, settled just behind his stomach.

He feels like shit.

He's been chugging water down, but it's not enough, and everything feels too bright and too dry- he's going insane.

Max had been meaning to wait it out, let it get better naturally, but it's only getting worse now, and he's not even sure what it is- just knows he needs something.

He's half delirious in his bed, tangled in his sheets. It's dry, so dry he feels sick with it, and he needs some kind of solution.

Going down to the harbor when he feels like this is out of the question, so he's stumbling over to the sunken bathtub, cranking the faucet on and letting it fill.

It takes forever.

When it's finally filled to the brim, water splashing over the edges, Max sinks down into it, groaning as he settles.

It's marginally better- he doesn't feel like he's going to crack apart at the edges anymore, body finally starting to relax. It's not helping anything else though, his head still spins, and he still has a desperate ache inside of him, but it's enough for him to lean his head against the rim of the tub, eyes fluttering closed.

------

Max wakes up when the water has gone cold, manages to fight through the haze to drain the tub, filling it back up with warm water. He's hungry- has no idea when he last ate- but there's no way he leaves the tub, not when it's the only thing that's helped.

His fingers are shaking when he turns the faucet off, head thunking against the side of the tub again. He knows something is wrong- really wrong- but he's spiraled too far to do anything about it- his phone is in the other room. He has no idea how long he's been in the water.

His eyes drift shut again, and he starts accepting that this is somehow his fate. 'Formula 1 Champion Max Verstappen Found Dead in Bathtub!' isn't quite the end he'd been hoping for.

------

"-ax. Idiot."

There's something....

Max groans, slowly waking up. There's something in his mouth, stretching his lips wide and filling his throat, slick and strong. It's satisfying the thirst that water hadn't, thick and viscous inside of him.

He shifts and realizes there's something between his legs as well, coiling up further and further- he's so full, feels so much better than the ache of before.

His throat is stretched too wide for him to swallow, but he doesn't need to, eyes blinking up to hazily stare at his savior.

Charles is cramped into the bathtub with him, looking equal parts concerned and annoyed.

"Good morning, you stupid, petty brooder."

Max makes a muffled noise. Charles is... Charles is good, he takes care of Max, he'll make it better.

Charles sighs, and then Max is being pressed tight to his chest, sharp teeth scraping his nose as he leans down to kiss him.

"You see how dumb you were being now? You are changing, Max. You have cycles now too, and ignoring them- ignoring me- is only going to hurt you."

Max isn't quite following. He's feeling so much better now- his needs are met, and he kind of wants to get fucked.

Really wants to get fucked.

It must be apparent to Charles, who looks annoyed with him.

"I am not giving you a clutch in your bathtub, Max. We are going back to the cave, and I am going to breed you properly. We're behind schedule now anyways, since you wanted to be so fucking stubborn. You'll still be carrying a week before testing starts."

Sure, whatever Charles wants. Whatever gets Max more of this, feeling better than he has in days.

------

Max is draped across Charles' lap, tentacles working their way across his body. His eyes roll back into his head as the one in his ass pushes further into him, thicker than what he's used to.

He's pretty sure Charles has given him the actual clutch already- he feels full even in the rare moments there aren't tentacles inside of him. That doesn't stop him from moaning around the one in his throat as they squeeze tighter around him, holding him in place.

He vaguely remembers the prior years, but they hadn't been as... intense, as this year. Max has never needed it like this before- he can barely stand to have the tentacles out of him, pressed close to Charles constantly.

Charles has one of his hands pressing on Max's spine, pushing him further down as Max tries to squirm.

"If you had not been ridiculous earlier this would not have been so bad, Max. But no, you wanted to be petty and wait, and it's messed with your head, yes? You need more?"

Max wants more. He wants more bad, trying to push his hips back up into Charles' hand even as the tentacle inside of him swells, pushing inside of him into sweet spots he didn't know he had.

It's still not enough, he wants-

He wants another clutch, body desperately trying to accommodate for it, starting to wiggle in Charles' lap.

Charles makes a low noise, apprehensive.

"Max, if I give you more it's going to be a lot, yes?"

Max doesn't care, just needs to be full, needs to settle the empty ache he's feeling.

"Okay. Hold still for me."

The tentacles around him tighten, holding him down as the one inside of him starts to rhythmically swell and compress, and then Max can feel it-

It's not like with the clutch, where there's a full pressure. It's a hot swell inside of him, heavy and viscous, more liquid than anything. Max finally falls still as it seeps inside of him, weighing him down.

There's a moment where it feels perfect, exactly what he needed, but then it keeps going, pushes into being too much- Max wants to struggle, but it's pushing him down, making him feel like he's made of lead.

Charles coos softly at him even as Max tries to whine against the tentacle in his mouth, because it's starting to hurt.

"There you go, yes, that was a full brooder drop. I did not think you were ready for that yet."

Max doesn't think he was ready either. It's too much inside of him, overwhelming everything else he could possibly feel. Charles' fingers brush over his cheek as the tentacles start withdrawing.

"Good job, Max. Perfect brooder for me, even if you made things difficult for us both."

There's a soft kiss to the side of Max's face.

"You had me very worried, when you wouldn't respond. You need this just as bad as I do now, but you don't remember, so you have to trust me, yes? Even when you are upset."

Max is barely following- gives a raspy noise that hopefully passes for confirmation. Charles nips lightly at him, teeth pricking into his skin.

"You're going to need extra food now- that is a big one."

The tentacles are lifting Max out of Charles' lap, and he groans at the feeling of everything shifting inside of him.

"Shh, it's alright, I'm just putting you back in the water."

Whatever Charles wants. Max is too exhausted to offer any input.

------

Max blinks awake to the sound of splashing, eyes cracking open. Charles must be back with food, although he's usually a bit quieter coming into the cave.

He freezes, breath catching in his throat, heard pounding.

There's someone else looking at him, settling along the rocks across from Max's ledge. It's a complete stranger, large orange tentacles dragging against the stone. They remind Max of an octopus, suckers decorating the underside of them.

He isn't breathing.

The man is leering at him, leaning forward.

"Hello breeder. You're new here, aren't you?"

Max scowls, even as he shrinks back further onto his ledge.

The man just moves closer, tentacles starting to drop into the water, drifting in Max's direction.

Max clenches his jaw, eyes narrowed.

"Get out."

"Oh?"

The man stops moving, eyeing Max.

"Isn't that cute. What exactly are you going to do, brooder? You're barely turning, and everyone knows that's the best stage. You're all so...

There's a tentacle trying to wrap around his ankle, and Max yanks his foot back- but the suckers cling, stretching his leg out in front of him instead.

"...Vulnerable."

Max's breathing picks up. He's in danger, real danger here- someone has come into their cave, and Charles isn't here, and Max is going to-

"You smell wonderful too. Young, well bred-"

Max feels more tentacles starting to slide across him. They're nothing like Charles, none of the smooth slide that he's used to. He's trembling.

"-scared."

He's running out of options- not that he had many to begin with- and Max swallows, curling his lip up in a futile threat.

The man just laughs softly, and then his eyes narrow-

Max is plunged underwater with him, breath leaving his lungs as his eyes fly open. They're going deep, by where the cave entrance is, and Max panics. He's pretty sure the man is an octopus, and he's pretty sure they're somewhat cannibalistic, and he's not fucking dying here.

He doesn't even think about it when he sees the tentacle heading for his neck- just lunges forward, mouth open as water rushes in, before he gets his teeth on the tentacle and bites.

It's hard and rubbery, thrashing in his mouth, but Max digs deeper- something in the taste is lighting up his brain, adding to the anger.

Max is better than him. It doesn't fucking matter that he's somehow ended up with a life where he spends some of his year fucked full with eggs- he's not some kind of cowering incubator.

If this man is stupid enough to come after Max-

He'll kill him.

The tentacle in his mouth flails wildly as Max digs his teeth deeper, and then it snaps, bursting in Max's mouth as he spits it out. He's furious.

A stranger, in their cave, coming after Max, when he has eggs-

The man looks angry, but there's not currently any tentacles on Max- he's withdrawn them all around his body, nursing the bitten one.

The water is bloody around them.

Max lowers his head, still watching him. He's floating in the water, but he looks like a threat now. He doesn't care if he has to go one by one- the man can either leave now, or he can leave in pieces.

He snarls at Max, but his body language isn't aggressive anymore, and he's slinking towards the cave entrance.

Max won't relax until he's gone, but at least he's leaving.

Which is of course when Charles comes in.

It's fast- Max can't really keep track of it, just knows there's a blur of dark blue and bright orange, and then Charles is slamming the man against the rock walls of the cave, biting a chunk out of his throat.

It should make Max sick. There's no possible way the man is alive, not with the way he looks when Charles lets go of him, using a dark blue tentacle to push the body outside.

The only thing Max feels is satisfaction. Charles came back and protected them.

Charles' eyes are wide when he sees Max underwater, and then he's being yanked to the surface, laid out in Charles' lap as worried hands stroke over his face, smooth tentacles gingerly wrapping around him.

"Max, Max can you breathe? How much water did you- Max, baby, please-"

Charles looks two seconds from CPR, and Max lifts a hand to bat at him. He's fine.

He tries to open his mouth to say that, but there's a weird whistling noise when he inhales, and Charles' eyes widen in surprise.

"Oh- Oh, Max! That is amazing, you have-"

Max has fucking gills.

------

Charles brings them both back to the surface.

"You were using them fine when I came in, why can't you use them anymore?"

Max is scowling.

"Because I am not supposed to breathe underwater, Charles. I am a human person- not whatever weird fish shit you have going on."

Charles furrows his brows.

There's still flecks of blood on his face.

"But you are? You are a brooder, Max. Yes, you are turning faster than I thought you would, but you're still turning. Which is what I expected? We talked about this."

What.

"No? No, Charles, we definitely didn't- you said something about the chemicals messing with my memories. There was not any discussion of gills."

Max pauses.

"And I sort of thought when you were calling me a brooder it was-"

He makes a face, because he thinks about bringing it up every year, but by the time he remembers, it's always right before he forgets.

"-it was derogatory or something. Like calling your partner a slut."

Charles raises an eyebrow at him.

"And you were okay with that?"

Max tosses his hands up, frustrated. There's a complicated swell of emotions inside of him, and they're getting harder to suppress, thick behind his throat.

"I was more concerned about the egg thing, Charles!"

Charles is resettling Max where they're floating in the water, tentacles brushing soothingly across his skin. Max blinks rapidly.

"I did not explain it very well, Max. I'm sorry, it is also just that-"

Charles huffs, and his gills flare on the side of his neck. Max had never really noticed them before- Charles takes care to keep them closed above water.

"We only take one brooder in our lifetimes? And you obviously are the first I have had, and I don't exactly- I mean, Lolo has told me some about what his partner went through, but obviously these things are different."

Max blinks, digesting Charles' words. Processes.

His eye twitches.

"You don't know?"

Charles winces.

"Not really."

Max can't tell if he wants to scream or cry, and instead a slightly hysterical laugh bubbles out of his lips.

The tentacle thing- manageable, if Max doesn't think too hard about it.

The egg thing- a little harder to deal with, but Max can compartmentalize.

The gills? His entire body turning into something different, something he has no control over? Something even Charles doesn't understand? He has no idea how to handle that.

"So, what? I'm going to go full fish person? Did you-"

Max cuts himself off, doubling over in laughter, even though it isn't very funny at all.

"Did you turn me into a fucking mermaid, Leclerc?"

"Max-"

Charles sounds concerned, hands trying to settle on Max's waist, but Max twists away. He can't tell if he wants to smash Charles' head against a rock, or his own.

"I mean- what the fuck? Genuinely, what the fuck? How do I even- How am I supposed to handle this, huh? Do you know? Did you think about that before you yanked me off the beach?"

Max is feels like he's going off the rails, hands flying as he speaks, voice getting higher as his eyes get worryingly wet.

"Where, at any point, was I even asked?"

Charles flinches.

Max isn't done.

"Nowhere! Absolutely nowhere! No one ever went 'hey Max, do you want to be a fish person for the rest of your life?' because the answer would have been no!"

His chest is heaving, eyes darting around the cave wildly.

"And now- and now every year, I have these fucking eggs, and they are- they are mine, and we fucking abandon them. I did not want to be a parent, but I refuse to be that kind of parent. I don't care that it's 'nature', Charles, it's not me!"

Charles looks at though Max has stabbed him, hands helplessly reaching for him even as Max shifts away.

"On top of it all, I am turning into a fucking mermaid!"

His words are shaky, and he's trembling. He wants to curl up, to protect the eggs. He doesn't know if that's Max Brain or Fish Brain- is there even a difference?

He wants to cry.

He wants to punch Charles in the face.

Charles is keeping his distance, giving Max the space he's asked for, even though it looks like it's physically paining him.

"Max-"

Max bursts into tears, curling up on his stupid rock ledge, wanting Charles near him, despite the fact that the whole thing is his fault.

There's a brush of a tentacle against him, and when Max doesn't shove him away, Charles cautiously drifts closer, pulling him into his chest.

"I hate you."

The tentacles are wrapping around him, cocooning him in the safety that is Charles.

"I'm sorry, Max."

It doesn't fix anything.

------

Max refuses to try and breathe underwater with Charles around. He's refusing to do much anything with Charles, which is extremely distressing for both him and probably also the eggs.

He feels terrible for the eggs- but he can't bring himself to get over it.

Charles is out hunting again, even though Max is on a self imposed hunger strike since early morning.

He slides carefully off the rock ledge back underwater. It's definitely a mental block- telling himself that it's okay to open his mouth and inhale water isn't going over well with the reasonable side of him.

He grits his teeth and tries anyways.

The first rush of saltwater is the worst, stinging his nose and the back of his throat, and he's expecting to choke, prepared for it-

He takes an even breath.

And then another.

Slowly, he starts to relax, carefully letting go of the rock ledge, where his fingers have had a death grip on the stone.

He kicks his legs, floating in the water as he adjusts. It feels like his regular breathing, just-

Through his neck.

This is fine.

Max tries to push his leg at the side of the wall to push off further into the water, but a shooting pain rips through his hip, and he immediately brings both legs up to his chest, hissing.

He gingerly tries to extend his leg to the side again, but there's a stiffness to his hips- they just won't work with him.

It's not a reason to panic. It's probably just a weird muscle cramp.

A really weird muscle cramp, on both sides.

Or maybe the fucking octopus tentacle he'd bitten off yesterday had a slow acting poison in it and he's dying.

He kind of wants Charles to come back, even if he's mad at him, because his legs aren't working, and he's about to start freaking out.

Max twists his core, scrunching up to push off the wall with both feet backwards, swimming back to the surface until his fingers are gripping his rock ledge again.

He pokes the top of his head out of water, blinking his eyes to adjust back to the dim light of the cave. He's still breathing through the gills, which is not any less weird than it was the first time.

There's a stack of fish near the edge- Charles has been in and out all day, trying to find something enticing enough for Max to break his hunger strike.

Max has been holding out on principle, but Charles still isn't back, so he drifts closer, picking through the pile.

It really is a good haul- fat fish, plenty of protein. Max isn't entirely sure what he's looking for, but he knows what he's not, so he carefully picks through the pile, discarding fish at random.

There's a particularly large trout near the bottom of the pile, and Max inspects it carefully before deciding he wants it.

There's just one problem- his ledge is back to his left, and his legs aren't doing him a whole lot of favors- he needs his hands.

Can't swim with both hands if he's holding a giant trout in one.

His eye twitches. Charles is never finding out about this.

Max sighs heavily, cringing as he lifts the trout, the slick scales against his teeth and tongue, gripping it between his teeth as he pushes back for the ledge, spitting it out onto the rock as soon as he arrives.

Disgusting.

Problem number two-

Charles has always deboned Max's fish. Max has no idea how to do it on his own.

He pokes at the slimy scales for a moment, trying to remember how Charles does it.

Except Charles is some kind of squid person, with freakishly sharp nails and lifetime of experience behind him, and Max has... none of those qualities.

Well.

He's got the gills now, but that isn't exactly helping him.

Does he just...?

Max grips one fin of the trout in one hand, holding the rest of the body with the other.

He gags, and then he rips.

It tears easier than he'd expected, and he's not near as disgusted by the metallic tang of blood as he should be.

He's not really sure where to go from here.

There's exposed meat now, but does he just... rip it out?

Max has not been appreciating Charles' fish filleting skills properly. He really doesn't want to rip chunks out, but-

He's hungry, and he's upset, and there's enough things going wrong in his life- the last thing he needs to do is accidentally fuck up the eggs any worse than he already has.

His eyes dart down to the water again, making sure there's no sign of Charles.

He lifts the fish in his hands, noise wrinkling, and bites.

------

Charles had to fight for his life to get this fucking tuna- if Max doesn't eat it, he's going to lose it.

He's dragging it behind him on the way back to the cave. He would've been more worried about leaving Max undefended, but letting an octopus hybrid corpse float up for scavengers is a pretty clear statement.

Admittedly, he hadn't expected Max to bite a tentacle off- he's both impressed and slightly disturbed.

Brooders- human ones anyways- most often turn into relatively peaceful hybrids. Certainly not the kind of hybrids willing to sink their teeth into an octopus.

Then again-

This is Max.

Charles feels his stomach roll with worry as he gets closer to the cave. Max has been furious since the discussion about the turning, and Charles...

He can't blame him. Max has valid points, a genuine reason to be angry. At the same time- his brooder has eggs, and the stress is bad enough- getting into a fight and going on a self imposed hunger strike isn't going to help anyone.

If Max doesn't like the tuna, Charles is going to have to settle him down and force feed him. Also something he doesn't want to do.

This whole breeding season has been a mess- Charles upset Max during the racing season, and then had to break into Max's flat, only to find his brooder a heatsick disoriented mess in the bathtub, and now Max is mad again.

His nose twitches as he swims through the entrance- there's a faint tang of blood in the water. Not Max's, thankfully. Charles focuses, dimming his bioluminescence and sinking to the bottom of the floor, carefully looking around.

There's a few fish bones that have sunken down to the sand- fresh ones. He gingerly lifts one, turning it over in his hands. It's decently large, tiny little nicks and chips in it.

If he didn't know any better, he'd say it looks like the feeding marks from a predator species- sharks and eels, the kind of hybrid species that Charles keeps his fair distance from.

They're not particularly opposed to hunting other hybrids, and Charles is strong- but he's not at their level.

He's grateful that the Mediterranean is warmer waters- they don't have to deal with some of the larger species, or the worst case scenario- orcas.

Still.

He lets the bone drop back into the sand, carefully swimming up to the surface. Ideally, Max would be more comfortable using his gills, and Charles could bring him to their actual nesting site, but his stubborn brooder refuses to try again.

Except-

Max is curled into a tight ball on his ledge, completely submerged. He's also deeply asleep, gills flaring softly with each exhale.

Charles is quiet as he brings the tuna over to the pile that's started to amass on the edge of the pool, but he's pleasantly surprised to find it in disarray.

Max has been in here, and Charles' trout he'd brought back a few hours ago- an impressive catch- is missing. He sets the tuna on the pile, eyes flicking over to the dry stone near Max's ledge.

There's a small pile of bones, and a splattered bloodstain.

Huh.

Charles... didn't think Max would have been willing to do that. He's been deboning all the fish for him, slicing them into little bite sized chunks for his brooder.

But now- it looks like Max had just torn into it.

So much for a hunger strike.

He drifts closer, brushing one hand against the side of Max's face. He has his legs curled up tight to him, although he's grimacing, even in his sleep.

Lolo had said his brooder went through the actual changes rapidly, once they started- a painful few days before she'd finally settled, coherent and also a beautiful flying fish hybrid.

Charles had been slightly jealous of the extravagant fins.

Max must be starting his physical change now, which means Charles can get them both to the real den, further underwater but closer to Monaco.

Now that Max is breathing through his gills, Charles thinks it's time- and he's been carefully working on their space, getting it ready for Max. It's larger than their current one, and it's more secure, solidly within old family territory.

There's a separate brooding space for Max, interconnected by tunnel inside the den, artfully arranged to be as ideal as possible. There's a sunken basin for fish storage, soft kelp weavings across the room, and the space itself is all smooth rock.

There's optional lighting, delicately brought in from above ground, but Charles has found that Max prefers being in the dark while he's being bred.

The rest of the den system is cozy- a sleeping space with a deep layer of sand for sleeping, and a coral structure to wrap around and rest on.

Charles will make more edits to it as he and Max settle, but as far as starter dens- it's acceptable. Max can nest in the brooders den while he turns.

He's a bit worried about this seasons eggs. Turning is going to take everything out of Max, and the stress that's been present throughout the entire ordeal can't possibly have helped. There's a chance Max has reabsorbed any possible nutrients for his own survival.

He carefully lifts Max in his arms, and uses a few stray tentacles to grab the rest of the fish.

Max shifts, face scrunching as he turns closer into Charles' chest. He's starting to produce the viscous gel over his legs and hips- so he's not a tentacle hybrid.

Charles is fairly confident that the gel will start to solidify into the structure of Max's tail, and when he starts to see scale growth is when he'll know Max is almost done.

His brooder is... probably going to want to kill him.

Charles definitely hadn't discussed the tail thing with him, but- he hadn't expected it to start with Max only three years in.

He's deliberately ignoring the glaringly obvious problem of racing. He and Max will figure it out when they get there.

------

Max feels terrible when he wakes up. His entire body aches, and everything is blurry when he blinks, like he's looking underwater.

He realizes a moment later that it's because he is.

He's completely submerged in a new cave, resting on the sand underneath him in a curved basin. There's tentacles draped across him, and Charles looks like he's also asleep a few feet away, half buried into the sand.

Max slowly stretches, arms in front of him as he pops his head above water, but when he goes to move his legs, they don't respond the way he's expects them to.

His head snaps down to look, but his entire lower half is covered in tentacles.

Max reaches to try and push at them, see what's going on, but the movement wakes up Charles, who looks almost-

Scared.

"Max, you're awake."

Max narrows his eyes. Trying to sit up feels weird too, and the tentacles just tighten further around his legs, making it impossible to see.

"Where the hell are we?"

Charles is fidgeting with his fingers, a nervous habit from when they were younger.

"We are in the actual den, now that you can breathe underwater. It's safer, and it is closer to Monte-Carlo also."

Max likes the sound of being closer to his actual flat, back at home, but he's got an equally pressing concern, and there's a bad feeling rising in his gut, twisting and turning inside of him.

"What are you not telling me, Charles?"

Charles winces, tentacles squeezing around Max.

"Remember our conversation about the turning thing?"

Max's heart drops to his stomach.

"No."

"Max-"

"No-"

He yanks away from Charles- his legs won't work with him, abdomen twisting weirdly as he turns, and when he's finally pulled away, hissing at Charles-

His legs are gone.

It's just- it doesn't even feel real. It can't possibly be real, the way Max transitions from smooth human skin to a rough, sandpapery texture.

The tail goes further than his feet had, and it's the same color as his skin, but there's an assortment of dark brown speckles and dots, extending from his ribs all the way down the tail.

There's a few fins, but they're not the frilly kind- they're rigid, clearly defined triangular shapes.

It's a prank. It has to be- some kind of prank, or a nightmare, or an awful drug trip.

It moves when Max moves.

The noise that comes out of him is strangled, high pitched and distressed, because he's-

His head whips back around at Charles.

"Fix it."

Charles winces again, shrinking back from him.

"I can't, Max, you have to learn to shed it normally-"

"Fix it!"

Max cannot be a fish person. Not only does he not want to be a fish person, he doesn't have the time for it, and it's not like he can drive when he has no legs.

Charles at least looks mournful and apologetic, for all the good it's doing him, carefully keeping his distance.

"Max..."

Max is a fish.

Max can't drive.

Max has a tail, because three years ago Charles decided to snatch him off a beach, fuck him full of eggs, and then kept doing it.

He's worryingly close to another breakdown, and he's already cried into Charles' arms about the whole thing, which leaves him with the other emotional extreme- and he's more partial to this one anyways.

"Leclerc."

Charles twitches.

"Max."

Max locks eyes with him, tries to make it as clear as possible that in this moment, he really does mean it-

"I am going to kill you."

Charles' eyes widen, and then he's bolting out of the space, a dark blue blur. Max doesn't waste any time, launching after him.

The tail feels like an extension of him, and he hits a few corners at first, scraping his skin on stone and coral in the unfamiliar cave system, but Charles is getting away, so he keeps going.

Once they're out of the cave in open water things get easier- Max moves fast with the tail, feels the adrenaline rush that he's always craving, eyes searching for where Charles has hidden himself.

There's a large kelp forest nearby, and Max feels a grin stretch across his lips.

Charles is in there somewhere.

He leisurely lounges around the edges of it, watching sharply for any movement. There's so many smells- but he's pinpointing on a specific one, a combination of Charles and something else that makes his mouth water.

It reminds him of their octopus intruder, the way the tentacle had burst in his mouth, chewy flesh under his teeth.

He takes another inhale, drifting down closer to the seafloor. He doesn't know much about squids, but he's pretty sure they like to hide in the sand.

There's a few moments where he doesn't see anything, and then he locks eyes with a familiar green shade, staring right back at him.

Charles' pupils are huge, fearful and wide as he looks at Max.

It's not terribly dissimilar to how Max had felt when he was first yanked off the beach, terrified and feeling distinctly like prey.

He winks at Charles, before swimming a few feet back.

He's not actually going to take a bite out of Charles- even if the idea makes his mouth water, his brain is also screaming at him not to do it. Seeing the look in Charles' eyes when he'd realized Max had seen him- that's satisfying enough on its own.

He opens his mouth, intending to speak, but all that comes out is a low warble. Charles carefully unearths from under the sand, but he moves painstakingly slow to the edge of the kelp forest, ready to bolt again at any moment.

Max rolls his eyes, following his nose to backtrack the scents back into the cave system they'd come out of. He wants to talk to Charles about this.

It's a good thing the tail feels like second nature, because if Max was dead in the water on top of everything else, he might've genuinely taken a chunk out of Charles.

He makes his way back into the first cave he'd woken up in, settling with his head above water.

It takes a few more minutes for Charles to slink in, staying tight to the walls as he eyes Max.

Max sighs.

"I think I am weaker now than I was before, I'm not sure what has you so freaked out."

Charles makes a weird squeaking noise, still watching Max intently, practically pasted against the opposite wall.

"You are- uh, you are a shark, Max."

Huh.

Max looks back down at the tail- not his tail, but the tail-

Nope. Still not real.

He furrows his eyebrows, head jerking back up to meet Charles' eyes as he remembers.

"Charles, the egg-"

Charles winces, worrying at his fingers.

"You absorbed it."

"I what?"

Max's voice goes high and hysterical, one hand pressing to the flat of his stomach.

"You needed the extra nutrients and support, and the turning process is much longer than the actual turn, so really,"

Charles is looking apologetically at him.

"They most likely did not even fertilize."

Max's head is spinning. He has a tail. He doesn't have eggs. He doesn't-

"I'm not doing this."

Charles tilts his head to side.

"I'm not sure...?"

Max throws his arms out, tail splashing unhappily.

"This, the fucking- the fish thing, the egg thing, everything. I want to go back."

"Max, you can't."

The words trip in Max's brain, rattle over everything else because he hates it and it's true.

His entire life has been people dictating what he can and can't do, and now that's extended to his body, his entire being-

He launches forward at Charles. He isn't sure what he wants, just knows he's upset and angry and it's Charles' fault.

"Shit-"

Charles is wrestling him below the water, and Max is snapping at him, gulping in mouthfuls of water as he thrashes.

There are tentacles sliding around him, and he swears he sees Charles mouth sorry at him before Max is being yanked into place, teeth sinking into the meat of his shoulder, deeper than Charles has ever bitten before.

He shouts, air bubbles moving towards the surface as the water tints red around them, blood- Max's blood- starting to surround them.

The tentacles around him are squeezing and sliding, and Max hates how it has him relaxing in their grip, hips twitching.

Having sex is not going to make him any less angry, even as he feels Charles lapping at the bite mark he's left behind, and a small tentacle is curling around Max's neck.

Something presses between Max's legs, a weird sensation with the tail, sending lightning bolts of pleasure through him- it feels like Charles is pressing on his prostate, but there's not even anything inside of him.

He jerks in the tentacles grip, eyes rolling back in his head as Charles does it again, and again, and then there's a tentacle sliding inside of him, and Max is moaning, spasming as it pushes deeper.

It's nothing like getting fucked- everything is so much, and he's already losing himself to it, tentacles coiled around his skin as Charles fucks a tentacle smoothly into him.

Max- he's upset, it isn't fair that this is working. Charles makes it hard to stay mad at him, sealing his mouth over the pinpricks in Max's skin, tentacles tight around him.

Max's mouth drops open, head dropping limply as Charles presses further into him, and he feels cored open with it, rearranged in the truest sense of the word.

He almost doesn't recognize the swelling sensation at first, but he definitely feels the pressure inside of him, and he fights back, teeth snapping in Charles' direction.

He doesn't want another clutch, that's not how they solve problems-

It's not until he starts trying to utilize his legs- or his tail, whatever it is now- that he realizes Charles is struggling, tentacles slipping against the rough skin of Max's lower body.

Max lunges forward again, eyes narrowed, but he's unfamiliar with the water, with the tail, and there's still tentacles inside of him, coiling up tight, and he gasps, lightning shock through his system at the abrupt fullness.

Charles takes advantage of his distraction, tentacles tightening enough to hurt, twisting forward and pressing him against the wall- Max freezes as he feels sharp teeth rest gently across the front of his throat.

He's completely still, some animalistic part of him realizing Charles is perfectly poised to rip his throat out. They're both tense, neither of them moving, before Max feels the tentacle inside of him uncoil, and he moans- the undoing is almost as bad, the sudden change in him.

He still doesn't dare move, even as he feels the pressure build up again, but- it's harder for Max to find the anger now. Charles won, so he's in charge. Max knows that's not how it's supposed to work, but he can't find his righteous anger about it, eyes rolling back as he twitches in the tentacles grip, fingers uselessly clenching into his palms as Charles deposits the clutch.

Again.

[peachesnpears95]

💜🍑Shadowpeach: Lessons Of The HeArt💜🍑

MINORS/KIDS DO NOT INTERACT!

MINORS/KIDS DO NOT INTERACT!

MINORS/KIDS DO NOT INTERACT!

Had a Shadowpeach fanfiction idea, please do not steal this idea and use it as your own. I am going to write it on my own. Anyways I just wanted to share the concept with y'all before I started writing chapters.

Set After S5 Finale

-Lessons Of The HeArt-

At twilight, on a relatively peaceful day on Flower Fruit Mountain, Sun Wukong visits one of the many summits on the island. This is no usual visit, for today marks the day of the gravest mistake in his immortal life. Today is the tragic anniversary of when he murdered his former best friend the Six-Eared Macaque in cold blood.

Although Macaque had somehow miraculously come back from the dead, and while they weren't on a collision course to shatter each other out of the sky anymore, and even though things aren't as tense between them- it's still hard to stand besides one another without old wounds being reopened somehow.

Missing days long since gone by, Wukong goes to the one place he feels he can be close to Macaque without having to suffer through the ice-cold chill that surrounds his shadow.

Only for Wukong to find out, much to his agony and white-hot fury that someone has vandalized the boulder he and Macaque had painted on centuries ago.

When Wukong finds out that some heartless bastard has defiled the image of Macaque on the rock, it's positively drenched, dripping and splattered in paint, and there's a X marked over it-

He decides to follow the only clue left behind by the culprit. Readying to reap sweet and swift revenge down on whoever did this, Wukong tracks the trail of paint to a cave he didn't know existed on Flower Fruit Mountain.

There he finds some of his monkeys, who are also covered in speckles of paint, and there's paint on their tails and paws, but he doesn't think for a moment they did that. He suspects that they have caught the one, who defaced the painted portrait of his former best friend and have been keeping guard outside the cave, so they don't escape.

Wukong thanks them and tells them to stand back and that he'll handle it from here. However, as he moves forward, his little monkey subjects start acting odd, crooning and chattering with distress.

He can't understand what they're saying, there's too many of them talking at once, so he tries calming them down with reassurances.

He leaps into the cave-

Only to come face to face with his dark mirror.

And feel utterly horrible for thinking what he thought, because when he sees who it is that actually "vandalized" the painting-

He realizes that's not the case at all, and he's been thinking horrible, horrible things about this certain person all while he followed the paint trail back to the cave.

It's Macaque.

Macaque is curled in on himself in a makeshift nest, he's covered in paint stains, and a paint brush is held haphazardly in his tail tip. There's an assorted sea of alcohol bottles all over the cave floor, and the shadow is shaking in his nest.

Macaque is drunk off of his sorry tail, and he's weeping.

As it turns out, Macaque got it into his drunken-head to try and do some restoration on the rock painting, but he fucked it all up and spilled paint everywhere and it blotched out his painted picture on the rock.

So, in drunk distress he X'd himself out and retreated to his cave to wallow in his woe. After Macaque tells Wukong what he tried to do, and how he fucked it up because he's worthless and not good for nothing and nobody-

Wukong can't just leave him like that.

So, he takes his weepy-eyed warrior to get cleaned up and calmed down.

And one thing leads to another, and somehow Wukong convinces Macaque to take painting lessons with him, so when the times comes, they can restore the rock painting together!

Surely this won't backfire in ways Wukong never imagined, right?

Or could it really be considered backfiring when it makes Sun Wukong feel like he has his best friend (and maybe something more than he bargained for) back?

_

_

_

MINORS/KIDS DO NOT INTERACT!

MINORS/KIDS DO NOT INTERACT!

MINORS/KIDS DO NOT INTERACT!

[chaifootsteps]

I was with my hs sweetheart for almost 5 years. We lived together and went through a lot together. Ultimately, it ended because of his refusal to keep steady employment, clean up after himself, and just refuse to do the bare minimum like laundry and wash dirty dishes. For the time we lived together I had to work shit retail jobs that paid me minimum wage. During that time I didn't really spend money on myself since it was bills or buy him something nice since my dumbass loved him.

Well, after leaving him i instantly transformed and was thriving in less than a month after leaving him. Unfortunately, someone i assumed was just a friend assumed I was going to throw my pussy at him and be his wife. Not once did we ever have a conversation related to romance and not once did that fucker ever try helping me when he knew my ex was abusing me. Somehow he built this fantasy in his mind we were going to be together and I was going to do everything I did for my ex for him. Well, dude expected me to be his sugar mommy on my minimum wage job when I returned back to community college so I wouldn't have to work for shit pay anymore.

I got treated like shit by him for not being able to spend thousands on him because how dare I do that for a guy I was with for 5 years. Keep in mind, it hadn't been two months since I left my ex when this happened. So while I'm trying to ignore that guy, I'm talking and trying to get potential new romantic partners.

He threw a fucking fit and starting treating me more like shit. I think 4 months passed and I finally found a guy I really liked. He finds out and cries so I kindly explain to him how he's done nothing but treat me like shit.

Guess what he says?

That it's because he's a "tsundere", that's why he did things like fat shame me (I wasn't overweight or even close to being overweight!), make fun of me for never having any money, call me ugly, and just do a bunch of shit to me that confused me on why he somehow wanted to be with me.

So anyways, I ended up sucking that other guys dick and he ended up bragging about it to a friend who was friends with that "tsundere" and oh my god. He cried and harassed me nonstop for that to the point I had to delete all my social media and I was so glad I didn't give him my new number I got after I left my ex.

So yeah, that's the time a "tsundere" expected me to go running to him after leaving my hs sweetheart. How dare I try finding someone who was actually nice to me.

You're an anon after my own heart, Anon. Fuck those guys and good on you for leaving them both to wallow in their pissbaby tears.

[nomsfaultau]

Can you tell me what on earth I'm supposed to do/when you tell me one and one cannot equal two?

The prisoner in the chair flips rapidly between Wilbur, a younger Techno who looks like him (established in the last stanza with him and the Piglins), and present Techno who is bloodied and bruised. As fire burns through the pink hair that distinguished him from Wilbur, leaving only brown roots and dark ash, the figure flickers between Techno and Wilbur faster and faster until they're a blur. Techno insisting that he looks nothing like his twin comes out full force, denouncing the familial resemblance and, simultaneously, any connection or affection for the Crafts. Before the Nether, he'd come close to accepting their relation, but when denying it becomes the sole thing keeping him alive Techno plunges into delusion.

If Mr Sun can't shine, nor can Mr Moon

Technically it's Tommy that has the nickname Sunshine, but I'm warping it for the pun of 'son'. Within Spring and Storm Mr Moon is treated as a final word on death, explaining the possible afterlife to children. This ties neatly to Philza being the Angel of Death. Taken together, if Philza's children aren't happy, then his dark side comes out. As Techno disappears from the family portrait, there's a shadow over Phil's expression.

And yet each day that passes has this tension boil and stew

As the fire spreads across Techno's back, he's dunked underwater. It boils around him as Squidkid/flickering Tommy tries to drown him.

So forgive the effrontery, but I must beg you to humble me/And throw this Pavlov dog another bone

The smoke from Techno's burning hair curls upward, wafting from Blaze's cigarette. The smoke wafts in his face, washing it into the shadowy figure of the Piglins. In the Pavlov experiment, unrelated stimuli (bell) is a trigger for conditioned behavior (salivating). Both Techno and Blaze find comfort in a negative trigger for them, trying to force it to give them a sense of control in their lives. For Blaze, the cigarettes are the smoking crater of his life after Wilbur destroyed it. For Techno, the Nether feels like being back with his parents, and he uses the familiarity to fall back into old coping mechanisms, to the point where he almost feels comfortable in the Nether. A world of physical abuse makes sense to Techno, makes him think he can control his circumstances by adjusting his behavior to avoid punishment.

Techno is well conditioned from time with his parents. He fawns in the Nether, trying to be as friendly and funny and useful as possible. He believes that he will be rewarded for good behavior, to earn another bone/day alive. The Wither's skeletal armor gleams as she rewards Techno with motherly smile, appearing to throw him another bone. In truth there is little correlation.

It's a fair hike, you see, that peak we call prosperity

This line discusses a mentality that people have to work to deserve success. The underlying implications are as follows: 1. That if you work you WILL succeed 2. If you fail, it is a failure of one's personal efforts 3. This system is 'fair', thus anyone struggling more deserves to because they aren't working hard enough, irrespective of societal inequity or embedded discrimination. It also harkens back to the discussion of Sisyphus 'hiking' to the 'peak' rolling his stone, with the implication being that capitalistic thinking produces futile efforts, participation is not fulfilling, and everyone was doomed anyway.

Thus, Techno's belief in conditional/conditioned love is flawed. The rock will always roll back down. The abuse cycle will always explode and restart no matter how sweet the honeymoon phase.

And this bard is in dire need of a loan

This line cements that Techno could never earn his life. It was always about Philza's money/power. This bard is pared with Techno filming the torture video, getting the rug pulled out from under him, seemingly 'punished' despite being good, which The Wither reframed as due to his lackluster acting skills (instead of her needing to manipulate Philza). At dire need of a loan we see Philza hand over the money, seemingly concluding brushing past the real bloody conclusion of Techno's rescue much in the same way Philza didn't seem it important. For Techno, the Nether converges all three of his abusers. For Philza, Techno's trauma was solely from the Wither. And so the animatic skips over the Nether Massacre much in the same way Philza does. Or potentially because sometimes the words of a song parodying a chicken clucking doesn't match the plot of a Minecraft fanfiction beat for beat.

We close the Nether arc on a cracked emerald heavily bleeding.

it might be the hours and hours of listening to Chonny Jash’s cover of mucka blucka but I think I can make it about MFR Techno

[mars-ipan]

they're so GROSSSSSS (<- desperately wants what they have)

alt color under the cut:

[psychomusic]

oc time again! + her town & culture (heavily inspired by pre-roman italic populations)

she is suri sauthon. her story is linked to my swtor imperial agent, tar'x, but most of her life except for the one year away where she meets him, is spent in a town in the mountains of mirial.

despite mirial being cold and desert, and many cities developing underground, her town flourishes thanks to a force nexus, venerated in the form of an ancient, sacred, alive crystal. the ecosystem of that mountain depended on what "the horned crystal" was capable of giving them, but mirialans couldn't live off of that alone, so they developed trade and some rudimental technology, even if oftentimes it was bought thanks to the highly profitable trade of a plant used to make medicines that slowed down aging and had overall healing properties.

note: everything that's generated by this nexus has these healing properties BUT they have to be processed, except for those who bathed in the waters of the cavity under the crystal - the "real" nexus, but not the worshipped one. the waters were sacred but they were not thought to be miraculous, unlike the crystal, who instead was thought of as the keystone of the ecosystem: without it, everything would fall apart (and that is partially true: the cavity was the "real" nexus but thanks to the crystal, also strong in the force, the properties were spread all over the mountains). those who bathed in the cavity's waters - so, all of the town, who had a sort of baptism there - could eat the plant, make whatever food with it, and not only that plant, but everything generated by the nexus, that, again, had similar properties. this allowed people to live up to normal life-spans without advanced medicines or, much, really. to those who didn't live there, though, after the processing, had incredible effects, slowing down aging - for those who took it regularly - and making people able to live up to half a century more than the average]

originally, there were four tribes of nomads that lived thanks to horned farm animals that decided to settle down into one bigger town and other smaller settlements, to live off of transhumance. this division of the tribes stayed into the political and social organization: every person belonged to one tribe specifically, and had slightly different rituals and culture. for examples, each tribe had their own priests and healers, with different techniques and traditions. the town, tho, was guided by a group of people in the high priesthood, a position you could reach only by having earned the trust of all tribes. those high priests had many roles: they guided the people into sacred processions common to all the tribes, they managed the trading with outsiders, they did the maintenance of the temple of the summit (the one that functioned as casket to the crystal) and created a special liquid to offer the crystal that helps it grow.

this particular temple was important because 1. it was very visible, from every angle of the town, and it became an important identity symbol; 2. it stored the venerated horned crystal; 3. it had the altar where sacrifices were made for the crystals. that altar had a hole connected to the cavity, that allowed the liquids to reach the underground; 4. it had various symbols: statues representing each tribe + the high priesthood, and typical mirialan tattoos carved into the wood of the trees that served as columns for the temple, symbolizing 8 values that who dared to enter HAD to have; 5. it was on the way to an important lake (called "mother lake" because the lake the town was built around to depended on the waters of that other lake) where they traveled to in important processions; 6. it was said that a the wizard who unified the tribes made it with its magic, making the plant grow to hold the temple's roof. this wizard was, actually, a force user, obv.

BACK TO HER THOUGH: she's daughter of one of the high priests, who was in charge of managing the trades with outsiders, and lives in a house on the mountains with her mother and him. her parents are from different tribes (that's one of the things that earned him trust from the 4 tribes): when a child is born from two different tribes, they don't pick one to allign to, but they're usually linked automatically to the one with more relatives in it (in her case, the father's tribe: she had many uncles and aunts on his side while her mom only had one sister).

later, though, she got quite tied to her mother's tribe due to a mysterious illness that only her mother's tribe healer was able to cure. she spent 4 years (from 10 to 14 years old) living with the healer and learned her secrets. to better study, she wrote them down. when she returned home, she studied to become a priestess with her father. at 22 (the average age: you can't become priest before your 20s), she was supposed to take a test and become a priestess, but the healer of her mother's tribe died and the tribe asked her to take her place. she couldn't technically do that, but both tribes estimated both her and her parents and she was allowed to become both. she then decided to try to become a high priestess, and became one at 25 (a quite young age). being part of the council, she tried to convince the various tribe healers to unite their knowledges and write them down, and eventually made it. healers still remained tribe based but they now had an "upper, inter-tribe level" similar to high priesthood.

years later, the sacred horned crystal is stolen from the temple by some Hutt mercenaries looking for a profit. given the trust she has earned from all the tribes and the fact that her father is the high priest that deals with outsiders (and she's been hearing stories and advice about it since she was little), she is the one tasked with getting it back. without the growing crystal, the keystone to their ecosystem, the village would have lasted only a few years. in hrr quest, she meets imperial intelligence agent tar'x laran and, as they "solve the mystery" and fight to have it back, they get closer. they'll get married and have a daughter, Vegoia (who's the only one who actually will get to the plot of my story. this was all background)

[aardvaark]

even though i know the leverage team gets back together as soon as season 2 starts and we barely see any time of them being apart, it makes me unreasonably upset that they not only spent six months apart, but that they didn't know they'd all join back up eventually!! like wdym hardison spent months trying and failing to track down parker?? wdym parker gained a family and then spent half a year alone again?? wdym eliot had found a way to do some good or have some kind of purpose until it was suddenly over?? wdym nate & sophie had finally caught up with each other but came to realize that neither of them were in a place to have that relationship and spent months not knowing if that had been their last chance??