#how was he supposed to know the levels of tension between the two?

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Playdate in peril, the homosexual thoughts be upon ye.

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[loganlermanstanaccount]

Show me where it hurts (part 1)

Miguel O'Hara x spiderwoman!reader

(AO3 Mirror), Part 2, Main Masterlist

summary: Miguel's acting weird, and you make it your mission to find out exactly what's going on.

warnings: no warnings for this chap, pg-13, swearing and canon level violence. smut next chapter xoxo

a/n: this is a combination of 2 asks and this post I saw on here a while ago: flirty/ snarky fem reader, Miguel during a ""rut"" (I don't know if it counts as a rut really, but its to do with his animal instincts/DNA) and Lyla playing matchmaker.  I had so much fun writing this, enjoy :D

(i wrote this pre seeing spiderverse 2, so i think characterisation is a little off, esp for Lyla, apologies! I'll fix it in my upcoming fics)

edit: I use the term "bichita" which I have been informed can be read not as I intended in Spanish. I'm not a native speaker so I want to apologise in advance. I'm doing more research for my future fics and leaving this up as a testament to my stupidity. Spanish speakers, feel free to correct me / clown my ass in the comments. My bad guys :(

wc: 3.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You think Miguel is avoiding you. 

One of your closest friends, giving you the runaround for months, it seems. Calling the two of you close friends is a little extreme, sure. You've only known O'Hara for two years, and been in love with him for slightly less than that, thank you very much. And yes, he refuses to call you by anything but your last name. And the last time you saw him he wouldn't so much as look at you, but that was besides the point. 

"..the point," You tell Lyla, in between exasperated bites of cereal, "... is that aren't elite forces of spiderpeople supposed to, you know, have some spiderpeople kick ass once in a while? And where exactly is our fearless leader? I haven't seen O'Hara's scary ass in weeks, and I'm starting to miss it."

She gives you a look, one that says this isn't what I'm programmed for , but you pointedly ignore it. 

"His ass, by the way." You clarify. "I very specifically miss his ass. Remind me to get his routine. I know girls that would kill for…"

"How the fuck did you get in here?" A voice croaks. You turn behind you and see Miguel, not in his suit, but wrapped up in a blanket like he's just woken up. And he looks rough, like a train ran him over on the way here: puffy eyes, splotchy skin, tension kneaded into his brow. 

"Wow." Your spoon drops into the milk. "You look like shit.." 

He furrows his brow even deeper, if that was possible. " Mierda. You shouldn't be here." 

"This isn't quite the welcome party I was expecting, man. I'm the only one to actually turn up to one of your meetings, and this is what I get?" 

"I thought I told Lyla to cancel," He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Cancel? Since when do you miss a chance to talk about rules and protocol?" 

"I don't have time for this-" 

"-and I'm not leaving without a proper explanation. Is everything okay?" 

"It's actually way worse now you're here." He deadpans. 

"Haha ." You turn to Lyla. "You drop everything to travel halfway across the multiverse and this asshole won't even say thanks." 

"Thanks, but this asshole needs you to leave. Now." 

This is the most he's spoken to you in forever, and you hate that you like it. You just want his attention, however it comes. If that means dragging this out so maybe he acknowledges you, touches you, looks at you - then so be it. Squinting, you get closer to him. You scan his face for anything to latch onto. You put a hand on his shoulder, still searching. 

"You sure you're alright? You know you can tell me if-" 

"Si, si." He grits his teeth, looking away. "M'just fine. I'll explain…. later."

"...because I'm your right hand man?" You grin, poking at his brow. "Stop frowning so much Miguel, you're gonna ruin that pretty face of yours."

He flushes, nervous, and swats you away. "-what? N-No. You're not my right hand man and I like my face just the way it is. Now, leave. "

Making your way to the door, you tap your nose teasingly. "You know where to find me!" 

When the door closes with a click, you make your way down the corridor, and stop in your tracks when you hear it. It's muffled, but with the strain of your supersenses you can make out Miguel's voice just beyond the wall. 

"I just…. don't want her to see me like this… Lyla, it's not happening… I can't tell her…." Tell her what, exactly? 

Resolutely, you make up your mind. Miguel O'Hara's got a secret. And before you leave for home, you're gonna do everything in your God given power to wear him down and find out. 

~~~

Despite his insistence otherwise, you liked to think of yourself as O'Hara's right hand man - and most of the other spiderpeople thought so too. You were one of the very first he recruited, after crash landing onto your earth like a spiderman-shaped meteor; the two of you were inseparable. Miguel was stubborn and headstrong and thought he was right all the time. Infuriatingly, he was, but that didn't stop you from telling him to get his head out of his own ass when his ego grew too big. 

He was different around you, you think. Softer, sometimes. Harsher, other times. He told you what you needed to hear whether you wanted to or not; the result of mutual respect and agonising persistence. Slowly, you had chipped away his hard exterior; the one he built because he thought he needed to push people away. In that regard, you were similar, but this need manifested in you like a weed - an awful, awful compulsion to joke and laugh at your own expense, to keep others at an arm's length. You had spent your whole life picking and pruning away at yourself, looking for perfection. Even after all this, multiverse-hopping and fighting alongside people who were the closest things you had to friends , it wasn't enough. There was still something missing. 

Ironically, Miguel had told you something similar the one of the last times you had spoken. You had fucked up a mission, well and truly. In the aftermath, all you can remember is coming back to base, limping on Jessica's arm. 

"She's hurt!" She cries out. Lyla materialises and leads you both to the med bay, inspecting any visible wounds. There's a deep laceration, sticky with blood, at the base of your stomach. You shift onto the bed and hiss with pain. 

Miguel is quick to follow, face twisted with confusion, pain, sadness. Even in your haze, you feel the tension radiating off of him as he drags over a cart of supplies. 

"What happened?" He strains. 

"I don't even… it happened so fast. We got ambushed, and all of a sudden I'm on the ground. I wasn't thinking straight and… " She sobs. "...she jumped in front of me. God, she saved my life-" 

"-wasn't your fault, Jess." You croak, trying to sit up. "And I'm fine. Just need to walk it off…"

"Sit, bichita," His nickname makes you frown, despite yourself, and you settle back down. "Lyla, what's the damage?"

Your vision goes spotty, and Lyla's voice barely registers. All you can feel is searing pain in your side, but Miguel is warm, oh so warm. You clutch his arms, and force him to look you in the eye. 

"M'ready, Miguel." He nods weakly, but you don't think he understands. "I mean it . I can lead, j-just need another chance and I won't let you down… Jess, tell him that I can-" 

"It's okay. I believe you. You just need to relax for me, hmm?" He clutches at your hand, tight, and it's like you're the only two people in the world. "You did good. I promise."

Faintly, you nod. You feel a pinch at your arm, and Jessica's there, with an empty vial of something in her hands. The pain washes over you, and you fight to keep your eyes open. In those last few moments of light, you swear you feel a shaky kiss pressed to your temple. 

"Sleep, mi bichito amoroso. Sleep."

When you come to, you're still in the medbay, moonlight streaming through. Well, artificial moonlight. Time worked a little differently here, something Miguel explained to you a while ago - God knows what about dilation and quantum interference. It makes you smile now, remembering his frustration as he tried to explain to no avail. You were the only spiderman this side of the multiverse without a degree in quantum tech, you had said with a lopsided smile. 

You move to sit, and pain shoots up your side. Groaning, you push through it, determined to get out of this bed and find the others. As if on cue, Miguel walks in, almost leaping towards you. 

"You should… mierda ! You should be resting in bed."

You pout as you stumble into his chest. He hooks an arm around you and leads you back. You clamber in, sighing. "M'fine, O'Hara."

"Your guts were halfway out of your body less than 24 hours ago. So stay put, or you might give me another heart attack."

You scoff, incredulous. "You were worried?" 

He shrugs. " 'Course I was."

"Why? You know I'm practically indestructible." You give him a shit eating grin, and poke the frown appearing at his brow. He doesn't bat you away like he usually does. 

"Famous last words, bichita." He sighs. You can't speak a lick of Spanish, but you know he only calls you that word when you've frustrated him to his limit. So you take it as a win, for now. 

He drops into the chair next to you. "How are you feeling?" 

"Just peachy, dollface." You wink, and he doesn't so much as groan. 

"I'm being serious. You went through something pretty traumatic…"

"You want me to tell you it hurts, so, so bad, daddy? " You pout and flutter your eyelashes mockingly. Miguel shifts in his seat, unable to make eye contact. 

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, O'Hara? I feel fine. And in a couple of days, I'll feel even better, and I'll be up and about. I can finish what we started and-" 

"-no, absolutely not." He frowns. "A couple of days? I'm sending you home-" 

"You can't do that! On whose fucking authority?"

"On the authority of you almost fucking died ! Keeping you safe is our priority right now-" 

"God, is this my punishment? This is a low blow, O'Hara. You know how hard I've worked for this: months of surveillance and intel a-and I did everything by the book, just like you told me to." You croak. "I fucked up . I know that, and I feel terrible. Give me a chance to make things right; that's all I'm asking. I can do it, I know it. "

He looks at you for a moment, something heavy in his expression. His face contorted, he strips you down to the bone with just his gaze. His voice is so quiet, you almost miss it. 

"....you're still trying to prove yourself, aren't you?"

Honestly, it catches you off guard. You don't even know what the fuck that means, let alone why he said it.

"I don't… I d-don't…?" 

"They all love you. Respect you. More than me I think, sometimes." He chuckles at that. "You're good at what you do. The best . What else are you trying to prove? What else do you need ?" 

Your throat goes dry. You couldn't speak if you wanted to. 

"I'm not punishing you. You made a mistake, but you don't need to be crucified for it. I just want to keep you safe. I can't… we can't lose you."

"Miguel-"

"-this isn't a discussion. And I'm not trying to argue, although I know how much you like to argue." He inches closer, cupping your face gently. You try to move away, blinking back tears. But his hands are steady and he strokes your jaw with so much tenderness you think you hear your heart break. He's pretty, so pretty. You don't deserve him, you think. "There'll be time to fight, bichita. Rest. That's your mission right now."

"C-can't sleep." You breathe. "It hurts." 

Miguel pauses, head tilted like he's thinking. He taps your shoulder. "Scoot over."

You do as he says, and he slips into the bed with you. It's a tight fit, but he manages, placing you on his chest with an arm gently around your shoulders. You bury your face in his hoodie, sniffling and hoping he doesn't notice you choking back sobs. Absentmindedly, he settles into a rhythm, gentle breathing and playing with your hair, soothing you softly. He pretends he can't hear the tears. 

"M'gonna stay here until you're asleep. For as long as you need."

You nod, unable to speak for fear of breaking down. 

~~~

The days after felt like a blur. You woke up to Miguel gone, and an ache in your heart. Jess visits as much as she can, and Ben calls you a couple times, to see if you're okay. Peter B brings Mayday, and she clambers all over your bed, bringing some life into the room. Miguel doesn't visit per se - you hear whispers of him, Lyla visiting in his stead for comprehensive status updates. Once, you wake up in the night to see him on the adjacent chair, head lolling in deep sleep. He looks peaceful, calm - one of the first times you haven't seen his brow furrowed with worry. Of course, he's gone by the morning. 

The very last time you saw him, he opened the portal home. It was weird, after everything, but if Miguel felt the same you wouldn't know. Talking at a thousand miles a minute, he alternates between assuring you they'll be fine without you and situation reports from spider people all across the multiverse. Things you'd missed whilst bedbound, asking for advice before you left. He trusted your judgement and the thought warmed your heart, almost making you forget that he completely brushed past the previous nights before. 

You still remember the last thing he had said to you, which would've been weeks ago, now. 

"...and if you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me directly. Not Jess, not Ben, and certainly not Peter B. Call me, and I'll answer, I promise. You need help, you need advice, you just need someone to talk to, then-"

"-I call you. I get it, O'Hara. Will do." He opens the portal, watching as you walk towards it. He can't take his eyes off of you, even though you can't see him. At the last moment you turn, and run towards him. You almost knock him over with a hug. Burying his head in the crook of your shoulder, he hugs you back, ever careful of your injury. Separating, your smile almost knocks him over again. Weakly, he smiles back as you head through the portal, back home. 

You're left with that feeling, of his arms around your body - warm, so warm - as you putter about by the switchboard. After careful deliberation (you were really, really bored ) you'd taken to manage the Multi Modal Multiversal Switchboard - as aptly named by Miguel. Everyone else called it the Big Red Phone of course, but he had insisted on calling it by its proper name . Every. Time. 

The thought makes you chuckle as you call up Peter B. His icon flashes on the screen in front of you. With a click, he picks up the call, his face materialising holographically in front you. A little hand reaches up and tugs at his ear. 

"Ow… ouch … Dad's on the phone, honey."

"Aww! How's my favourite Parker doing?" 

"Not bad, actually! MJ just made us probably the best burger this side of New York-"

"-sorry, Peter? Me and May are trying to have a conversation." You hear her giggle in the background. Her gap toothed grin pops into frame and she babbles excitedly. "...yeah, exactly May. That's literally what I said."

"Okay, okay, that's enough." He puts the toddler down and watches her scurry away. "You're feeling better, I see."

"Yeah, back in action. Thought I'd check in."

"All good here." He squints, trying to take in your surroundings. "You're at HQ?" 

You hum.

"Could've sworn Lyla cancelled…"

"Yeah, didn't get the memo. But I think something's wrong with O'Hara."

He gives you a weird look. "Uhhh, what makes you think that?" 

"He won't even look at me. Was it something I said? Something I did?" Your eyes narrow. "...what do you know, Peter?"

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" He scoffs, a little too quickly, clutching his chest like you've offended him. He's stared down some of the scariest villains around, but the look you give him is truly chilling. "Just… uhhh. You didn't hear this from me." 

"Naturally…"

"We tracked 'em down, the guys that ambushed you and Jessica."

"The Sinister Six? From Earth-215?"

"Yeah, but by the time we got there, it was just Kraven and some of his goons. Miguel got there first, and…." He gulps. "He was pissed. Trashed the whole place looking for the rest of 'em. Beat Kraven half to death and we had to pull him off."

"Shit."

"Yeah, it was pretty rough. Never seen him like that before. And just generally? He'd been weirdly quiet, a little grumpy, more aggressive on missions. I don't know what's gotten into him."

"Hmmm. Thanks, Pete."

"No problem, sweetheart. And if the big guy asks… "

"...this didn't come from you, I know." Weakly, you smile. "Say hi to my favourite Parkers, for me." 

" 'Course I will. We should celebrate, if you're back officially. Mine and MJ's is always open."

"Good to know. I'll see you around."

He waves goodbye, and the hologram clicks off. Sighing, you try to piece together what you've just heard. 

Miguel: acting weird. Well, you knew that already. Aggressive was new. And Lyla? She had canceled, but not for you, for some reason. An honest mistake, perhaps. But Lyla doesn't make mistakes… 

You stew for a couple of hours, puttering about the switchboard, twiddling your thumbs. Something's wrong, and for some reason you're afraid to see him. To have him look straight through you, again, when you ask to do the same. Show me where it hurts. Tell me how to make it better.  

On the way there, you chew your lip in anticipation. In the corridor, you're outside the door to his place, hand hovering above the door. To knock, to call. In the harsh fluorescent light, you hesitate. 

"Lyla?" Nervously, you sink down onto the floor. It's hard to explain, but you don't expect her to actually come; to materialise in front of you. 

"How can I assist you?" She says with a ding. 

"Uhh… hi. Just wanted to talk." You pause, clicking your tongue. "Can you be honest with me?" 

"I can only be honest with you. It is not in my programming to lie, unless specified by my owner."

"Sure. Cool. It's about him, actually. Is Miguel okay?" 

She tilts her head, as if processing your request. "Okay is a subjective term. Is Mr O'Hara alive? Yes. Is Mr O'Hara physically well? Yes. By those terms, he is okay ."

Too vague for your own liking. "I guess I meant more… his emotional state. To the best of your knowledge… in your opinion , Lyla: is Miguel okay?" 

"...I believe Mr O'Hara is experiencing some emotional turmoil."

You frown. "Oh. Do you know why?" 

"Mr O'Hara has instructed me not to disclose that information with you."

"Fair enough. But you don't have to tell me… I could just ask questions?" 

She nods. "There is nothing in my programming that prevents me from answering some questions within certain parameters." 

"Did I do something? Not just today but… last time I was here. Did I say something to hurt or upset him? Is that why he's acting weird?"

"No." She says blankly. "And yes. I suppose it is… complicated." She gestures around that word. 

"I'm a little confused, Lyla."

She sits next to you, on the cool tile. Not that she could feel it, but it feels more intimate - like two friends talking. The extent of Lyla's consciousness, you weren't sure of. Was she alive? To you, she might as well be. Could she think, feel, emote? Maybe, maybe not. You weren't smart enough to understand the nuances of her programming. But you were human enough to see it in her - something glittering beyond the surface. 

It could be projection, but you swear her voice is softer. "He has a name for you. When he speaks about you, and to you. I have it logged in my memory database. Do you know what that is?" You shake your head. 

Lyla opens up her palm and projects videos and images - little Miguel's popping up in her palm, tinny and gruff voices ringing through the hallway. They say your name, shout your name, whisper it. Some say other things in Spanish. Curse words had always been your assumption, and he had given you no reason to think otherwise. Now, having it played back to you, you hear a tenderness in his voice you would've missed. Words and phrases that come up again and again…

"Bichita." She repeats. "Bichito del amor. Mi bichito amoroso. "

You shake your head, still confounded. "...I don't speak Spanish, Lyla." 

"Little bug. Sweetheart. Lovebug. My little lovebug." She clears her throat. "I believe they are terms of endearment."

Steadfast, she directs you towards her palm. Another small Miguel appears, and you think it's him from this morning. 

"I thought I told you not to let anyone in, Lyla?" 

"I did not let her in. She let herself in using the code you previously gave her, Mr O'Hara."

"Yeah, for emergencies. Fuck. Mi bichita, too smart for her own good."

"...If you are in distress, I believe she would understand, Mr O'Hara."

"I just think it's too much. I don't want her to see me like this." 

"According to Alchemax files, previous subjects showing this kind of aggression benefitted from-"

"Lyla, it's not happening, no chance. I can't tell her."

The figure blinks out of her palm. "Mr O'Hara has forbid me from telling you about certain things."

"...but not from showing me." Your eyes meet hers. You give her a watery smile. "Thank you." 

With a hint of a smile, she nods and is gone from the corridor. You are left alone, with nothing but your thoughts of little lovebugs rattling around in your brain.

_

_

_

[princessbrunette]

frat!gooner!rafe who just can’t help himself from groping you :(

it was casual drinks at a friends house, and of course your favourite mutual friend, rafe cameron had to be there. you sort of had a thing, a super sexual, probably toxic, unhealthy thing going on — but you’d told yourself, not tonight. tonight, you’d have class. it was about your friends, and that’s who you were here to see. you weren’t here to do… whatever, with him.

he doesn’t hide his lecherous gaze through the evening — but you expect nothing less. hell, at one point you’re even sure you see him adjust his bulge whilst staring. that man had no shame.

but you supposed neither did you.

because as soon as you wander off into the next room alone, a little tipsy and needing to walk off the tension — you’re gasping out a high pitched squeal as a hand slots itself over your mouth and you’re dragged to a dark corner. in any other instance, you might be afraid. but you knew exactly who it was.

rafe is suddenly infront of you, that slicked back greasy mop a little dishevelled from his own actions, hand still over your mouth as he shoves another up your top, groping your tits as much as he can.

you mewl against his hand, half in irritation that you’d been caught, half in arousal.

“yeah, like this little outfit you got on. knew what you were goddamn doin’.” he breathes out through his mouth. he takes his hand off your mouth, trusting you won’t make a fuss and you weakly go to push him off. irate, he brushes your hands away, yanking your skirt up. “‘make this quick a’ight? don’t need you makin’ it a whole thing.” he drawls as he unzips himself.

you think you’re gonna fuck, maybe you can get something out of this too— but no, once pulling out his fully hard cock, he’s yanking your panties down just enough for him to start jerking off into them, widening his stance to lower himself more to your level. it’s obscene.

you let out a pathetic little cry, and it is pathetic because you shouldn’t be whining over not getting fucked when he practically forced himself on you— and when you go to grab at him needily he shoves you against the wall more firmly with an arm across your shoulders to keep you pinned. “shuuut up… okay, just—just shut up.” he hisses, eyes squeezing shut as he pants. occasionally he indulges you by sliding his tip through your folds, collecting the increasing wetness — the fat mushroom tip catching on your clit making you buck.

“someones gonna see.” you whisper, barely audible, but your eyes screw shut as you try and catch his dick again. his tongue is slot between his lips in concentration as he brings the hand that’s holding you down up to your mouth again, lazily sliding two fingers passed your lips knuckle deep to shut you up.

“yeah doesnt — doesn’t seem like you actually care too much, so…” he sarks, before the pleasure consumes him and he’s shuddering, jaw dropping as he watches you choke on his fingers, shooting his hot seed into your pretty delicate panties. you whimper pathetically, and once catching his breath — he slides his fingers from your mouth and yanks your panties up with such a casual strength he almost takes your feet off the ground for a moment.

rafe rubs a big ringed hand over your panties, making sure the squelchy release is all contained within the fabric and you sniffle, knowing you’ll need to fix your makeup somehow after this. “there you go.” he mutters, like he did you a favour — before taking a step back, clearing his throat as he watches you fix your clothes like hes suddenly regaining consciousness. “gonna head back out there ‘fore they suspect something or some shit. don’t be too long, a’ight?” there’s a slight softness, dare you even say fondness to his tone and expression before he departs, hands in his cargo pockets, the sound of him zipping his flies back up as he leaves the room following.

with his cum still warm in your panties you shudder, wondering how someone could treat you like this and still leave you wanting more.

[jjenthusee]

🎃 Halloween Shenanigans 🎃

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

A/N: In preparation for October, I wanted to write some small Halloween drabbles that seemed so hilarious in my mind ☺️ ENJOY :) leave any comments and reblog <3

Tags: lame jason makes me giggle, unhinged jason, clingy jason??

Check out Pt. 2 here!

“You can’t be serious.” You eyed Jason up and down, judgement written all over your face.

He stood in his full Red Hood gear, holsters strapped on his legs, helmet shined, and leather jacket worn.

“What? It’s perfect.” He stood up from the edge of the bed, walking closer to you.

“It’s a Halloween event and you’re dressed up as yourself?!” You felt the vein popping up in your head. “I thought you were supposed to keep your identity…oh, I don’t know…hidden?”

“I’ve done it before, no one bats an eye. Heh, ya get it?” Jason chuckles at his accidental lame joke.

You raised an eyebrow, he was not taking any of the concern seriously.

“Sweets, it’s fine. Have you seen how many shitty Robin and Nightwing outfits there are? There’s nothing to worry about.”

—

“You take that back!” Jason pointed a finger at the stranger testing his patience for the night.

“No! Your costume sucks!” A little boy dressed in a Robin costume yelled back at Jason. The small domino mask on his face slowly slipping from his nose the longer he raised his voice. Their difference in height was laughable if it weren’t for Jason arguing with a literal child. “You painted the Red Hood symbol wrong and your jacket sucks too!”

You were feeling a headache itching into your head.

“What?! Kid, I’m the real fuc—“

“Okay! Okay, my friend here has had too much candy for the night.” You yelled louder before Jason could finish his sentence, glaring at him before you turned around back to the young child.

“Friend?!” You heard Jason yell from behind your back as you crouched, he was getting more offended by the second.

“Hush!” You harshly whispered back to your boyfriend.

After you were eye-level with the kid, you promised to let him rummage in your bag of candy. Letting him pick out anything from the selection while Jason paced back and forth murmuring to himself at the disadvantage he was in.

The boy was actually a nice kid as he told you about how his dad helped him sew the costume together. He was yapping away in his excitement as he took one of the full-sized candy bars that you brought to give out to other kids.

“I died and this is what I have to deal with? How about you take a crowbar—“

You swung your head back while the kid was distracted, frowning at the large man behind you. He immediately didn’t finish his thought at your unamused look, but instead settled for crossing his arms across his chest as he glared down the boy still talking to you.

Before the boy left, he told you he had lost his dad before he ended up at your front door.

Once you calmed the kid down and promised to help, Jason followed you out to try to find the boy’s dad, but there was still unsettled tension in the sudden enemies who walked next to you as you searched.

Every time Jason tried to get closer to you, the kid switched sides holding onto your hand, becoming a tiny barrier in between the two of you.

You kept your head forward, not acknowledging the two fighting behind you as the kid stuck out his tongue and Jason subtly trying to whisper back insults.

Once you found the father, you were finally relieved. You were receiving thanks from the boy’s dad before Jason kneeled down to see the boy at eye level. They stared at one another as they seemed to be having a semi-friendly conversation.

You eyed the two while you finished your conversation, not believing them to be suddenly getting along.

“You better watch your back.” Jason quietly talked.

“You’re not scary.” The boy glared, his expression not seen from where you stood.

“What’s wrong with the kids these days?” Jason murmured under is breath. “My gear—costume isn’t lame.”

“It’s lame. You don’t even have your guns. Red Hood has guns.”

With a large sigh from Jason and your side glance burning the side of his head, he gave in as you wondered what the two of them were talking about.

“I’ll buy you a large soda and another big candy bar if you hug me, so I don’t get yelled at later.”

“Two sodas.” The child negotiated.

“You’re pushing it, kid.” In one tilt of his helmet, Jason watched you smile to the man. “Deal.”

When you looked back, the two supposedly bickering enemies were embraced in a friendly hug. You watched in confusion, but the boy’s dad was cooing at how well they got along.

“Say ‘You’re so cool’ and you’ll get two candy bars.” Jason whispered at the side of the boys head while they still hugged.

The kid loudly yells his words, mimicking an excited tone.

“Oh, you two get along so well, thank you for finding my son. You two lovebirds enjoy your night.” The dad left with his son and his large haul of candy and other sweets.

You watched as they walked away in the opposite direction of your home.

The Red Hood standing next to you was surprisingly quiet, no quick remark or other insult.

Before you were about to grab Jason’s waist to turn around, the small figure caught your eye.

While you half held Jason, you watched as the young boy stuck out his tongue in one final jab at the man in your arms.

“You little—I can’t believe that lil’ shit got free candy outta me.” Jason puffed, finally deciding to raise the white flag of surrender.

You couldn’t hold back the smile on your face. A gentle laugh leaving you as you couldn’t see your boyfriend pout, but you knew him so well that you could imagine it under the helmet.

You nudged Jason, guiding him into a walk back to your home.

He had squeezed you by the shoulder, letting his arm rest around you and you reciprocated a loose arm around his waist.

“How much money did u lose on the kid?” You grabbed onto his gloved hand hanging in the air, intertwining your fingers. The momentum of your steps pushing you into a leisure stroll.

“$10 and so many snacks. Lil’ fucker knows how to negotiate.” Jason spoke through gritted teeth.

You laughed into the night air, remembering the image of them glaring at one another.

“You met your match tonight, Mr. Red Hood.” You smirked.

[iomoru]

hey, rlly enjoying your works recently esp the kinich ones! can i request what multiple genshin characters (kinich, kazuha, scara and you can do more but id prefer a longer one for each char rather than small little ones if okay!) would fight us about and how they would resolve the argument? thanks <3

Healing After the Storm

A/n: I'm so sorry for the late reply Mars anon! I was supposed to do this last night but I fell asleep so I had to rush doing it once I woke up ╥﹏╥

Genre: Canon Verse, Angst w/ a happy ending, Gn! Reader, Some of the chars might be ooc, Scara is called Wanderer, Second Person, Proofread

Chars: Kinich, Kazuha, Wanderer (Scara), Xiao

Summary: After a heated argument, tension rises between you and him, leaving you both feeling distant and unsure. Harsh words are exchanged, but in the aftermath, he takes time to reflect, realizing the pain he’s caused. Whether through small, meaningful gestures or quiet apologies, he finds a way to reach out and make amends.

Kinich:

• The Argument: You stood there, voice trembling with frustration as you confronted Kinich. “It feels like I’m always second to everything else in your life!” Your words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. He responded defensively, and soon, you were both saying things you didn’t mean.

• Post-Argument: After the argument, Kinich would retreat for a bit, giving you both some space. He’s always been level-headed, but this time, guilt weighs heavily on him. He realizes he took you for granted, and his regret eats at him.

• Resolution: Kinich approaches you with a quiet but serious demeanor, kneeling in front of you as he places his hand on yours. “I never meant to make you feel unimportant. You’re everything to me,” he’d say, his voice soft but earnest. He’d take you somewhere meaningful, perhaps to watch the sunset, a reminder of shared peace and beauty. “I’m sorry I lost sight of what truly matters.”

You sat alone by the shoreline, the soft crash of the waves doing little to soothe the ache in your chest. It had been hours since your argument with Kinich, and though the sun had begun to set, the sting of his words still lingered.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of familiar footsteps approaching. Kinich stood a few feet behind you, his usual confident posture softened. He didn’t say anything at first, simply sitting down beside you, his presence comforting despite the silence.

“I’ve been a fool,” he began, his voice gentle, almost carried away by the breeze. “I didn’t mean to push you away like that.”

You glanced at him, still unsure, but his eyes held an earnestness that was hard to ignore. He reached for your hand, his fingers brushing yours lightly before you allowed him to hold it fully.

“I’ve been so focused on everything else, I forgot to make you feel... important.” He looked at the setting sun, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your hand. “But you are. More than anything else.”

You felt the tension in your chest ease as you leaned against him, the warmth of his body grounding you. “I just...want to know where I stand with you.”

Kinich tilted his head to rest against yours. “You stand beside me. Always. I’m sorry I made you doubt that.”

The two of you watched the sun dip below the horizon, the soft glow of twilight settling around you—a reminder that even after the darkest moments, there was always light.

Kazuha:

• The Argument: “It feels like I’m the only one invested in this relationship sometimes!” you had exclaimed, frustration bubbling over. Kazuha’s usual calm demeanor had cracked, and for once, he had responded with a coldness that took you by surprise.

• Post-Argument: After the tension, Kazuha would spend time alone, thinking about his words and the weight of his silence. The guilt of hurting someone so dear weighs him down as he reflects on his feelings during a peaceful stroll.

• Resolution: Kazuha would find you in a serene spot, like a quiet forest or near a gentle river. He’d offer a soft apology, bringing with him a small poem he wrote, describing his thoughts about you. “I’ve always been a drifter,” he’d say, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want an anchor. And you...you’re my home.” His voice, though calm, is filled with sincerity as he gently takes your hand. “I’m sorry for my silence. I promise i’ll do better.”

The rustling of leaves and the distant call of a bird filled the otherwise quiet forest where you sat, alone with your thoughts. The argument with Kazuha replayed in your mind, his unusually harsh words cutting deeper than you'd expected. It wasn’t like him to lose his temper, and yet...

You heard soft footsteps approach, and soon enough, Kazuha appeared in the clearing, his expression apologetic, yet calm. He moved gracefully to sit beside you, keeping a respectful distance.

“I’ve hurt you,” he said simply, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand reached into his pocket, pulling out a small piece of paper. “I wrote something...I hope it can explain what I couldn’t in the heat of the moment.”

He unfolded the paper, his eyes tracing the words before handing it to you. It was a short poem, one that spoke of wandering hearts and anchors, of finding solace in stillness amidst chaos. As you read, your heart softened, the weight of your earlier argument beginning to lift.

“I’m not good with staying in one place,” Kazuha murmured, “but that doesn’t mean I want to drift away from you.”

You turned to him, meeting his gaze. His eyes were soft, filled with regret but also with the same quiet intensity that had drawn you to him in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice as gentle as the breeze that rustled through the trees. “I want us to understand each other better...I’ll stay, if that’s what you need.”

You leaned into him, letting his calm presence wash over you. “Just don’t leave me behind,” you whispered.

“I won’t,” Kazuha promised, pulling you close.

Wanderer (Scara):

• The Argument: “You don’t care about anyone or anything but yourself!” you had shouted, your voice trembling with emotion. Wanderer’s retort had been sharp, cutting, and dripping with venom. “Maybe I don’t,” he had spat back, pushing you away with words that stung more than any physical blow.

• Post-Argument: Wanderer would storm off, cursing under his breath, but it wouldn’t take long for the sting of his own words to settle in. He’s stubborn, but deep down, he’s aware he hurt you more than he should have.

• Resolution: Wanderer wouldn’t be the type to apologize outright at first. He’d grumble and act aloof, but eventually, he’d show up with a small, thoughtful gift—something that has meaning between the two of you, like a trinket from a place you once visited together. “I...didn’t mean half of what I said,” he mutters, avoiding eye contact. Then, after a beat, he’d finally look at you, his eyes softer than before. “I’m sorry. I hate how easy it is for me to hurt the ones I care about, although i’ll try to stop pushing you away.” His sincerity would shine through in the quiet moments after.

The room was cold, the silence heavy after your argument with Wanderer. You had retreated to your room, tears stinging your eyes as his cruel words echoed in your mind. How could he say such things? After everything you’d been through together?

Hours passed, and you didn’t expect him to come back. So when a soft knock echoed from the door, you were surprised.

Wanderer stepped in, awkwardly holding something behind his back. He didn’t meet your gaze at first, his expression guarded, almost embarrassed. With a sigh, he pulled a small, familiar trinket from behind his back—something you had once admired on a trip together.

“I, uh...I got this for you,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact. “I thought... maybe...it would help.”

You stared at him, unsure of what to say. This wasn’t the grand apology you had expected, but the fact that he was standing there, trying in his own way, meant more than you realized.

Wanderer finally looked at you, his eyes softening. “I didn’t mean what I said...I hate how easy it is for me to hurt you. But I don’t want to...push you away.”

You took the trinket from his hands, your fingers brushing his. “Why do you always do this?” you whispered “Why do you make it so hard?”

He hesitated, his pride warring with his emotions. “I’m...scared,” he admitted quietly. “Scared of being close to anyone. But I don’t want to lose you.”

You closed the distance between you, pulling him into a hesitant hug. At first, he stiffened, but soon, his arms wrapped around you tightly, as if afraid you’d slip away. “I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “I’ll try...to be better. For you.”

Xiao:

• The Argument: Xiao had lashed out at you, his usual stoicism cracking under the weight of his frustration. “I can’t be what you need!” he had shouted, his golden eyes burning with a mix of fear and anger. His harsh words had left you reeling, unsure of how to respond to someone so difficult to reach.

• Post-Argument: Xiao would disappear, guilt settling into his bones. He’d watch you from afar, conflicted, wondering how he could fix the mess he made. His thoughts would be filled with regret, realizing how much his words hurt you, even if it wasn’t his intention.

• Resolution: Xiao wouldn’t approach you right away. He’d need time to figure out what to say. When he does finally show up, it’s always sudden, like a silent breeze at night. “I’m... sorry,” he’d say, his voice stiff but genuine. “I don’t know how to handle these things, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care.” He’d look at you, his golden eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. “I’ll try to understand...for you. Please, don’t leave me.” His vulnerability would be apparent as he reaches for your hand.

You sat on the balcony, staring at the stars, the ache from your argument with Xiao still fresh in your chest. You knew he didn’t mean to hurt you, but that didn’t make his words sting any less.

A soft rustling behind you caught your attention, and you turned to see Xiao, standing awkwardly near the railing. His usual reserved demeanor was present, but there was something different in his eyes—something...softer.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. He stayed at a distance, almost afraid to get closer. “I... didn’t mean what I said.”

You looked at him, surprise flickering through your expression. “Xiao...”

He took a tentative step forward, his gaze never leaving yours. “I don’t understand emotions like you do...but that doesn’t mean I don’t care.” His voice cracked slightly, betraying the vulnerability he rarely showed. “I care about you.”

Your heart softened at his words, the tension easing from your shoulders. Slowly, you stood up, closing the distance between you. “I never asked you to be perfect, Xiao...just to try.”

He nodded, his hand reaching out to take yours hesitantly, his touch light but sincere. “I’ll try...for you.”

With that, you pulled him into a gentle embrace, feeling the weight of his presence against yours. For once, he didn’t pull away.

A/n: Im so sorry if this was short I had to rush making this so I can start on the other 2 requests（；へ：）

© ²⁰²⁴ ɪᴏᴍᴏʀᴜ ✰ do not repost, translate, plagiarize, use to train ai, or share my work on other social media platforms.

[verstappenverse]

What We Never Said

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max Verstappen, your best friend, has always been a constant in your life. But when jealousy surfaces over a recent date, it stirs emotions he hadn’t quite confronted. Is there more between you two than just friendship?

1.9k words / Masterlist

Max had always been good at keeping his cool. On the track where everything is measured in tenths of a second and a moment’s hesitation can cost everything, keeping a level head was what set him apart from the others. But lately away from the track something had been gnawing at him, disrupting his usually unshakeable focus.

It wasn’t new this feeling it had been there for a long time, simmering quietly beneath the surface. Max knew that. He was painfully aware of it in every shared glance, every late-night conversation, and in the way your laugh could instantly pull him out of his darkest moods. For years you’d both kept things easy, uncomplicated, two best friends never crossing the invisible line that tethered you close but never too close.

At least that’s how it was supposed to be.

It wasn’t until a few nights ago when he overheard a casual comment at a party that Max realised how fragile that balance really was.

“I didn’t know you’d gone on a date,” your friend had said her voice light and teasing.

Max wasn’t eavesdropping intentionally he had been halfway through a conversation with another driver when the words hit him like a punch to the gut. He barely registered what was being said to him after that. His attention had been locked on you, watching the subtle shift in your posture as you casually replied.

“Yeah,” you said, like it was nothing. “We went for dinner and drinks, it was really nice...he was nice.”

Max’s hand had tightened around his drink. Nice. The word grated against Max’s nerves. The conversation around him faded into white noise as his mind fixated on what you hadn’t said, on what you’d kept from him. A date? You’d gone on a date? Since when did you go on dates without mentioning it to him? It felt like the ground beneath him had shifted, like something fundamental had changed, though he couldn’t quite explain why.

For the rest of the evening Max stayed quiet his usual easy-going demeanour replaced by something darker, something more brooding. You didn’t seem to notice or if you did, you didn’t bring it up. But every time he looked at you all he could think about was someone else sitting across from you, someone else making you laugh, someone else getting to know the parts of you that Max had always believed were his to cherish.

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

He thought about it more than he should have over the following days, a slow burn of frustration and confusion twisting in his chest. It wasn’t that he had a claim over you but there had always been something unspoken between the two of you, and hearing about you with someone else, someone who wasn’t him, made it feel like everything was slipping through his fingers.

Max found himself at your door days later, heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with the adrenaline of racing. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say only that the unresolved tension between you needed addressing.

The door opened and there you were, smiling like always, the kind that usually made his stomach flip, but today it only made him more tense. “Hey you,” you greeted stepping aside to let him in.

He walked in without hesitation, but his usual ease was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t been able to shake the image of you with someone else. Max had tried to push it down, to convince himself that it was none of his business. You were your own person, free to do whatever – or whomever – you wanted. But the truth was, it did bother him. A lot more than he cared to admit.

He dropped onto your couch more tense than he’d been in weeks. You sat down next to him, your brow furrowing as you picked up on his mood. Max was many things, but unreadable was not one of them. He wore his emotions on his sleeve and right now you could sense the storm brewing behind his usually calm exterior. His jaw was clenched, and you could see the tension radiating off of him in waves.

“What’s up with you?” you asked, tone light but probing. “You seem… off.”

He wanted to shrug it off, say it was nothing, but the words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t pretend anymore, not with you.

Instead he turned toward you, his blue eyes sharp “Why didn’t you tell me you went on a date?”

Your expression shifted subtly, surprise, then confusion trying to place his tone, “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

A beat of silence passed, Max could hear the faint hum of the city outside your apartment window, but inside, the air felt thick weighted with something unsaid.

“I overheard you the other night,” he continued, his voice rougher than he intended.

You blinked, processing his words. “You overheard?”

Max nodded, watching you closely waiting for some kind of explanation that would ease the knot in his chest. But you just sat there, not defensive, not guilty, just calm.

You hadn’t kept it from him on purpose. In fact you didn’t even think it was that big of a deal. The date had been fine, nice, but nothing extraordinary, certainly not enough to warrant telling Max about it right away.

“It wasn’t anything serious,” you said after a long pause. “Just dinner. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

Max exhaled sharply running a hand through his hair. “And if it had been serious?”

Now you were even more confused. Your eyes met his then, a flicker of something passed between you. “Why does it matter?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Why did it matter? He wasn’t your boyfriend. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what he was anymore, except confused. Maybe a little scared. The kind of fear that sinks deep, the kind that makes you realise you’ve been taking something for granted.

“Because it does,” he muttered quietly, his voice tight.

You leaned back slightly, studying him. There was something different about the way you looked at him now, more attuned to whatever was hanging between you. You’d always known that Max was protective of you, but this? This was something else entirely.

“You’ve never cared before,” you said, your voice quieter now, like you were piecing together a puzzle neither of you had fully acknowledged.

Max hesitated then sighed. “Maybe I should’ve.”

The words were out before he could stop them, and they hung in the air, heavier than anything he’d ever admitted to you before.

You didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched, uncomfortable in a way that it never had been between the two of you. And then, after what felt like an eternity you leaned forward resting your elbows on your knees hands clasped in front of you.

“Is that what this is all about? Me going on a date and not telling you?” You paused, your eyes searching his face,“Or is it something else?”

He didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Because of course it was something else. It had always been something else. He just hadn’t let himself admit it not until now, not until the idea of you with someone else had thrown everything into sharp, painful focus, and maybe that wasn't fair but he didn't know how he could go back now.

Max stood, pacing the length of your living room his mind racing. “I don’t know,” he finally muttered, though it was a lie. He did know. He just wasn’t sure how to say it, cross the line you’d both been skirting around, to take years of friendship and lay it bare without ruining everything.

“Max,” you said softly, your voice pulling him out of his thoughts. “Look at me.” You needed to hear him say it. You needed to know if what you felt for him was mutual or if you were reading too much into this.

He stopped pacing but didn’t turn around right away. His fists clenched at his sides, and for the first time in a long time, Max felt completely out of control. It wasn’t like driving where every move was calculated, where he could read the car, the track, the competition with precision. This was messier, rawer, and there was no strategy for it.

Finally, he turned to face you his blue eyes meeting yours. There was no running from it anymore, no pretending that what he felt for you was anything less than what it really was.

“I didn’t like it,” he said quietly, the admission catching in his throat. “Hearing you talk about him… I hated it.”

You didn’t look away but your eyes softened, your expression still guarded.

“Why?” you asked, though your tone told him you already knew the answer.

Max let out a shaky breath. “Because… I’ve always wanted it to be me.”

The confession hung in the air, and for the first time with you Max felt truly exposed, vulnerable. The invisible line between you two, the one he’d always danced around, was gone.

All the emotions you’d been burying for so long, all the feelings you’d tried to convince yourself weren’t there, came rushing to the surface.

You walked toward him slowly, and for a moment, Max wasn’t sure what you were going to say, but when you reached him you didn’t say anything. Instead you just looked at him, really looked at him, like you were seeing him in a way you hadn’t before.

“I’ve always wanted it to be you, too,” you whispered, the words so soft he almost missed them.

“I didn’t want to ruin things between us,” Max continued, “I didn’t want to lose you. But hearing about you with someone else… it made me realise that maybe I’ve already lost you and I didn’t even know it.”

You took a step closer to him your heart pounding in your chest. “You haven’t lost me."

His heart clenched, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, gently cupping your face with his hand. Your skin was warm beneath his palm and for the first time in days the tension in his chest eased slightly.

You didn’t pull away, you stepped closer eyes never leaving his. It was as if all the years of unspoken tension between you had finally come to a head, and neither of you could ignore it anymore.

He leaned in, slowly, cautiously, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t. And when his lips finally met yours it was like everything he hadn’t been able to say, everything he’d been holding back for years, poured into that kiss.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate. It was slow, deliberate, a moment stretched out between two people who had spent too long pretending they didn’t want this. Max’s arms wrapped around you as the kiss deepened, but still, there was a softness to it a tenderness that spoke of the years of friendship, of trust.

When the kiss broke, you both stood there inches apart breathing in the moment. Max's hand lingered on your cheek his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

“You know,” you whispered, smiling against his lips teasing, “this is probably something you should’ve told me ages ago.”

Max let out a soft laugh, his forehead resting against yours. “Yeah, well” he said, his voice low and teasing back, “I guess this means I can stop pretending I’m okay with you dating other people now," you laughed softly as he smirked "but I wasn’t too worried, everything’s about timing isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you murmured, your lips brushing his. “I guess you got it right.”

"Finally," he whispered with a grin, before pulling you into another kiss.

[chlorinecake]

sunghoon.

= 𝓙𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮, 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 ── P.SH 💬

in which your long distance bf craves your contact...

pairing. ⌂ needy boyfriend sunghoon x f. reader ⌂ contains. mostly suggestive content but with tons of explicit implications, flirting, a bit of fluff, somewhat perv!hoon, long distance relationship au (sawie) ⌂ word count. 1160 🖱 ⑅ path to bookshelf ◍

❝ Incoming Call from Sunghoon ❄️ ❞

Your laptop screen read spontaneously.

Ahh, yes… the love of my life among many other luxuries, you smiled within yourself, just as you pressed the green ‘answer’ icon.

Though, it had been roughly thirty minutes since then, with the clock on your computer screen now displaying an oddly habitual series of digits...

2:57am

You and your boyfriend's conversation started off strong with wholesome pleasantries and heartwarming exchanges as usual…

But as the hour grew wearier, the topics on the table became more and more raunchy by the minute… not that you were complaining, that is…

And neither was he…

It had literally been over a week since Sunghoon last saw you in the flesh… since he last got to feel you in his arms or taste you on his tongue…

And so, FaceTiming had become a great method for you two to stay in touch on a more personal level whenever he was away for work.

Click.

You got up from your bed to make sure that your bedroom door was locked, but also to make sure that Sunghoon knew you were wearing his favorite pair of plaid pajama pants...

The one's he had sent as an “X-mas in July” gift...

“Your ass looks good in those,” he started from behind the screen, folding his toned pale arms over the pillow he laid on.

“Just wait til you see what's hiding underneath,” you returned seductively, adding the word “tomorrow” at the end to which Sunghoon sighed.

“Right, because I've already been waiting forever and a day to relieve my sexual tension this week… another day to the prison sentence wouldn’t hurt…”

“Awww,” you pouted facetiously at him, “I thought you liked it whenever I teased you.…”

“In-person, sure. That’s when I can handle it, but online? Pfft,” he says, running an impatient hand through his hair.

“Fine… let’s play a game to take your mind off of things—”

“I bet I can guess what color panties you’re wearing right now…”

“Sunghoon!?” You exclaimed with shock, making your boyfriend smirk shamelessly at your adorable reaction, “and do you expect some sort of reward if you guess correctly?”

“After three tries, yes,” he nodded, clearing his throat slightly before proceeding with his series of guesses.

“Hmm,” he began, “are they that one lacy black pair you have with the bows on the side?”

“No,” you answered while laughing, “and just guess a color, not a specific pair…”

“Alright alright… hmm,” he hummed in thought, looking above as if an answer would fall from the sky.

“White?”

“Guess again,” your voice sang playfully this time, “you have one chance left now…”

“Shit, okay… I have a suggestion then…”

“Uh oh, plot twist,” you said, making him chuckle slightly, “go on…”

“How about you just show me your panties and then I’ll tell you what color they are?”

“Gosh, you really know a way to a woman’s heart, don’t you Hoon?” You asked rhetorically, ‘tsking’ at his fraudulent suggestion.

“Of course I do… taking a guess here, but you’re supposed to start between her legs, right?”

You shook your head at your boyfriends words, letting an exaggerated sigh escape your lips… “Even if that were true, it’s not like it’d benefit you right now, anyways…”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because you’re behind a screen,” you began matter-of-factly, “miles and miles away with only your right hand and some amateur porn to keep you company…”

“But I have you, too, princess,” he smiled, adjusting himself on the mattress so he could get closer to the camera, “unless you’re thinking about leaving me already…”

“Please, I would never,” you say in an almost offended tone, “that would be child neglect…”

“Oh, so you’re my mommy now?”

You gave him the best side-eye you could muster, making him chuckle at how you cute you looked in your oversized glasses…

“If you’re into that, sure,” you finally answered.

“Well then your baby wants to see his mommy’s tits,” he replied almost instantly, innocently nuzzling his chin into his pillow, “and without the bra this time, thanks…”

“I’m not showing your sick ass shit,” you returned while laughing, throwing up a few ‘L signs’ with your fingers as he chuckled at your rejection, showcasing his pearly fangs.

Letting himself calm down from laughing, he cleared his throat before speaking again, “My next guess is white, then…”

“But you already guessed white earlier?”

“And I’m guessing it again,” he repeated, making you quirk a suspicious brow at him.

“If you’re trying to imply that I creamed my pants, you’re wrong.”

“Oh my God, ____,” he sighs dramatically, adjusting his laying position on his bed once more, “can you just tell me that I’m right so we can fuck already?”

“Oh, so you waited all this time to tell me that sex was supposed to be the reward?!”

“Well, yea, I figured it was obvious,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

“Damn, Hoon… when you put it like that, it makes me think my body’s all you want…”

“You know that’s not all I want, baby,” he corrected, licking his lips while stretching out the tiredness in his back, “I just don’t like being in the position to beg for it, y’know?”

“Welcome to my world…” you said.

“Thanks for having me,” he smiled back, rubbing his eyes as a frustrated groan left his mouth.

“What’s the problem now, you big baby?”

He hid his face in his pillow before speaking, “I’m horny and youuuu are not helping…”

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend’s attempt to fault you for his frustration, “I wouldn’t be much help to you anyways given the distance…”

He abruptly lifted his head from the pillow to flash you a dumbfounded look, “Babe… why’re you acting like e-sex doesn’t exist?”

“Because it’s literally 3 am and I trust that you can be patient til I can see you properly,” you clarified, adding yet another “tomorrow” at the end of your sentence.

And all Sunghoon could bring himself to do at this point was pout, hiding his face in the pillow once again which made you giggle at his sulking.

“Babyyyy…. C’monnn, you can wait for me, can’t you?” You asked in a sickeningly sweet tone, tilting your head at him in a cooing manner.

“I’m literally two seconds from slapping my dick against the screen because of your face right now,” he confessed shamelessly, making you burst into a fit of laughter.

“You’re so out of pocket for saying that,” you giggle, covering your face slightly to hide how flustered you appeared.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he said, a giggle still present in your throat as you tried regathering your emotions.

“Continue, continue…” you whisper with a warm smile on your face now, looking like a split image of the crying emoji in this moment.

“Thank you,” he scoffed with feigned offense, “but yes… I can wait til tomorrow… just for you, angel…”

tysm for reading this quick lil fic ✗⚬ﾒ𝟶 a/n ℓօⓥe always ⋆⋆⋆

[bunnysbrainrot]

A Lesson in Manners

Relationship: Dean Winchester x f!Reader

Content: Romantic tension, protective Dean, alcohol consumption, a weird guy ft. the way Dean handles it.

Summary: After a long, exhausting day of hunting, Team Free Will unwinds with drinks at a nearby bar. You're enjoying your time until a stranger decides to pester you, but that won't go unnoticed by Dean.

The signature purr of the Impala faded as Dean turned off the ignition, releasing a heavy sigh, a defeated and tired noise. Whatever nasties they have down here in Georgia have been difficult. All signs in this case were pointing to a djinn, but without getting in closer, there was no way to be completely sure.

That risk was left to Sam and Dean, as they had told you yesterday, when the research finally fell into place.

Sam's lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at his laptop screen, his brows twitching. He deadpanned and looked to his brother, "Djinn. How the hell didn't we think of that yet?"

Dean matched Sam's frustration with a scoff. He simply shook his head.

Djinn were unfamiliar to you still. Though you had done a fair bit of research, helpfully guided by Sam, and learned quite a lot. But, you also knew that research and experience were very, very different for a hunter.

"Awesome, so... what?" Dean inquired, raising a brow at Sam. You sat in the small armchair in the boys' motel room, looking between them. "We gonna go into blood-sucking paradise-dream-world again?"

Sam flashed a quick smile, "Let's just hope it doesn't come to that. Do we have any more lamb's blood?"

Dean's expression changed to annoyance, "Not after that dickbag Balthazar used it for that stupid parallel-universe crap." He crossed his arms over his chest and threw his head back in thought. "And where are we supposed to get it, anyway? We're in the middle of friggin' nowhere."

"Cas?"

"If we could even get a hold of him."

"I'm sure he's still listening, Dean. I know he's been here and there for a while, but-" Sam explained.

Whirling to face his brother, Dean countered, "'Here and there'? Sam, we basically wait three to five business days for him to give us anything. If he's so focused on Heaven right now, let him stay up there."

You had seen Dean's rising upset with his friend for a few weeks now, seeing the angel's presence less and less. Castiel didn't indulge any details, and kept recollections vague - but, the lack of transparency had been taking a toll on the group.

He’d been absent for two weeks now. Nothing.

Dean's lengthy sigh showed his stress. He brought a hand up to his brow; Sam rolled his head to stretch his neck in the passenger seat.

"I need a fuckin' beer," Dean breathed.

You laid a hand on his shoulder from the seat directly behind his - Sam was more conversational on long drives, so sitting on the left side gave good distraction in the long hours on the road. Dean craned his neck to you, looking to you expectantly.

Because as much as he didn't like to admit it, Dean craved the moments when you touched him.

You couldn’t tell if you spooked him, judging by the way Dean froze in his seat, eyes boring directly into yours. A grin spread across your face, "Let's get shitfaced."

Dean shook his head and pointed to you, "You don't wanna get to shitfaced level with me, sweetheart. Just a few beers. Plus, I’ve seen you get tipsy even after one."

Each of you started stepped out of the Impala, respectively stretching your achy legs, or arms, or backs or neck and everything else. No matter the hunt, the soreness remained the same. You released a groan as you lean backward, flexing your stiffened spine. Dean neared and landed a gentle pat between your shoulders to get you moving along.

You noticed how quickly Dean pushed ahead to open the front door, before you had the chance to lift a finger. He looked into the cracked door - an assessing glaze cast over his eyes. Always on the lookout for danger.

Who could keep you safer than Dean Winchester?

After all of his impressive feats so far, it’d be hard for someone not to admire Dean. Saving the world was easier on the drawing board, and with having been to hell and back, you couldn’t fathom the willpower he gained to push past it. Not a semblance of that traumatic experience showed in that handsome, stoic face.

Dean pressed the door ajar to make way for you and Sam. You scanned the tables and stools at the bar; patrons scattered around in clusters, each chattering and laughing amongst themselves.

The thick smell of liquor filled the air. You noticed the hints of whiskey, oddly reminding you of Dean, and the way that scent mixed with his cologne. You memorized that smell from his occasional hugs, or times where you’d sit together, and you’d wondered if he could hear your heart hammering in your chest.

Sam led the way toward a taller table in the corner of the joint, settling in a stool closest to the back emergency exit. You eyed the stool at the outer side, but a creeping feeling dawns on you - someone is staring. Settling into your stool, you took the chance to swivel around, looking for the source of that persistent feeling.

At the bar, a man with a scruffy beard had his eyes trained on yours, roving over your form in the chair. You exhaled, fighting back the feeling of disgust, and turned back to Sam, plastering on a terse smile.

“What is it?” Sam asked, his brows furrowing in concern.

You paled slightly, the man’s stare still honed in on your back, “Dude at the bar has a staring problem.”

Sam leaned casually to reach for his pocket, craning his head for a swift second. A glint in his eye told you he’d found the perpetrator. Footsteps approached from behind - a familiar pattern, one you’d heard every day, and without turning you’d known it was Dean. A careful brush of his hand between your shoulder blades eased you, a gentle reminder he was here.

“Bottoms up, buttercup,” Dean teased, placing a shot of amber liquor in front of you, himself, and then his brother.

Three lime wedges rested on a plate, along with a salt shaker. You glance at Dean with a ‘seriously?’ look, and he gave a signature Winchester grin. You did say you wanted to get shitfaced. And hell, it could help with that looming creep. You licked the back of your hand and sprinkled some salt.

“To figuring something out,” you proclaimed, raising the shot glass. The boys follow your lead before clinking them on the table, and tossing their heads back.

The tequila burns the back of your throat, but the lime helps you ignore it. Sam held a steady face while Dean grimaced at the burn.

You giggled softly, “Can’t handle tequila, Dean?”

He flashed a toothy grin, and a quick middle finger. Your giggle evolved into a bright laugh that drew one from Sam, too.

“Bet you couldn’t handle pool, though,” countered Dean.

Sam eyed you from the side and threw a knowing smirk. You’d never back down from a challenge, especially when it was Dean testing you. There was a desire to beat him at his own games, to show him you could match his skill and then some.

Then there was the chase of it - cycles of teasing comments and passing glances, but never a break in the tension.

Your voice lowers, “I’ll take you on any day, Winchester.”

The jest made Dean grin. The chase was on again.

Sam stayed behind when you and Dean claimed a vacant pool table, letting you set yourselves up for the perfect one-on-one.

Dean nodded to you and eyed the cue ball. You bend at the waist over the table, and felt the creeping feeling again. It radiated along your spine to the nape of your neck, as if your body was set ablaze under the stranger’s stare.

Until suddenly, you had company.

“Say, think you could spare me a game when you’re done, beautiful?”

The voice matched the face. It was nasally with a copious amount of douchery; another entitled asshole who got involved when he wasn’t wanted.

Across the table, Dean’s brow twitched.

“Listen bud, we’re just getting started here. Plenty of other folks in here who can play you,” the edge in Dean’s tone was a warning in and of itself.

You hitched a breath awaiting the man’s reaction.

Out of the corner of your eye you spotted Sam sliding off his barstool, slowly making his way closer to your pool table. He idly looked at his phone, but kept a watchful glance.

“I’m sure you’ll have the time for another one, right, baby?” The stranger’s words slurred stupidly. He didn’t address Dean with meeting his stare, and instead fought to have yours. He closed the gap between you two further - the smell of alcohol lingered on him, thick and nauseating.

You bark, “You’ve got ten seconds.”

“Oh…. hic… ten seconds ain’t enough for me, sweetheart..”

Dean’s voice was taunting, probably trying to pull the dickbag away from you, “It’s plenty for us.”

Finally, the man looked to Dean, straightening his posture at the height difference. He was lean, but couldn’t hold a firm stance, by the looks of it. The man scanned Dean top to bottom before turning back to you.

Before crossing a crucial line.

A foreign hand stroked your spine, making you recoil. Anger contorted your features as you warned him yourself.

“Try that again, fucker,” you spat with disgust. You could still feel the touch on your back. Gross.

The man’s lips tug into a smile, and the anger continued to brew. Of course, you were not the only one with that bubbling rage. Dean has closed the distance before you could register he’d moved at all.

Dean loomed over the man with a haunting glare. To add fuel to the fire, the man had the gall to grin at the threat, raising his hands to Dean’s chest.

“Come on, jus’ gavin’ a lil’ fun,” said the stranger.

In one swift motion, Dean collected the man’s wrists with one hand, and delivered a hook with the other.

The blow knocked his head to the side. Other patrons turned to the scene unfolding - some turned back to their drinks, some kept staring. You gasped when Dean landed another strike, sending the man tumbling to the floor with a resounding thud.

“Dean, that’s enough, he’s-“

He didn’t react to your objection.

Behind the commotion, Sam’s eyes widen with shock, though he smiles with satisfaction at the takedown.

A final shove put enough distance between you and the pathetic drunk. You turned to see the bartender giving Dean a stern look, but they return to filling a pint glass.

You panted softly while the stranger walked away, bracing his bloodied chin with his hand. You looked to Dean and found his attention back at the pool table, letting out a frustrated grunt. There wasn’t a way to thank him. No need. The man had made great strides in protecting you, enough to reassure that you didn’t have to offer thanks. It came naturally, protecting one another.

Sam made his way back to the table and returned to his stool, shaking his head in disbelief, a smile on his face.

What a night, right?

It was Dean’s voice that brought you back to your senses. That same voice that calmed you, that ignited your body to its core.

“Alright, sweetheart, you go first.”

——

“Dammit, whathefuck- that isn’t fair-“ you protested. You’d lost, but kept trying to knock the striped pool balls into the pockets, insisting that there was some sort of rule to let you go until you were fully done, including the cue ball.

Sam handed you a glass of water, which you sipped on immediately. Your fingertips slowly grew numb against the cold glass.

Dean chortled as he collected the pool balls, “Shitfaced and pool don’t mix well, do they?”

You let out a tipsy laugh and shake your head at him. The moment stilled, where the rest of the scene faded away. Dean scanned you over, and held a too-long look. A small spark lit behind his eyes.

“Let’s getcha home.”

Thank you for reading! I liked this idea, and I think it could easily have a second part. Vote in the poll or me know in the comments if you’d like to see where this goes!

[leclsrc]

decent incentives ✴︎ cl16, mv1

genre: this is. Smut, porn W plot, threesome, driver reader

word count: 6.9k

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs. Or: You’ve been a brat, and only two people know how to mellow you out. title from this

auds here… hi hi hi! scanned my reqs last week, found a max/charles threesome one, and wrote this out in half a day after a friend showed me the challengers trailer (i love tennis and it drove me to write abt a sport that was not, in fact, tennis) also i truly cannot explain the phenomenon behind me finding smut/these kinds of works easier to suss out these days (long form fic i talked abt in the last drabble is not this one fyi) but it’s just ???? like i don’t… i’ve no clue. i hope u enjoy this anyway!!!! love auds :)

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, double penetration, sexual tension, masturbation (f), teasing, praise central, reader is a MASSIVE brat, size kink, dirty talk, i don’t want to say brat taming but kinda kinda

Your first time in Max Verstappen’s hotel room happened after a tiring night of media and press, where you spent hours together smoking to calm yourselves down. You’d almost been caught by a manager, stepping on your sticks as soon as the back door swung open and your names were called out to do another interview. This was with ESPN, if you remember right. There’d been a muddled chaos of journalism in the venue, all the jumbled mess of the same questions. As young as you both are, do you feel intimidated by success?

It didn’t—and still doesn’t—help, you suppose, that both you and Max had stared, tight-lipped and deflated brows, and stated, with finality: no.

The afternoon stretched into an entire night, and by the time the clock ticked nine and everything had formally wrapped up, Max mustered up the courage and a half it took to invite you to his hotel room for a cig and half a Cuervo divided into three shots each. The conversation had progressed as he drove, the continuation of an otherwise unorthodox friendship between a Red Bull and Mercedes driver—a fact you’d both acknowledged but opted to ignore.

Drivers are friends all the time, you figure—you’re close with few drivers—but none of them are Max. You had made the lousy small talk, commented on how different the pre- and post-race processes have become since your entrance in 2018, which, back then, had seemed like forever ago. “It would seem like forever to a world champion,” he’d said, and his voice is all teasing and raspy and scruffed up. You had laughed, a scoffy little noise, and told him to shut up.

He obeyed, for two seconds, then added, “Do you mind if we meet someone there?”

The hotel room was what you might expect a high-level athlete to be bestowed with, wide and huge but not as wide and not as huge as yours a few streets over. There’d been a thing of cologne left uncapped on the table by the door, Adidas shoes on the floor next to Nikes, and then a low table housing a still smoking joint that left the entire living room smelling like grass.

Somehow, Max had managed to turn a neutral, sterile hotel room into a boy’s room. The scent of weed mixed with Tom Ford cologne. The rap music blending into the open balcony’s traffic noise. The socks on the floor, two pairs, both white. It’s a strenuous effort, you’d thought—and you were beginning to think this wasn’t the work of Max alone. “We have a guest,” he’d hollered when he managed to fiddle with the key card properly enough to leave the door alone.

No one had answered, or surfaced from the hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom, so you followed Max into the bar area. Bottles of booze in varying states of empty, lemon slices and salt now cold—“Do you not call housekeeping?” You’d asked, amusement concealing curiosity as you accepted a poured-out shot. He said they do—they—and sometimes hotel staff are just a bunch of pricks. He asked more questions. How it felt to win at twenty-one, how it felt to be driving, to be the youngest winner, the first female driver. 

Ask me something I don’t hear fucking journalists say all the time, you’d replied back, half-jokingly. The August air nipped at your cheeks, chilling your warm face. He’d laughed, and explained that he re-asked the questions in case you have a more honest answer to give him. The most honesty you could offer is that you’d grown to hate your reputation because it precedes your skill. It’d been silent for a bit then, just the scent of the unclaimed weed. Then Max went, We have a new friend.

You turned to see who he was talking to. Charles was at the doorway, eyes on you already, raising a hand to say a silent hello. “H…” He trailed off. “Hey.”

He was shirtless, Calvins tight on his legs, his free hand scratching absently at his abs. Behind you, you had faintly picked up on Max introducing you and Charles rolled his eyes before replying, clipped, I know who she is, wiseass. He’d taken the weed and almost left, but you spoke next.

“Want to come sit?”

He paused, turned, and blinked. “I’m alright,” he rejected. “We have a meeting tomorrow, don’t forget.”

Then he was back in the bedroom area, leaving behind him a trail of grassy smoke. He was clearly rugged and fresh from sleep, the delicious sleep athletes have all grown familiar with: post-race, overcome with a terrible exhaustion. You’d only ever exchanged a few words with either of these two, and the fact that you were alone with them sent a warm, drawling thrill up your spine.

You were two and a half shots in when Charles reappeared, sans weed. “Any left for me?”

—

If you grouped the grid into years, you would be with Max and Charles—on the younger end, still at the ripe years of your careers. You entered first, though, then Max, thenCharles, which meant you were connected to, and friends with, relatively different people on the paddock. But the 2020 season and your many close calls with Max began the media and manager tirade of constantly lumping you and Max into the same interviews, press conferences, and media days, to maybe somehow elicit a bit of drama out (a tireless and unrelenting effort).

That’s how the rumors started. The rumor that permeates you most is one that asks about you, Max, and Charles. Some say you dated one then the other (a homie hopper, they’d branded you in 2021), others say they dated each other and you butted in. All of them were woefully untrue, in the same way all had some ring of truth to them.

And you suppose that’s what hotwired the beginning of your nights spent at Max’s hotel room, where Charles would nearly always be camped out, then eventually vice versa (Charles’ room, Max camping out; your room, solo, housing them for one night), drinking and/or smoking and/or playing some form of cards. And you suppose again that it was all this that radiated into everything else, all your wins and successes and bad days and near crashes, that just caused the entire universe to topple over, into itself, and creep up onto the three of you in Bahrain that year.

But that year is three years ago, and if you try to detail every last divot of it, you’re going to wind up rubbing a migraine out of your head. And you’re not interested in developing a headache—not when you’re celebrating the fifth race of the 2023 season.

It’s your fourth win this season. It’s all anybody ever talks about, how you had gone and secured a third championship for yourself last year, and how you’re gunning for four, the greatest the sport has seen in years. It’s all anyone can repeat and echo—you’re a fucking legend!—and you know from experience that praise does more than the most dangerous cocktail of drugs to get you high.

The afterparty is full and obnoxiously loud, dark and smoky and low-visibility. You’re wearing a flimsy dress and running a hand through your hair while you nurse a drink, feeling drunk on compliments and confused with certain absences. You can feel the bass through the tiled floor, heels clicking on it as you search, search, and come up short. Neither Max nor Charles have sent you a text, a play they always perform to break a routine you’ve become familiar with. You frown. Hey, somebody says next to you, you’re better than anyone else on the grid right now! You thank them, thinking to yourself—where the fuck is anyone else on the grid anyway? The relevant people, at least?

Half an hour later, you’ve ditched the party and are pounding with your fists at Max’s hotel room door in an effort to get them to open it quicker, after your knuckles didn’t seem to do the work well enough. You half—no, mostly—expect Charles to be the one who pulls it open. He’s more prudent. He gives in easier. He’s nicer and he can spare a thought for the other people on this floor (but the price of this room means there barely are). 

“What.” His voice is gritty.

“You told me you would come tonight.” Your voice is steady—you’d chosen not to drink much, and what little you consumed wore off on the ride here. Even with your heels on and even in sleepiness, you notice his presence towers over yours. “You both said.”

“We were tired.”

You scoff and gently push past him into the room, where evidence of their existence rags the furniture. “Every hotel room you ever stay in is turned into a fucking frat house.” Beer bottles, cigs, gifts from fans stored with precarious care but peeking out from suitcases. 

“We were sleeping. I am sleepy,” he says behind you, unamused by your sudden appearance. He shuts the door and stands still, looking as disappointed as he can. It’s unlike him. You’re buying time to find out what the problem is.

“Okay, I’ll go,” you say, relenting, running a few fingers over the mess of clothes strewn atop the armrest of the couch. “My driver’s downstairs, anyway. I wanted you there tonight, though.” You look up, meet his eyes. Tired and green and fed up. “Both of you. We could’ve celebrated.”

He pulls his lips tight and stands straighter. “I know, I know.” He softens a little. “I’m sorry, okay? Desolé. Just… tired.” You know he’s tired because his team is shit, and you know it has nothing to do with you, but you’re so wrapped up with everything that your irritance fails to quell.

“Where’s Max?” You ask roughly instead, thumbing at the strap of your minidress. He gestures to the bedroom. You’re quiet but stormy when you walk in, finding him, messy hair and tired eyes notwithstanding, fully awake, unlike what his roomie has been telling you since you arrived; you scoff out loud again. Des-fucking-picable. You sit yourself on the couch, crossing your legs petulantly.

They both stare. They’re mad, it occurs to you, which is weird because they had you in between them on that same bed less than forty-eight hours ago. You’d come thrice and begged for more, but they laughed and said you all needed sleep to get up for race prep. Race prep. Race prep.

“Okay, then.” You throw two hands up in a semi-shrug. “Let’s have it. What’s the matter? No use lying.”

They both look irritated. “Nothing,” Max says.

“Fuck nothing.” You trail a hand over the hem of your dress. “You’re pissed with me, but I didn’t do shit.” You try to rerack the race, but you hadn’t so much as collided with them in the slightest, apart from overtaking them a few times, but they weren’t man children to whine over that. You’d shared the podium with Charles, for Chrissake.

“You’re right. You just went and…” Charles blows a raspberry and makes an explosion gesture, opening his clenched fist. “Shat on us in your post-race interview.”

And there it is.

You huff out a laugh, momentarily losing control over speech, and it’s caught in between itself and a sigh, a breathy noise that makes waves in the quiet room. Okay, you think. I get it. Your eyes flit in-between the two men across you, your shoulders straight and eyebrows raised, posing a challenge. “What, are you jealous?”

They’re silent. And you know silence always means—

Your eyes relax, smug and a little teasing as you elaborate. “Because you know I’m better than both of you?”

—Yes.

Their silence is redeeming and rewarding and permissive and it speaks volumes louder than if they’d actually admitted to it. You stare back at them, eyes narrowed, amused, coy. You’d been joking around in your Sky Sports interview. Sure, you’re a bit of a tease, especially on the high of a win. But they should know that by now.

You know it annoys them more to leave the door wide open as you leave, than to slam it closed.

—

“Will you draw me a tattoo?!”

“I’d love to, but you are going to regret it,” Charles laughs, signing his name off with a heart on the frenzied fan’s outstretched cap. The busy, busy practice day had now worn into night, though nothing seems to be taking his mind off the fact that you’ve been giving him and Max the cold shoulder since last week. And he knows it’s stupid, he knows he and Max were being irrational and pissy—him especially—but now he just finds himself needing to apologize before anything becomes worse.

But his priority is getting to your hotel, which now seems like the journey of his lifetime. His bodyguard is a bulldozer and grips his elbow to traverse them through the sea of people who cheer him on, go Charles have faith in Ferrari and yeah, that’s been getting more and more difficult as the races pass without much good progress. There are flashes all around, noise and laughing and whoops and gifts he tries to receive, but he just—he needs to get to your hotel. Preoccupied, he remembers where he’d seen Max last, just seconds before leaving the paddock for the evening.

You spend a lot of time with a certain pair Ferrari and Mercedes drivers, says the interviewer in Dutch. Charles squints at the subtitles and waits for Max’s reaction.

He’s in the passenger seat, being driven around for a change, and maybe he’s a pessimist and he misses you and Max, or maybe the city he’s in is just. Dreary, so he opts to stare at his phone like every other person. The clip’s been posted by a fan on Twitter, and the caption is something jokey—something about a dream threesome. He can’t help but laugh as he watches. We are close, us three, Max says, nodding. In fact I will be meeting them later.

The media’s always speculated, rumors born out of a few close calls outside clubs where you’re tipsy and giggly and getting into one car. The fans, funny as ever, also make some fun of it—posting pictures of you three captioned with something like polyamory is real or her and the guys she told you not to worry about, but God if any of them knew the real picture, the whole three years of it, all the sex and hickeys and rumors.

He scrolls a bit more. There are a few photos of you leaving the paddock, hand poised atop your face to shield it from the paps. You get loads more of them wherever you are, loads morecompared to anybody else on the grid. You always attract the media, the press. He finds a picture with your face in it, smiling at your result during FP2. Fuck. You’re pretty, hair damp with sweat, lips stretched into a proud grin, suited hand raising a thumbs up.

“Where to?” The driver beside him asks suddenly.

—

“Fairmont,” Max says to his assistant as he pulls out of parking. “I’m hanging up, doei.” He presses the red button and sighs, shutting his eyes and driving the steady, increasingly familiar routes of the city. He’d called you this morning but you didn’t pick up. Last night he’d slept restlessly, which was no different from the nights before, anyway.

He gets to the valet parking of your hotel when purple is just settling into blackness in the sky, the beginnings of a civil discussion at the tip of his tongue as he exits the elevator and finds your room, opening it and finding it unlocked already. Charles must have done the brunt of it, or maybe you’d gotten an assistant of an assistant to pass an extra keycard to him. You always plan around them, thinking ahead. Both on and off track.

Like the hotel rooms he and Charles share or camp out at, your existence is terribly visible. Unlike them, though, it manifests differently.

It smells like your perfume, the pink bottle he’d found you spritzing on once, and everything is neat and tidy and gorgeous. A vase of white peonies on the low table, lipstick on the table by the mirror, even the pack of cigarettes you barely smoke is pretty and unassuming on the sofa. The only thing amiss—a pair of men’s shoes, those ones with stars on them that you bought Charles on a spur-of-the-moment shopping trip. He toes off his own beside them, eyes the alignment, and fixes it lest you scold them for it later.

Anyway. It smells like you. That’s the only thing he cares about right now. It hits him like a tidal wave, after being ignored the whole week and then some. Your perfume, your favorite linen spray—that black and white glass bottle you carry around like a rosary—your favorite lip balm, even. He swears he smells the vanilla, can recall the taste of it from kissing you ditzy.

It’s beginning to rain—it had been drizzling already, en route here—and the noise pelts the windows, an accompaniment to his footsteps down the hall. He’s familiar with the layout of a penthouse suite, but still he tries out the WC door, and then the closet with the ironing board, before finally he figures the bedroom should be at the end of the hall.

He’s reciting it. I’m sorry. Would you stop being a brat? No. No, just say you’re sorry and then he’s standing at the ajar door of your bedroom, pushing it open, and he can’t feel anything. The words have evaporated. So have his warm little sentimental feelings, and so the annoyance he’d come busting in with.

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs.

He opens his mouth but nothing leaves. His eyes find Charles, standing by the door, propped against the desk, arms crossed and fingers digging into his biceps. Max looks at you again. You have a pretty flush high on your cheeks, a slight sheen of sweat on your exposed collar. He blinks and realizes you’ve been talking.

“I said, you can sit the fuck down.” There’s a couch to his left.

He pulls himself together and stays beside Charles. “I’m good here, thanks.”

You eye the two of them. They look like stupid twins in the same way they look like Republican husbands. You roll your eyes and allow it; anyway, you’re not in the mood to order either of them around too much.

Charles has been watching you for a while now, watched you fake moans and exaggerate whines, feigning pleasure over two of your fingers. It’s almost laughable—he’d allowed a smile, in fact, because he knows better. Once, he’d pulled your hair so hard you teared up, nodding, hand at his wrist, whimpering more, harder, do it. Another time, he and Max had gotten you all riled up and edged for half an hour, so riled that all you could mutter out were please and their names when they finally stuffed you full. You’re evidently playing your games again. You love to play around with them. It’s almost—you could almost call it a hobby.

“I’m not going to stop just ‘cause you’re both here.” Your hand moves, two fingers fucking into yourself, pink lace pushed aside. Your cunt is so pretty, they’re both thinking. “Did you think I would?” When silence greets you, you decide to address them directly. “Max. Did you?”

His voice is thin and tight when he responds, “Yeah, actually—so we could suss this out, at least.”

Your laugh is patronizing. “I prefer it this way. And you know what?”

Max stares. Charles has already been told this, several minutes ago when he found you in the exact same position. It’s not any easier for him to hear it again, chaste and sweet out of your lips. You can’t touch me.

See, they would’ve been content without touching you, if they sit and think about it. Max didn’t walk in here thinking he’d even be kissing you, and he knows Charles thinks the same thing. Maybe touch you—innocently, that kind of way. Sure, they’d been pent up, heady with arousal, but that came second to talking things out. But now you’ve told them they can’t touch, and that’s worsened them to their limit. Charles imagines touching you, the same touch he gives when it’s post-race and he gets you alone, to himself, nobody else’s, quick fucks in a dim closet, whispering some dirty shit in your ear and getting you like putty in his hands.

Max thinks of nearly the same thing. Imagines running his hand over your hair, gentle but firm, the same way he does when he knocks at your hotel room after hours and gets you from high-strung and bratty to begging for more. You notice their eyes, darkened; you realize their minds have wandered. So, they watch hopelessly as the smirk spreads prettily across your flushed face, and they remember the events of a week prior, when childishly, they’d acted out, and think, for a second, that maybe they deserve this.

You all know what it’s like to keep them from touching you.

It was both easier and worse then, in 2020 when everything started—when everything was brand new and thrilling and exciting. Easier, because they were satisfied as soon as they got you to come, maybe kiss them both, and they were content with slow exploration. Worse, because you were all insatiable. It felt like none of you could go minutes without some form of touch, during, in-between, after practice, quali, fuck—it was worse, much worse.

As you all grew older and got accustomed to the drivel of racing, you all got better. It didn’t get much easier.

Charles recalls how insatiable he was—and thinks, with amusement almost, that if he was insatiable then, he’s worse now. Now he knows where, how, for how long to touch you to get you wide-eyed and warm in the face even in the most serious of moments. Max, too. He knows how you taste, bend, tease. They love touching you. Just skin to skin. And you’ve gone and put a great big X mark over that.

“So,” Max says, voice flat, the way it is when he’s unamused with a reporter, “we’re in a time out.”

“You can call it that,” you giggle, and it segues into a huffy whimper when you angle your hand just right. “You were acting childish, anyway.”

Charles sighs, long and deep. “We—fuck.” His eyes can’t unglue themselves from your fingers. He knows he could make you feel so much better, fuck real moans out of you until you’re crying. “We were being childish, oui, and it was—we were just tense. I was unhappy with strategy. I could’ve been P2 but they pitted me at the worst time, putain. I took it out on you, and I’m… I was… I was worn out, and you called us childish in your interview.” 

Ever the minx, you only smile. You’d been joking, you clarified that a day later; it was crass, spurred on by team radios of the two of them complaining in the latter half of the race. “It was a joke, Charles.”

“I know, baby, I know.” His lip curls and he breathes steadily, controlling himself. “It was unprompted though. You weren’t even asked about us. And yeah, a joke—but it felt shitty, love. I don’t mind it—we don’t mind it, but—” He needs to think about the phrasing, think about his intentions.

Your eyes are on fire, clearly still angry, but steadily softening.

“But in moderation,” comes Max’s raspy voice. “You’re running your mouth a lot in the media.”

“You’re one to—ah—talk,” you huff back, a futile argument.

“You need to understand that—that when you’re giddy, or angry, you can’t keep turning to interviews to express all that out. You need to sit with it. Just because we’re not…” your boyfriends, Max almost says, “…yours, doesn’t mean you can shit on us then expect us to be okay with it a few hours later. It’s a thing you do. A game you play. And it’s nice, it was nice then, but it’s annoying now, and it’s almost, like, do you even want this to keep going? To work—?”

You recoil. “You seriously think I don’t want th—”

Charles cuts in. “Well, when you play at us like this, yeah. Put in the work. If you’re high off a win, or mad for some other reason, just let it happen. Don’t fucking.” He exhales. “Call us names, then show up at our hotel acting like an angel.”

They’ve always looked out for you like this, known when to scold you or put you in your place for doing too much or not doing enough. They’ve never let personal things cross too much with business, which is a blessing of an ability when you’re three people having regular sex while balancing a ludicrous athletic career. It’s all sussed down to stupid ‘I care for you’ stuff that, frankly, they’re both too horny and angry to get into the grit of right now.

They don’t realize how quiet the room has grown until you eke out a noise, a thoughtful sound of agreement. You’ve pulled your fingers out, both hands playing with a loose thread on the hem of the sweater, rolling it into a ball. Your hair falls in waves. There’s a crease in it from the ponytail you wear when driving.

Your expression is still murderous, but much softer now; you cough, “I—I get what you’re saying. And I know I play… I have these games, or—but, honestly, I could say the same to you both.” You stutter through your totally shit explanation.

“How do you… mean,” deadpans Max. 

“I mean, when I’m acting out, you two just take it.” Having them at your mercy like that is satisfying in its own right, but pragmatically, it’s unhealthy. “You don’t ever tell me off. Even now. I need you to tell me… to fucking,” you’re warm and spluttery now. “Fuck's sake, okay? I know I can be annoying. I know I say stupid shit when I don’t finish and I’m way less diplomatic than Mr. Il Predestinato,” you breathe. “But you two just let me be annoying!”

“Then don’t be annoying,” Charles says, diplomatic as ever—his voice rises, though, nearly matching yours.

“Not like that!” You huff, folding your legs and sitting straighter, and they catch a glimpse of your pink panties again. “When I’m out of line, you”—you point to them—“need to correct me.” They’re nearly blindsided by your request to… be told what to do, which is so different from how sex usually works. From how this whole dynamic usually works.

But Max remembers your manager, and Toto, and your teammate Lewis even, and your engineers, who have all, at one point or another, had to talk you down and tell you to calm down and correct your behavior. So he says, “People do that all the time, but it only works for a second.”

“Because th—” You suck in a lungful of air. “They’re not you two, you daft fuckers!” You’re at the centre of the bed now, sweater drooped over your folded thighs, eyes matching the rain outside. “Every time, I need to be talked down, and you never. Do it. So do it. Fucking—do it. I have to tell you everything.”

“You don’t—-”

“Oh, I do.” You say, folding your arms over your chest. 

“This is despicable,” Max says. “We need to sort this out properly.”

“So what? This isn’t”—you raise violent air quotes—“putting in the work?”

They glance at each other for a minute. They feel you thinking you’re winning, thinking they’ll grovel and say okay we’ll do that next time, can we fuck you? Like all the other semi-resolved fights before. You’re sitting straight, eyebrows raised, defiant. But for them to do that—you just said it wasn’t what you needed. 

And they’d have to be caught dead before not giving you what you need. If you want to be bossed around a bit, then they’ll do it.

“Sit down,” Charles goes. Unmoving. 

“What.” You’re deadpanning, eyes narrowed.

“Sit the fuck down,” he repeats. You open your mouth, but he’s quicker. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You pout, leaning against the headboard and unfolding your legs. He rounds the room, sits at the foot of the bed. It’s a big bed, so even if he’s on it, he still needs to reach over a bit to be able to touch you. The distance is good, though, keeps them in control. Max sits opposite him, both of them on either side of you, and they’re so close, so scrutinizing, so handsome. 

“Put your fingers in your mouth,” he says. You take a second, spreading your knees and obeying. You find a way, though, to make their little challenge all your own—you make a show of it, peeking your tongue out and licking your bottom lip all shiny before hollowing your cheeks. You stare at them the whole time and you don’t blink. It’s hotter than it has any right to be. “Suck on them.” You continue doing it, lips slightly curled.

“You’re a brat.” You try to conceal the whimper that leaves you but it fails pathetically. Charles presses on. “A spoiled brat.”

He’s the nicer of the two. Your whole threesome situation had began three years ago, and in almost every tryst since then, he’s been nice. In fact, if any of them were to ever ‘tell you off’ like you so desperately wanted, apparently, it would have definitely been Max. He’s firm, yeah, but he’s sweet. And he’d hate to boss you around too much, even if it’s something he wants. So he thinks, and he pretends he’s back to quali day of last week. It was a slow morning because of weather problems, so everyone was in a mood, and you were absolutely no exception. You come off as quiet to the public and to some of the grid, but to your friends, you’re anything but.

In an effort to lift the mood, you’d been mouthing off the entire day to your close circle of driver friends, in particular retelling the story of how you had teased Charles post-DNF in Saudi, and even gotten Lando to laugh about it at the time. What a season starter, you said when you were recounting it. You left out a detail: that night in Saudi, he’d fucked you and refused to let you cum, soaking your pillow with tears and goading a sobbed apology out of you.

Watching you joke about it again, even if it was a fucking joke and even if it was because you were mad at him and Max—got him all red hot, pissed off. Seething.

“Do you remember last race weekend when you joked about my DNF in Saudi?”

Cheeks hollowed, you nod.

“Fucking brat. That whole day. Ignoring me, ignoring Max. Didn’t listen to our apologies. Just noise all day.”

Your brows knit defiantly.

“I’m serious. You weren’t being funny. Just a brat. And if you were bored or pissed, you could’ve said so instead of making me look stupid.” You nod.

He glimpses at Max; the latter speaks next. “Open yourself up.”

You spread your legs out farther and sneak your spit-slick fingers down, pushing the flimsy material aside to rub at your cunt, two fingers sliding right back in. You breathe out shakily and wait for them to talk again. You’re still fussy, high-strung, not totally calm and mellowed down yet.

“When Charles and I aren’t here to fuck you into behaving, who’s going to make sure you’re acting proper?”

“Carlos,” you grit out in between thrusts.

They seethe. “Again,” Charles says, unamused.

“Nat,” you name your manager. “Lewis, or something. Fuck. Lando? I don’t—”

You asked to be told what to do, but you never said, they suppose, that it would be an easy job. “Guess again.”

“Toto.” You look delighted at that last one, knowing the implication. They’ve always been a bit jealous there. You thrive off disobedience, getting your two favorite boys all angry and flushed red with it. You open your mouth to try smartassing your way out of their orders, but Max beats you to it. “If you guess wrong, you’re not cumming. We’ll fuck you tonight, but no cumming.”

You whimper out loud, sinking your fingers farther in, adding a third.

“Don’t add another. Answer Max,” Charles says.

“Fuck,” you seethe, slipping the third out on your next thrust. “Me. I’m supposed to keep myself in check. When I’m mad. When I’m giddy and fuck—yeah. Me. It’s me.”

“Good girl,” he rasps out. “Good girl. You have to practice. How does it feel?”

I know, you mouth, eyes fluttering. You scissor the two fingers you’re thrusting in and out, wet with slick. “Feels good.”

“Not your fingers, love,” Max says. “How’s it feel hearing what we just told you?”

“Good, better,” you say in-between breaths. “I’ll practice. I like it. You’re not… letting me push you around. You’re—you can punish—fuck. Me.”

“Yeah? How, then?” 

“Fuck me,” you repeat breathlessly. “Both of you.”

“Add another,” Charles orders, and you nod, quick and pliant, fucking yourself open. They’re both so hard, cocks heavy and uncomfortable in their jeans. You can see the thick shapes of them through the denim, and you thrust harder, a futile attempt to replicate how it feels when they’re fucking you.

“You remember how it feels, having both of us in you?” Max sounds amused.

“Yes,” you moan. Your pathetic imitation of moans and gasps earlier pales in comparison to this, voice dry and thick with pleasure and raw desperation. “Yes, pl—fuck, yes.”

“Why aren’t you feeling it now?” They need to hear you verbalize the reason why, admit it one last time before they give you what you want. You whine, rutting your hips up against your hand, catching your clit on the heel of your palm. 

“Because I was being a brat, and I—you were being childish, but I didn’t want to talk things through either—and I’m always taking out my emotions on you guys, and I’m sorry, okay, would you just fuck me already?”

They’re on you immediately, all words and whispers, fingers at your chin turning you both ways to slot kisses on your mouth. Your free hand palms over Max’s bulge; he’s the one to your right. It’s hard and thick and heavy and you need it, need them. Charles’ hand takes over yours, thrusting deep and you’re whimpering into his sweet mouth.

“Feel my cock?” Max asks, “Could make you feel real nice, baby.”

“I know,” you sigh, breathless. “I want it.”

“When's the last time you took us both?” Charles asks, smile wicked. “Little thing like you.”

You grit out a moan, fuzzy and floating, letting them lift you up to straddle—one of them—you open your eyes and see Charles staring up at you, wonder and green eyes. “Got this, love?” You nod, yeah, I’ve got it, you say, little sighs. Both of you. Now.

This space you’re in, where it’s pleasure and fuzz and nothing else, is comparable to the high of winning. And you know you prefer that to sex, at least now, because racing is your life. It’s the slow satisfaction of being the best on the entire grid, despite everything. It’s the cheers, the raised fists when you climb atop your car and bring the crowd to a crescendo. The even louder screams when you pull your helmet and balaclava off and smile, trophy and all, champagne shiny and glowy on your face. All that shit—it’s addictive, and it feels just like this. So similar, in fact, because when you win, you finish on top of Charles and Max, and—

—Max is behind you, jeans tugged just enough for his cock to be pulled free, slick with lube and prodding at your ass—

—it feels just fucking like this.

“Like Max’s cock filling you up?” His cockhead is breaching your tight entrance and you moan out loud.

“I missed it,” you say, muffled by Charles’ free thumb at your lips, swirling it on your tongue. You flip him off for cutting you off and he laughs. “Give it t’me,” you goad, turning slightly. You want it so bad, missed being fed with their cocks. A week is too long. “I need more of it, all of it. In me, fill me up,” you beg, whimpering, desperate.

Max stares at your ass, grabs at the flesh there, at the string of your thong. You suck him in so hungrily, like you’re challenging him to not thrust in fully; you’re canting your hips backward too, and Max has to hike the too-big sweater up to watch the muscles of your back flex to meet his dick.

“So pretty, princess,” Charles says, because with them you really are a princess. Max begins to thrust into you from behind and you’re getting little moans fucked out of you, watching Charles unbuckle his jeans to tug his cock out, thick and pretty and you want—if you could, you would suck on it, let him fuck your throat, but you’re in the business of being filled to the point of blank thoughts right now.

You feel Charles at your cunt then, your slick making the slide easier, and Charles bucks his hips up and you—this is what you needed, to mellow you down, get you all loose and ready for more. “Take it, baby,” Max says, “all of it, all of us.”

“Ah,” you gasp out. “Ah.”

“Come on,” he grits, voice hardening. “You’re ruined. Pretty little girl. Come on.”

“Maxie,” you call out weakly, your fond little nickname for him. You remember Charles whining about how he doesn’t have one, so you save baby for him, had sussed that out on a night where they took turns fucking you. Your hips torn between the two dicks stuffing you, face sweaty and the sweater doesn’t help, gets you hotter; Charles gets the hint, and with effort, pulls it off you. Your skin is shiny underneath, matching bra sticking to your sweaty, sheened out skin.

“Love it,” you say, voice strained. “Split—fuck—me open.” Your holes clench around them and Jesus, they could have you all flushed and pretty and spread out like them, like this, forever. Charles grabs at the flesh of your ass, slaps you once and you’re tightening around them, breath impossibly still, thighs shaking. Max’s hands hold your hips tight, hungrily traveling up, groping at the wire of your bra to press at your tits. You’re pressed against both of them at a delicious angle that gets you dizzy.

“I’m gonna cum, I,” you breathe out, moaning, “I haven’t touched myself since…”

They both moan at that, delirious. Fuck. The thought of you holding it—for them—fuck. 

“You’re so perfect, so—fuck—slutty,” Charles says, and you can’t hide the moan fast enough. “Feels good, having us in you, yeah? Getting you all noisy and… fucking—shit. I know how much you needed this, love. I know how much you love it. Us.”

From behind, Max snakes a hand up your abdomen, the column of your throat, and wraps there. You see white from the sensation of it alone.

“Tell me—I can’t—please, I—Charles—Maxie—” You’re increasingly incoherent, slick running down your thighs, twitching vigorously. You try to comprehend everything but you’re losing coherence and they get it, they get it, wiping your tears and sweat and coercing you to cum, yeah, pretty little pussy so fucking wet for us, cum hard, come on, you’ve been so good, baby, the best girl for us.

There’s no way either of them are lasting after that, after watching you fall apart and finish on top of them, stuffed full, stuffed pliant, stuffed fucking docile.

It’s your turn, then, to praise, your favorite boys, always so good for me, thank you for letting me cum, come on, let me taste it—and you’re stained with their release after a few minutes, Max biting on your shoulder, Charles’ thumb indenting your hip.

—

What. A. Podium, ladies and gentlemen! Max Verstappen of Red Bull, from P6 in the last race to a stunning P3 drive—Charles Leclerc, braving the team’s dismal strategy to get P2! What a knockout. Of course the Mercedes legend, gunning for four championships now, had crossed the flag first to claim her fifth P1 of the season.

What a legendary race, absolutely proper podium. They showed us what driving is, real driving.

The season is heating up. 

Makes you wonder what happened over the weekend for them to get such good results.

This is F1. I’m sure they keep each other motivated.

[ffverr]

On the discourse (that somehow still exists) of why the X-Men are feared and hated but other genetically modified heroes like the Fantastic Four or some of the Avengers aren't :

I still see this argument online that some people, usually not X-Men fans, pull out in a sort of gotcha moment. To kind of stick it to Marvel for being unrealistic or to vouch for the fearing of other heroes in the marvel universe to tip the scales.

There are two points for the "why is *random x-men* oppressed and not *random marvel hero*" discourse that people are always intentionally missing.

One- A base of mutant fear and repression is the argument that "it could happen to your children too". It could happen to ANYONE, from birth, and there is nothing you can do about it. No being careful of scientific experiences can stop your close ones from becoming a mutant. (Kind of like people are okay with gay celebrities as long as they're doing their thing from afar but it's a threat when it comes to their children/Friends/family being gay)

They layed it on thick with this amazing advertisment back in the day: "do you know what your children are"??? I mean come on it's not rocket science

Fun fact, the kid labeled "mutie" here is actually Franklin Richards, son of Mister Fantastic and Invisible woman. He used to be a mutant and this goes to show how somehow johnny storm can be beloved but his super powered nephew doesn't get the same treatment.

Two- Spider-Man, the F4, the Avengers etc... All these heros who get some powers by some incident. They're supposed to be rare and few in between. The fear of mutants mainly comes from the fact that they started popping up in the MILLIONS. A mutant isn't necessarly seen as an honorable individual that acquires powers and realises they have the responsibility to use it for good. To humans, they're millions of people (or at least hundreds of thousands) that are, just by existing, threatening the status quo of humanity. They are changing the natural dominance of humans for good.

So of course humans love the F4 (usually). Because they're not scared to be replaced by them in their day to day life, however they are scared to be rendered obsolete by mutants. When humans look at the F4 they see brave selfless HUMAN heroes. They relate to them, they identify with them. They're a sweet family dedicated to the world's safety. In contrast, the mutants represent a world changing threat that truly shifts the balance. And that's not comfy at all no matter how cute or harmless the power is.

This difference can even cause very understandable tension in between the X-men and other super powered groups:

In short, the mutant moral panic comes from the fact that for exemple:

-humans are afraid to loose their jobs to super powered level talents.

-humans are scared from groups of super powered people that could threaten their safety.

-Governments are scared of these groups being the equivalent of entire armies concentrated in a single individual.

- They're scared that their children could turn into something unimaginable once they hit puberty

-And some just hate the idea of being manipulated by a random telepath on the street without ever knowing.

In contrast of Spider-Man, humans feel like nature is done with homo sapiens and THAT'S what brings hate and fear.

That's why everytime a mutant hate crime happens in the comics, it's always accompanied by some human saying "y'think you're better than us weirdo".

+ Contrary to the avengers, mutants also claim a culture, a shared history and common experiences between thousands. This binds them together in a way they doesn't necessarly make them identify with humans. And this is overall irritating and scary to humans.

Also, religious fear-mongering of mutants is rampant!!! It does a ton to set appart the mutants from the scientifically modified heros of the marvel universe.

In the end, one of the best comic to portray this whole thing is still God loves man Kills.

It depicts a villain, Striker, that gains popularity by spreading religious propaganda to justify mutant hate. In an emotional and shocking twist, we come to find that Striker has had a mutant son, that he killed with his own hand because he was a "monster".

You can understand how Captain America, with his super body, doesn't really evoke the same existential dread. Bigotry isn't rational, but also, a shit ton of things complicate the mutant's inclusion into society that doesn't necessarly parallel perfectly with real world struggles so that's also to take into consideration.

[lazy-sixteen]

Daniil why would you say that???

Watching Pathologic (classic HD) while on break from suffering in Pathologic 2, and it really struck me how different the first meeting with the Bachelor was in each game.

Pathologic 1, well, only a screenshot can do it justice,

(Yes . . . far be it from me to call myself a person of mystical inclinations. However, when I look at you, I get the feeling that nature is playing jokes on us. It is as if both the left and right hand have clutched the head to realize for the first time they are two parts of a single whole.

>Why?

>I get that feeling too. Does that mean that we are alike?)

That's like the first thing he says to the Haruspex, and while yeah everybody in Pathologic talks like that to a degree, even in game, in character that's a wild thing for Dankovsky specifically to say.

We just spent an entire playthrough as this guy mocking and/or having breakdowns over the existence of the supernatural - especially precognition. And in strolls this 6'2 resting murder-face dude with half-a-medical degree, widely thought to be a serial killer (kinda true), and Dankovsky's like,

"BTW, my heart is telling me we're kinda two halves of the same whole.😊❤️"

Absolutely hilarious. Even funnier is that the Haruspex, grumpy at baseline and currently having the worst day of his life (so far), can agree with him. Great first impression all around!

Then over in Pathologic 2, the Bachelor is high-key fumbling, like fumbling so hard you can get an achievement for it.

Carpetbagger - Remind a colleague of the Hippocratic Oath -- and fail

Not to meme on the guy (who is of course, multi-faceted and at his core deeply altruistic even if he often seems to have trouble expressing that on an individual basis), but initial Pathologic 2 Bachelorencounter is Daniel at his most prickly prick.

He gets Artemy's name wrong (possibly on purpose and definitely twice),

condescendingly demands the Haruspex be his errand boy,

basically calls himself the smartest person in a room of 2,

and can accidentally imply that he left a couple of orphan children to die because he doesn't treat mutts (he actually refused to treat the orphans' dogs).

Yikes - no wonder Artmey spends the first couple of Days taking cheap shots at the guy.

I mean in both Haruspex routes eventually he ends up very friendly with the Bachelor, which makes senses on a thematic level given the some of the Haruspex's major themes/ideals are connection and community. You could say their first meeting was changed to be funnier ("Vorakh") or more in character for the expected tension between two people under a lot of stress who can both be difficult to get along with at baseline

However, what about if we look at it from a meta-narrative level?

While you can play Pathologic 1 as either the Bachelor or the Haruspex on your initial run, it's pretty common knowledge who you are supposed to play first.

"Daniil Danokovsky's Fun Steppe Vacation was just the tutorial for Artemy Burakh's Tormentous Nightmare" - HBomberguy in Pathologic is Genius and Here's Why

This means that the player in Pathologic 1 has already been introduced to Daniil - even if Artmey hasn't - and the game reflects that! You the player know the Bachelor, you've been him, and you probably got really attached after keeping him alive for 12 horrible, horrible days.

Even though you know he can be a bit sanctimonious and dismissive, the player knows he's rational and compassionate and thus already used the evidence at hand to figure out Artemy hasn't killed anybody!

Of course one of the first things you (the player) would want to do as the new protagonist is check on your former avatar, and the game rewards you for it! Talking with the Bachelor on Day 1 as Artemy can raise your reputation - which is super critical. It might be the increase that keeps you from getting hunted in the streets or starving as shops refuse to sell food. What a great first (Second?) impression!!

Daniil's unprompted "hey are we soulmates or is it just me?" line is funny, but meta-narratively it is also true. They are the player's first two avatars, taking turns being puppeted by the same you as protagonists through the same overall story to two opposing conclusions. They are (your) right and left hand. You've played Dankovsky, (you) know this and having previously been the protagonist this new Dankovsky seems to subliminally know this too.

Meanwhile over in Pathologic 2, the only route is the Haruspex - disregarding the Marble Nest (worst day of Dankovsky's life [so far, ad infintuum]) which has enough time fuckery going on that I shall disregard it for this analysis - you can only be Artemy Burakh.

Either under the assumption that the player of Pathologic 2 hasn't played Pathologic 1 or that they've played all of Pathologic 1 including Changeling' Route's extended murder hide and seek between Dankovsky and Burakh, We (the player and Artemy) don't know Daniil when we meet him in Pathologic 2 as anything but the broken man we saw in the depressing into.

Is he our friend this time? Is he our enemy? Whatever he is, he's certainly a sanctimonious prick.

(Today's tragedy won't be the last. I was blessed with a naturally high intelligence, and my observations indicate that a very deadly visitor has come to this god-forsaken town. That's all I can say for now.

>...I don't like you, Bachelor Whatever.)

In Pathologic 2, both the player and Artmey meet Daniil Dankovsky at at his worst, and slowly work-up from there because both of us are meeting, getting to know, and building a relationship with him for the first time.

This is actually parallel to how you first meet the Haruspex in Pathologic 1 as the Bachelor!

If you are playing in the intended order, both the player and Daniil don't know anything about Artmey besides the serial killer rumors, and likewise you meet him at his worst - (in prison and later he murders a young woman to get Daniil the infected heart he needs to try and develop a vaccine). Much like we see the worst of Daniil's classism, arrogance, and inability to connect beyond quid pro quo (hehe, latin) in our Patho2 intro; in Patho1 we initially only see Artemy's standoffishness, brutality, and stubbornness.

Interestingly, following Daniil's themes/ideals of transcendence and rationality we (the player and Daniil) don't actually end up connecting much with Artmey on the Bachelor's route. The player is influenced by the puppet, and why would Dr. Daniil Dankovsky - whose route is plagued by betrayal, manipulation, and the difficulty of connecting to even people who do selflessly care for him (like Eva) - make friends with a violent, possibly dangerous guy who practices a sort of medicine Dankovsky doesn't believe in?

(I couldn't find a good screenshot for this, but mentally insert a picture of Artemy doing a roadside dissection)

Basically if Daniil is the player's protagonist he won't reach out, because in-character why would he?

If Artemy is the player's protagonist, Daniil will try to be friends in Patho1 (because of the player's previous actions affecting both avatars) or in Patho2 Artmey will eventually connect with him because that's in-character for him.

Overall, I suppose this means that Danii's instant and uncharacteristic buddy-buddy attitude with Artemy on the Haruspex route Patho1 is completely justified from a meta-textually narrative, as is his horrific fumbling in Patho2.

And it is also very, very funny.

[ghostytoad]

* Fun n' Games *

ROTTMNT Boys x GN! Leo-esque reader who enjoys drama, making jokes, and being overall awesome

Summary: The Hamato brothers unexpectedly fall for the smug, but genuine, fun-loving reader despite their egocentric habits

Headcanons for: Leo

GN! Reader; Romantic; Fluff, Mild Angst || Words: 2.3k

Raph | Donnie | Mikey | Bonus!!

Leo:

oho, hello good lookin'~ it's nonstop flirting and banter from the minute they met and it's not going to stop anytime soon

finally! someone who has a sense of humor and can appreciate a good one-liner or two! and they can dish it out as well as they can take it? be still, my beating heart!

leo genuinely finds it to be a gift from the gods that y/n shares his brand of comedy and will not let up on it when he's around them

the romantic tension between y/n and leo is so thick that he could probably slice through it with his odachi - it makes his brothers sick to have to listen to all the schmoozing but leo ADORES the flirting praise

the boy would bend over backwards for y/n; he'd sell his prized jupiter jim collectibles for them if they asked him to (maybe… he'd probably still keep one or two tho)

there's an unspoken and ongoing (very friendly) rivalry between them; leo and y/n are constantly looking to one up each other and it's getting to ridiculous levels of competitive; they won't stop until things hit "deadly" levels and one of them almost ends up getting hurt

even little everyday tasks become a competition for the two of them, there's just no end to their games

grocery shopping? betcha i can save more money than you! pizza night? i can stuff twice as many pizza slices in my mouth than you can. hanging out in donnie's lab? hoo boy, i guarantee i can make him snap first.

it's the bane of donnie's existence, considering he's the target of most of their shenanigans; if he has to endure another one of their "who can ruin donnie's day" games, he swears it'll be the start of his villain arc

mikey's the unofficial score-keeper and peacemaker when things get too heated between the two of them; although he's more likely to stoke the flames than intervene… he just happens to enjoy watching them get carried away (not that he'd say it to their face). definitely enables the chaos to a terrible degree

"no way, you know i totally had that game last night before you went on to blow up my spot with your little tackle! next time we portal our way onto the superbowl field mid-game, i'm leaving YOU on the sidelines and scoring that touchdown solo!" (concerned raph sounds in the background)

they've absolutely plotted to portal their way into "hard to access" places like the white house or splinter's secret lounge room, but raph and donnie made them promise not to do it for very different reasons (donnie doesn't want to have to bail them out if they get stuck and raph is just being raph)

leo and y/n's carefree attitudes combined has landed them into trouble with the law a few times, both in new york and the hidden city

together, they're banned from like 10 different places and they're legally not allowed within 100 feet of any magicians; leo's only explanation for that is "we couldn't tell if it was part of the costume or if the guy actually had a barber-stache and how were we supposed to know he was blind?!". to this day, no one knows what he's talking about.

leo would absolutely hide the evidence of a crime for y/n; he ain't no snitch either and he's not going to let his bestie take the fall for something that TOTALLY wasn't their fault! more than likely, he'd blame their antics on hypno or if it's something not so bad, splinter.

senor hueso has an entire wall dedicated to leo and y/n: The Wall of Failures and Stupid Mistakes That You Will Surely Learn Nothing From

it has photos of all the times leo and y/n went on a fun little adventure and ended up being taken hostage by a villain, thrown in jail, or overall just beat up (they're mostly selfies and yes, leo is smiling and posing in all of them)

he would never let y/n get into any major trouble and he has the common sense to remember that y/n is only human, so at the very least he knows not to do anything too dangerous when they're around; he's reckless but he doesn't have a death wish

"i'm all for a good espionage mission and all, but this is big mama we're talking about! i say we sit this one out and wait for another chance to come along so we can try on these rad bellhop uniforms."

the two of them have made it a point to announce their arrival anywhere by doing the team rocket motto; occasionally mikey or april will join in as meowth. they have the costumes to match and will inexplicably be wearing them every time they do it.

they truly enable the worst in each other; raph insists on tagging along as the unofficial babysitter to every little hangout because of their chaotic nature, meanwhile donnie has protocols for every possible "doomsday" scenario they could initiate with their little stunts. zombies or accidentally reviving the shredder is at the top of that list.

matching outfits are a big must for leo; someone as UH-MAZING as y/n is absolutely worthy of leo's impeccable fashion sense and there's no way he's gonna pass up a chance to twin with y/n. if they refuse to match with him for whatever reason, he will pout about it for days.

whenever leo is sad or feeling a little down, y/n is the first person he goes to for a little cheering up. they somehow know just what to say to make the boy feel like a champion. and no, he didn't give them a script to read off of! (he totally did)

even with all the flirting and pick-up lines, leo still dreads the thought of ever admitting his feelings to y/n; he's a confident turtle, sure, but that's just the face part of being the face man. he's secretly an insecure mess when it comes to them

will become a flustered mess if y/n genuinely compliments or praises him; he'll stutter for a good minute or two before finally snapping back to his suave cool guy persona (which doesn't fool anyone, he's OBVIOUSLY crushing hard)

after an unfortunate night of misadventure, leo's forced to confess to his feelings AND his crimes

Well, some adventure this was turning out to be.

"Get in there! Y'all got the right to keep yer traps shut!"

Yep. What a real swell time.

Being hauled away in a prison ball, headed to the Hidden City Police Headquaters, all the while Big Mama's men chasing close behind.

"So much for the adventure of a lifetime." Y/N hissed bitterly as they tugged and pulled from the tangle of limbs they found themselves in, trapped inside the small bubble with Leo tightly packed alongside them.

"Well, maybe if SOMEONE weren't such a slowpoke, we'd have made it back! And I'd like to say for the record, you are the WORST lookout. Maybe next time try to keep up, will ya?" the turtle spat back with a scathing glare.

Y/N could only muster a hearty scoff as they balled their fists, unable to throw a punch from how they were positioned. Their heel found a suitable landing in the direct center of Leonardo's plastron and dug in with a stomp, eliciting a pained groan from him and a satisfied smirk from Y/N.

"If you weren't so cocky, we might've ACTUALLY pulled off your little stunt! But nooo, Leo just HAS to get in the last word!"

"OHO, pot calling the kettle black now, eh?" Leo wore his signature smug expression and attempted to jab a digit into Y/N's forehead. Given the way his arm was caught between his bent thighs, he only managed a slight graze before opting for a flick instead.

The two bickered and took shots at each other throughout the trip, much to the chagrin of the arresting officials steering nearby. It was gonna be a long night for everyone.

At the station, Leonardo and Y/N were placed into holding together, both of them choosing to sulk in silence on opposite sides of the confined room. It wasn't until Y/N was being processed that the question of what to do with the human came up for the arresting officers. With Leo's odachi confiscated, it wasn't like they could just send Y/N home on their own, but they couldn't leave Y/N in the same cell as powerful, human-loathing yokai. Leaving the pair to stew in their anger, the officers left to deliberate on Y/N's fate.

Silence followed. Neither one wanting to give in to this bitter game of chicken, Leo instead let out a loud, exaggerated sigh.

Silence.

Irked by the lack of response, he threw his head back and gave a loud, guttural groan of frustration.

"Right. So you aren't talking to me." he rolled his eyes and forced his gaze back onto Y/N, who sat indignantly across from him on a cold cement bench, their knees held close to their chest.

Not even a glance back.

"Oh, come on! You can't actually believe this is my fault! If anything, you should be mad at the guard that threw us out and called the cops! He's the one who got us in this little mess!"

Nothing.

The silence tore at Leo's chest, his heart thumping heavily against his plastron as he dejectedly sat back against the cold wall. It was unlike Y/N to ignore him like this. With every second, the stillness became unbearable. This little adventure was truly a disaster, not just for the predicament the two found themselves in but also for the lengths Leonardo had gone to ensure Y/N would have a good time. So that HE would have a good time with them. It didn't matter to him that they could be facing time in prison. That whole deal was practically child's play to the mischeivious mutant. It didn't even matter that they faced a total ban from the mystic city itself. It was the fact that he might've dashed any chance he had of winning over Y/N's affections.

'You just HAD to fuck it up, didn't you? You had to go out and be an asshole!' a booming inner voice fed into his insecurity and the crushing weight was enough to curl the red-eared slider into a fetal position, his lower lip quivering as he fought back tears.

"I…" a sniffle broke Leo from the spiraling despair he'd been wallowing in, unsure if the sound came from him.

"Am I… holding you back, Leo?"

Another sniffle and this time, he was sure the sound came from across the room. Peering over at the source of the sound, he found Y/N curled in on themselves, little hiccups causing their small form to quake and shudder. They were crying.

"Y/N?" Shifting from the bench, Leo took a few hesitant steps towards them as his hand ghosted across their shoulder before pulling away. His face wrought with guilt and worry, he debated scooping them up in his arms and holding them tightly to him right then and there. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. The thought of rejection stopped him in his tracks.

"I don't know why I do it. Why I try so hard to prove that I deserve to be around you." Y/N continued, their voice muffled as they buried their face in their knees. "I'm- I'm just a human. I'm not as strong. I'm not as quick. I can't compete with you and your mystic skills. I can't even keep lookout for you!"

"What? Y/N, no, you got it all wrong! Yeah, you're a human but I-"

"Just stop it! Stop!" Forcing back a loud hiccup, their head shot up to meet Leo's concerned gaze with a fierce, stubborn glare.

"You DON'T have to feel sorry for me and you DON'T have to keep me around! So why? Why keep me around when all I do is drag you behind?"

Their narrow eyes locked themselves with his, desperately searching his expression for any hint of pity. All Leo could do was chuckle, his concern melting into fondness.

"I don't feel sorry for you. Sure, you've looked better but I was so afraid I was the one holding YOU back."

"H-Huh? Me?"

"Y/N." The turtle sighed as he plopped himself down beside them, allowing their back to rest against his side as they unfurled from their little ball of sadness. "You ARE a human, yeah. But do you get how cool that makes you? You can do so much more than I ever could! Look, I might have my good looks, my mad skills, and my amazing charm, but you have that and more in… whew, in spades and for you, it's practically effortless."

As Leo moved to wipe a tear from Y/N's eye, he cupped his other hand on their damp cheek and with a tender tap of his thumb, he parted their lips slightly and moved in to plant his lips softly against theirs. The ghosting of his lips left enough room for Y/N to pull away if they felt uncomfortable. Instead he was nearly knocked back with the full force of Y/N's lips crashing against his, their body leaning over him and practically trapping him underneath their warmth. Leo's hands held firmly onto Y/N's sides and he eased himself back against the cold of the bench, breaking the kiss to let out a soft chuckle.

"I love y-"

"Well, well, well~ Looks like someone owes me 3 months of chores." a familiar, taunting voice hummed not too far from the two.

A jingling of keys had them both whipping their heads towards the now-open cell door, spotting the unmistakable, cocky face of Donatello leaning against the bars with crossed arms.

"D-Donnie?!"

"Yeah, yeah, you two can get back to your little makeout session. But I thought you'd like to know I paid your bail, you're welcome." He waved them off as he began down the hall. Some adventure this turned out to be.

Bonus comic: Leo definitely used his one phone call to call Señor Hueso

[echoingspectrum]

𝑅𝑒𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑀𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠

𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑡: 𝑦𝑒𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑒 ( 𝑡𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 )

Inviting Dan Feng to a Starskiff cruise around the fleet for a leisure outing was a bold move by yours truly. You just thought he needed some break for working hours tiredly between a High Cloud Quintet and being a High Elder at the same time.

Surely, this would give him the opportunity to relax and unwind from his demanding responsibilities. As a close friend of his, you knew that Dan deserved a chance to escape the pressure of his busy life and enjoy some well-deserved time off.

If it means having your back ache from all dragging him to the designated location, whether he likes it or not...

The Starskiff cruise promised breathtaking views and luxurious amenities, making it the perfect setting to rejuvenate from a hectic schedule. So this opportunity cannot be missed.

Behind you, you heard a sigh as the two of you strolled toward in silence. It wasn't an uncomfortable feeling, but rather a shared understanding of the need for this getaway.

"Was this necessary?" Dan Feng inquired frankly. "You, out of all people, know how much I value my time on duty rather than these shenanigans of yours."

"If your work is really that important, you wouldn't be here now, would it?" You teased, raising an eyebrow. "Besides, everyone needs a break once in a while, even the most dedicated workaholics like you."

"I'm not a workaholic."

"Your eyebags said otherwise."

The high elder could only grumble in response, but the corners of his mouth twitched slightly, betraying a hint of amusement.

The tension between them seemed to dissipate as the two of you continued your walk, with the sound of the wind rustling through the atlas providing a calming backdrop to your conversation.

"So..." You paused, glancing over at the high elder. "What's really been bothering you lately?"

The high elder's expression softened slightly at your question, and he let out a weary sigh. He seemed hesitant for a moment, as if he were reluctant to admit the truth.

"I suppose I have been feeling a bit overwhelmed lately," he admitted, his voice tinged with fatigue. "There are numerous responsibilities on my shoulders, and it's beginning to weigh me down a bit."

He took a deep breath, letting the wind and the resonance of the atlas soothe his weary mind. You nodded, understanding his words. Although you never know what the burdening pressure of leadership truly felt like, you could empathize with the toll it was taking on him.

"I can only imagine," you said sympathetically. "But you always seem to handle everything so well. How do you do it?"

The high elder chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"I wouldn't say I handle everything well," he said with a wry smile. "I have my moments of doubt and frustration just like everyone else. I just try to stay level-headed and prioritize what needs to be done first."

He paused, looking out at the landscape before continuing, "But it does get lonely at times, having all this responsibility on my shoulders. It can be a heavy burden to carry."

Sighing, his turquoise eyes then glint toward you. Despite the midnight vignette that surrounds you, his eyes often shine under the moonlight's soft glow, conveying a sense of vulnerability hidden beneath his usual stoicism. You could see a flicker of sentiment like nostalgia and yearning flash across his face.

"I often wish..." His voice came out soft and wistful. "Prior to this day, I longed for those days where we often indulged ourselves together, carefree and without a worry in the world. Those memories are what keep me going in the darkest of times."

For a brief moment, it was as if he was lost in thought, his expression uncharacteristically open and vulnerable.

You couldn't help but notice the change in his demeanor. You felt a sudden rush of heat to your face, your heart skipping a beat. The realization that he might be missing your presence made you feel both surprised and a little flustered.

'Get it together! RAHFHWEBNEHFHC⏤'

"I too missed our moments together." You felt your lips twitching upward. Your thoughts whirls like a turbulent hurricane yet you stayed composed.

Tender moments like these, where emotions were raw and unguarded, were rare but cherished.

The unspoken connection between you both was perceptible—a silent understanding that transcended words.

Not before long, the Starskiff ship you had rented for both you and Dan Feng was ready to set sail across the vast expanse of the Xianzhou Luofu. The sail unfurled with a gentle whoosh, carrying you both into the unknown trip that awaited.

Stars illuminated the midnight atlas, adding a touch of romance to the journey ahead. The cool night air wrapped around you like a comforting blanket as you leaned against the railing and let yourself be carried away by the gentle sway of the ship.

You enjoyed the stillness of the night while your companion relished the scene before him. He silently spectated your every move with lingering affection. You look so peaceful, staring upon the expanse of the universe above the both of you.

His heart swelled with endearment as he watched you enjoying this evening rendezvous with a set of merriment⏤ feeling grateful for this moment of tranquility together. The soft glow of the starlight seemed to reflect the warmth of his feelings for you.

He doesn't normally indulge himself in the subject of romance, believing that it would add to his sense of obligation which already brimmed with his responsibilities of his current status.

But alas, you are an exception. Oh, how fortunate you are~ In this very moment, he couldn't help but feel flooded by the depth of his emotions.

As the ship continued its journey through the night, he made a silent vow to cherish these moments with you for as long as he could.

'I wonder if our future aligns with the stars.' He thought to himself, uncertain for the forthcoming events that would inevitably change the very course of your lives.

The gentle hum of the ship's engines seemed to echo his sentiment, creating a sense of harmony between the two of you and the vast universe surrounding you.

"Welcome to the Starskiff Jetty. A port for all Starskiff ships lands and takes off. I'm certain you are aware that this is the official entrance to the Xianzhou Luofu." The tour guide optimistically gestured towards the bustling crowd of travelers.

After the big event that transpired, you and Dan Heng thought to take a stroll through the bustling streets of his home planet. Why not? Take it as a reward for all the assistance that the Astral Express has provided.

You tugged at the ens of his sleeves and suggested, "Dan Heng, let's ride a starskiff!"

Stream of jaded nostalgia seem to caress his mind for a second.

Like a child filled with wonders and curiosity, the said man only sighed at your enthusiasm and replied, "I suppose we could, but let's make sure to be back in time for the departure of the Astral Express."

And with that, you both set off towards the Starskiff rental station, taking a Starskiff cruise around the bustling town.

Oh, the faded memories are soon to resurface. 

[libby-for-life]

Could you do a yandere lucifer x yandere lilith x adam oneshot, please

Maybe adam goes back in time to eden and realize he wants nothing to do with those two. But lilith and lucifer noticed the change and decided to do something about it.

.....mmmmm. Oh, this feeds the soul!

Adam fucking hated this. That bitch cyclops just had to kill him, didn't she? And now? And now he was in some cruel twist of irony and he was back in the Garden of Eden. He was back with her and Lucifer and he couldn't stand the sight of them.

He had already seen the glances they'd been giving each other. Acting as if he was stupid and couldn't feel the sexual tension between them.

Well, he already had his week of existential crisis and his meltdown. Now? Now he just wants to avoid all of them altogether. They want to have their shitty love story? They can have it! Just don't expect Adam to watch it!

With that in mind, Adam decided to ignore and avoid them. They can get kicked out of Eden for all he cares. Just as long as they aren't near him.

Lilith notices it first. She was always trying to find a way to avoid Adam. He wasn't cruel or mean, he was just...well, to be blunt, boring. He seemed so much like a...an empty vessel more than a man. Lilith was put off by it and always found excuses to be away from him. He believed her every time and she shoved the feeling of guilt for lying but....she couldn't be with him.

Then she realized she hadn't seen him in two weeks. Seeing Lucifer in secret had never been easier. She found it...odd. Usually by now, he would be calling her name and clinging to her like....like the monkeys that swung in the trees. Sometimes...it was far too tight and she just wanted some space.

Now, as she basked in the afterglow of what she and Lucifer just did, she couldn't help but question it.

"Lucifer?"

"Hm?" Lucifer replied, looking at her with the most caring and loving eyes. Lilith couldn't help but smile.

"Have...you seen Adam around? It's been a while." Lucifer cocked his head. Probably because Adam was never really brought up in the conversations they had.

He hummed before answering. "Now that you've mentioned it, I haven't seen him. That's odd. He'd usually be looking for us by now."

They both shared a look. Well, she supposed it didn't matter. Adam must be doing his own thing.

Another week passes and now Lucifer is getting worried. "You're both under my care." He said to Lilith. "I don't want something bad to happen to him. I'm going to go look for him." Lucifer searched Eden and found him on the other side of the garden. Far away from Lucifer and Lilith.

He was sleeping under a pile of animals. Wolves. All of them were huge compared to Adam’s slimmer frame. He looked so peaceful. See? Lucifer told himself. You were worried for nothing. All the same, he walked over to wake him up. Adam would be overjoyed to see him!

Adam woke up to someone poking his cheek. He mumbled and snuggled back into Metallica's fur. A baritone laugh made him sit up. Lucifer. He stood over him with a gentle smile. Adam ignored the feeling of nostalgia when he saw that smile directed at him and instead leveled the archangel with a blank look.

"Yes?"

Lucifer looked down at him with surprise. What, Adam's no longer vying for affection and you can't understand it? Tough titty.

"Uh...I was just checking up on you! I haven't seen you in a while! How are you?"

Adam held back a scoff. He's been avoiding them for three weeks and only now has Lucifer decided to check up on him?

"Fine. You can go now." Lucifer tilted his head and flinched. "You...want me to leave?"

"Yes. You're bothering me." Adam said standing up. He was smaller than his former angel form but he was taller than Lucifer. "You know what? I'll just leave." And Adam walked away with the rest of the wolves, leaving Lucifer to stare back in shock.

"He just left? He didn't want you there?" Lilith questioned, completely taken aback. This was NOT the Adam she knew.

"I was surprised too. He said I was bothering him." Lucifer looked down in thought and a bit of hurt came across her vision. Lilith hugged him and looked up at the sky in thought. Perhaps she should try? Adam was always happy to see her!

It took her a while to find him but she caught sight of him climbing a fruit tree, oranges, and she smiled. He had a look of determination on his face. A wolf pack surrounded the tree and she smiled and petted one. "Hi, Adam!"

She should have known better than to startle him. Lilith watched with horror as Adam lost his grip due to surprise and fell from his branch.

Quicker than what she thought possible, she ran forward and caught the First Man in her arms. Adam clung to her in surprise and a bit of fear crossed his features.

"Well, that could have been a nasty fall!" Lilith said, letting out a laugh. Adam was a bit smaller than her by a head so it didn't feel awkward to hold him like this.

Lilith watched in fascination as a red blossomed over Adam’s cheeks and he looked away. "C-can you let me down?"

Lilith held back a smirk but let him go. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." All traces of his blush were gone and Lilith looked at his indifferent face with shock. He...had never looked at her that way before.

"I'm going to go now. Don't follow me." Lilith was too stunned to do anything but gape at Adam as he walked away with the wolf pack. This was DEFINITELY not the Adam she knew!

"He's different. I didn't know how, but he is." Lilith said to Lucifer. "What do you think made him change?"

"I don't know. But we're going to find out." For the next month, they followed Adam and observed him. He seemed the happiest with animals and played with the wolf pack constantly. Adam would run when they approached so they stuck to following.

He seemed so...carefree. Happy. The two of them would smile as they watched the First Man just live his life and was perfectly happy with being alone. But...things really changed when Lilith and Lucifer saw Adam touch himself for the first time.

They were watching him sleep, when did they start doing that, and watched as Adam’s penis became erect. What was he dreaming about? Lilith and Lucifer couldn't help but blush when they saw it.

Adam woke up to his problem and he sighed. With a blush staining his own cheeks, he grabbed his penis and began stroking himself.

A moan tumbled out. They didn't realize how...sensitive he was. Lilith bit her lip as she watched slender fingers grip his manhood and rub it. He was...cute doing this. Lilith's blush deepened when she accepted that thought.

Lucifer was watching with hooded eyes as Adam went on all fours, ass up and head down as he touched himself. He had been turned on before but this was something else. It was on par with Lilith. A glance at her told him that she was turned on as well. Her face matched his. The face of someone watching prey and Lucifer bit his lip as smirked.

"Are you liking what you're seeing?" Lucifer asked and Lilith turned to him, eyes burning. "Yes."

"I am too." They both watched as Adam’s form arched and cute whimpers left his plump lips. He came on the ground, thighs trembling from being in that position for so long.

They watch him get up and walk away, presumably to wash himself. Then, Lilith turned him and gave him her look. The look she gave him was one of want and desire.

"I want him."

They decided to ambush him while he was bathing. They watched with smiles as he played in the water and swam around. Lilith bit her lip as she walked from the bush she was watching from and slipped in. Silently moving forward, she stood behind him as Lucifer's naked form came into view of Adam.

"Lucifer?!" Adam cried out and Lilith smirked at the blush that creeped all the way behind his neck and ears. Adam was so cute flustered like this.

"Taking a bath? Mind if I join?" Lucifer said, slipping into the water. "Uh—um," Adam stammered and backed up. Right into Lilith's awaiting arms. She hugged him from behind, pushing her breasts over his shoulders so that his face was cradled between them.

"I'm going to join too."

"Hu?!" A high whimper left Adam making the two others smirk. Aw, he's embarrassed!

"Hm. I think you missed a spot." Lucifer said, swimming forward. Adam watched him with a furious blush as the archangel brushed a hand over his toned stomach.

"Wa? Missed? I didn't miss anything!" Adam protested as the two chuckled. "Why don't I show you then?"

Adam would have jumped if Lilith wasn't holding him so securely because Lucifer licked a strip of his stomach with a devious smirk. Lilith cooed and kissed his cheek as Adam hid his burning face to the side. He was really quite sensitive!

"No! Wa—mm! I—ah!" Adam protested but Lucifer kept licking up and up his body and Lilith bit his ear at the same time teeth found their way on a nipple.

"Ah~!" Adam moaned loud and clear. They continued exploring his body as Adam writhed in Lilith's grip. "Oh, isn't he just the cutest?" Lilith said as she bit alongside his neck. Adam's breath met her breasts as he tried to hide from Lucifer's piercing gaze.

"He really is," Lucifer replied. "Carry him to the bank? I think we'll need to give him the attention he deserves."

Lilith scooped up Adam easily and he hung in her grip loosely, far too lost in his pleasure to realize they were moving. Lilith sat down and placed Adam on her lap before kissing him.

Adam's eyes widened in surprise and she easily took control. Making sure that she held an arm around his waist, she brought him close.

They broke apart, a string of saliva the only thing connecting them as she stared deeply into his eyes. She smiled when he whimpered in confusion.

"Lucifer. Want to try? He's a good kisser." Lilith watched as Adam’s face was turned to the side and Lucifer kissed him deeply. She moaned. Watching as Lucifer dominated Adam was...exhilarating.

He also said he wanted to try having sex with him. Lilith was confused at first as to how but Lucifer explained it to her and she was determined to see it for herself.

Once they broke apart, Lilith shifted Adam until his face was lying on her breasts. He looked at her with a small and wobbly smile, his eyes glazed.

"Aw. Did Lucifer make you feel good, Adam? What him to make you feel even better?"

"Yesh..." Adam slurred making the two coo at him. Lucifer bent down and licked at his pink bud. Adam's eyes widened but Lilith was quick to shush him and allowed him to bury his face in her breasts as Lucifer tongue fucked him.

Moans and whimpers filled the air, even more so when Lucifer entered him using something much bigger.

"Ah! Ah! So...big!" Adam moaned out, drooling on Lilith. He slumped in her grip and Lilith smiled and kissed his forehead. "That's it. Be good for us. No more running away. Understood?"

Adam nodded, far too lost in the sticky folds of his pleasure to understand Lilith fully, but the First Woman was happy nonetheless.

"That's right Adam," Lucifer growled. "You're ours!"

"Y-yours?" Adam slurred out. "But...why?"

Lilith tilted her head. "Because we want you."

"Ah! D-didn't want me, mmmm, before...."

Lilith winced. She really did hurt Adam by avoiding him. Well, he won't have to worry about it anymore.

"Then how about we prove it to you that you're ours?" Lucifer said before increasing his speed.

Adam clutched onto Lilith and cried tears of pleasure. Lucifer must have been hitting that special place called the prostate. Apparently, it made Adam feel immense amount of pleasure.

"Lucifer! Lilith! Yesh! Yesh!" He slurred out and moaned high when he came. He passed out, his face slumping into Lilith's breasts making the First Woman hug him close. Lucifer slipped out and kissed Adam’s neck before kissing Lilith.

"Wow....he felt so good!" Lucifer said and Lilith nodded eagerly. She gently transferred him to Lucifer so he could hold their Adam. She stretched and began washing off the semen. "He's ours now," Lilith said as she sat back down. "Ours."

Lucifer nodded and they both shared twin looks of possessive desire. Adam was theirs and Heaven help anyone who tried to take him away.

[merwgue]

Why Cassian and Nesta Are the Absolute Worst Match

Let’s just dive right into it: Cassian and Nesta are a disaster waiting to happen, and somehow we’re supposed to believe they’re mates? Seriously, who thought putting these two together was a good idea? Nesta is a complex, emotionally guarded person who needs real support, empathy, and someone who gets that healing isn’t just about beating up some sparring dummies. Cassian’s idea of "help" is throwing her into a training ring and shouting, "Fight harder!"—because, apparently, fighting fixes trauma.

Nesta is someone who carries layers of pain and guilt, and she processes those feelings in her own (admittedly self-destructive) way. What she needs is someone who listens, someone who doesn’t bulldoze through her emotions like a wrecking ball. But Cassian? He’s like, "Oh, you’re feeling bad? Let’s fix that with push-ups!" Right, because emotional trauma is totally cured by physical exhaustion. Genius.

Let’s not forget how Cassian "supports" Nesta at her lowest. The girl is literally drowning in self-hate and using every self-destructive coping mechanism in the book, and what’s his solution? Let’s barely address the real issues and instead focus on getting her into training, or worse, the bedroom. Because clearly, that's what Nesta needs—more physical activity. His so-called "support" is surface-level at best, completely ignoring the depth of Nesta's emotional turmoil.

And can we talk about how the IC somehow acts like this is what Nesta deserves? Like, she’s too difficult, so obviously she needs someone to beat the emotional crap out of her until she comes around. It’s infuriating! All this "Nessian" dynamic does is highlight how misunderstood Nesta is. There’s no actual growth happening between them, just two people constantly clashing and calling it passion.

Sure, there’s chemistry—but you can’t base a healthy relationship on sexual tension alone. The whole thing is like mixing oil and water, shaking it up, and expecting it to magically blend. They’re always going to separate because they’re fundamentally wrong for each other. It’s toxic, plain and simple.

If you ask me, Nesta deserves way better than being paired with someone who treats her healing journey like a military exercise. She needs someone who can meet her on her emotional level, not just in a fight. But, you know, "mating bond" and all that.

[ghostyeyestohide]

Space & Time

(I Put A Spell On You Part 2)

Pairing: Terrance (Foe) x Valerie (Plus Size Black Fem OC) x Junior (Foe) x Hen (Foe)

Warnings: Buildup (if you got the attention span of a squirrel, DONT READ), some bisexuality (from m and admission from f), caught kissing (bxb), panic attack, masturbation (m), moaning (m), tension, cussing, drinking, emotions, jealousy, angst, mentioning of climate change, and Non-Canon.

Summary: Valerie and Terrance go to Junior and Hen’s for two nights, where tension builds up between the quartet, specifically Junior and Valerie.

Parts: Part One • Part Three

A/N: This was supposed to be the one where the threesome happens. But as I was writing this, I realize this is gonna be way too long for it to be one part, hence why I ended up turning this from being a three part series to a four part now. I think I made the best decision as this is like perfect development in my mind (and showing more of my style), so I hope you guys enjoy this one!

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do not copy or repost my work. I do not authorize it.

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Valerie adjusts the top of her blue milkmaid dress as the self driving car, carrying her and Terrance, wearing a matching color suit, drives down this empty road.

Surrounded by puddles and dirt, the climate had gotten increasingly worse over the years, the whole forest in the area died due to deforestation, leaving most towns baring it all in the worsing weather every year.

“Do we have to spend two nights? We’re only an hour away.” she asked, looking at him, who was working on his laptop.

“It’s mandatory since he’ll be home in 96 hours. It’s only just to wind him down so we’re prepared to shut him off.” he replied, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“And how is she handling it?” she asked, looking down the pan of rosemary-vanilla frosted honey pound cake she’s carrying in her lap.

“Not well. She’s still not understanding, but is accepting it slowly.”

“….how are you holding up?”

“……I had better days.” he sighed, trying to not let his emotions out.

She touches his thigh, gently rubbing it. He places his right hand on top of hers, squeezing it.

“You know you can tell me anything, right? I won’t say something you wouldn’t want to hear.”

He looks at her, giving her a small smile before bring her hand to place a kiss on it.

“I’m fine. I swear. It’s…..still brewing. But I think I’ve calm down a bit. He seems even more annoyed with me constantly taking notes and pictures, but I’m just doing my job.”

“Oh, I would know. I was so confused when you were doing that as her memories were being uploaded slowly into my head.” she says, chuckling as he rubbed her hand against his face.

“She was like that when we started the preparation for the trip too. Hated the scans, made sure I was noting what she believed was worth including, self conscious about how you were gonna come out…..” he replied, trailing off with the last word.

Terrance lets go of Valerie’s hand, turning his head back to his laptop. She looks ahead, placing her hand back on the pan, thinking if she made a mistake by mentioning her. He doesn’t get emotional about the accident anymore like he used to, but it’s still a soft spot since that was his wife he lost.

“Can you promise me something, Val?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“….depends on what is it.” she replied, looking at him again.

“Its nothing I would put you through. Unless you want to be.” he said, looking at her.

“I thought I can call the shots when you say that?”

He laughs before kissing her softly, grabbing her face in the process. She responds with kissing him back for a few seconds before pulling herself back.

“As much as I would like to take this to the next level, I don’t wanna drop this cake I worked hard on.” she said, lifting it slightly.

“Mmhm. But seriously: don’t reveal your true self to any of them when I’m not around. Its best to keep it private so they don’t freak out or try to do something that might have consequences for all of us. And watch what you say too. Understand?”

Valerie nods in agreement. He gently pushes a few strands of her hair out of her face as he shut his laptop, placing it in his suitcase.

“So where are we moving to now?” she asks.

“That is up in the air as I have requested if we stayed here permanently.” he replied, grabbing one of her hands and holding it in his lap.

“What? Why? We always traveled to the next one when the assignment is done.”

“You seem to enjoy living here more than the previous locations we were at.”

“How would you know? You were only with me a few times since we moved here.”

“Always remember that one of the things I do great at my job is taking notes. And since we’ve been living here, I noticed you feel more calmer, enjoying the quietness and darkness a lot. I mean, you do sit on the porch and crochet as you watch the stars bloom. I never hear you complain about being overheated, uncomfortable, squished in…I see everything, even when I’m focused on work.” he said, tracing his fingers over her hand.

“But you still have to travel to your next assignment. After you said you would never leave me alone out here ever.”

He smiled, making her look at him in a confused way.

“Except, I’m hoping I won’t be doing that much longer. See, OuterMore’s slogan always mention going to space to improve the future. While I do enjoy helping our customers with having a replica taking care of their spouse while the other is in space for two years, I want to move up in the company as I feel I have outgrown this.”

“Like what? Being a board member? CEO?”

“No, no.” he chucked. “A lab analyst. I’ll be looking at tests, data, new files, old files, watching them make the replicas, disabling the old ones, just to name a few.”

“So. Somewhat similar to what you do now, but you’re at the main headquarters?”

“No. I would be at the regional headquarters that’s on the opposite side of the airport we came in at. Which is a two hour drive, meaning I won’t be gone all day or too far from you, my love.” he said, rubbing her face.

Valerie smiled, blushing at the thoughts of them possibly settling down instead of worrying about where they’re going next.

“Hm. I like the sound of that.” she responded with, nudging her face on his shoulder.

“That’s why you have to hope they’ll approve it. I think they will with how much data I provided them with over these last few years. But, like I said about hiding your true self, keep this between us as well.”

“Understood.” she said, nodding slightly.

The couple sat in silence, caressing each other hands as the car turns on a road.

“We will be arriving to your destination in about five minutes.” said the voice of the car, starling Valerie.

“You have got to get use to the car.”

“Hush. I don’t ride in this usually!”

Terrance laughs as he rubs her hip, glaring out of the window as they get closer to Junior and Hen’s.

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A few minutes later, the car pulls into the driveway of a house on farm, with a man working on it, moving hay around. As it got closer, the man’s visibility becomes clearer, revealing him as Junior, who automatically gets annoyed as he looks at the car. Dressed in a white shirt, blue jeans, and brown boots, he drops the batch of hey from his hands, slowly walks over to them.

“He doesn’t seem to be in a good mood.” said Valerie as she looked at him.

“On cue as soon as he sees me.” said Terrance.

The car parks in front of the porch, turning itself off before unlocking the door and lifting it up. Terrance steps out first, sending a smile towards Junior before helping Valerie get out, fixing the bottom of her dress.

Soft stomps are heard before the front door swings open. Out comes a young, blond haired woman in a peach button top, a brownish plaid long skirt, and brown knee high boots. She looks at them with an emotionless stare, as if they are trespassing and should leave.

“Good to see you again, Junior and Hen.” said Terrance, gently pulling Valerie close to him.

“We don’t have a choice at this point, do we?” says Junior as he stands next to Hen. Terrance chuckles, nodding at the question.

“Patience is key. We still got a long way to go before you depart for your trip.”

“Well, you and your company hasn’t made it easy for us at all. Just different things every time you show up.” said Hen, looking at him.

“He’s just doing his job with getting everything that’s needed for the replica. He understands that you two are very upset about his selection to go to space and how you feel like you don’t have enough time before he goes, but at the end of the day, this is just his job’s requirements and probably wants to get this done faster so he can be out of your hair.” said Valerie, who is now visibly irritated.

Junior looks at her with curiosity as Hen gives her the death stare, making Val feel a bit uncomfortable.

“Oh, where are my manners! Junior and Hen, this is Valerie. My beautiful wife that I have mentioned quite a few times. She’ll be staying here as well as we do a couple more tests, if you don’t mind.” said Terrance, doing a ‘showing her off’ gesture, with Valerie smiling a little.

Hen nods as she looks at Junior, who is still looking at Valerie with curiosity in his face.

“Luckily, the room is big enough for the both of you and your things, so I don’t mind.” said Hen, forcing a smile.

“Excuse me?” asked Valerie.

“Not like that. I meant if you bought a bunch of suitcases for your things……or some random boxes from your husband’s job.” she said, shooting a look at Terrance.

“If it makes you feel any better, she only brought two.” said Terrance as he turned to take out her suitcases and his.

“As long as she’s not doing random tests or taking notes while watching me do anything, I don’t care.” said Junior.

“Makes you uncomfortable?” asked Valerie.

“A little. I tend to lose focus in whatever I’m doing.”

“….makes sense. You fit it well.”

Junior stares at her, slightly turning red, as Hen shoots her a look while Terrance stares at her in confusion.

“And what is that supposed to mean, Valerie?” she asked.

“Nothing. Just an observation. Tend to take after Terrance sometimes. A natural habit.” said Valerie, staring at Junior.

Terrance lets out a ‘hm’ sound before grabbing the suitcases and walking towards the door.

“Let’s go inside, shall we?” he said as he walks up the stairs.

The rest followed behind, with Hen running over to open the door and held it for Terrance and Valerie as they walked in, with Hen and Junior following.

After Terrance places their suitcases in their room, he comes back downstairs to the living room, where he takes a seat next to Valerie as Hen sat in one of the chairs while Junior stands, pacing back and forth.

“So. Do you often spend the night or…nights at his assignment’s house?” asked Hen.

“When I was first accompanying him, yes. But, I guess after he completed enough assignments, they started paying for any place we wanted to live at as he worked. That’s been our routine ever since. But, this is also my first time doing this again.” said Valerie as she looked at Terrance, who smiles back at her.

“So….are you in a different city when he accepts a new assignment after he completes the previous or you two move immediately?” asked Junior, who now takes a seat in the other chair.

“The latter. It’s important that the partner/spouse of the agent stays with them as they wait for the two years to go by, examining whatever’s going on up there close by at home.”

“OuterMore takes it seriously. They too can feel when our workers might feel lonely as they travel.” said Terrance.

“Hm. They understand that, but doesn’t seem anything wrong with randomly selecting people to get put on a rocket ship and sent to space as a replica operates their daily lives as if they’re the actual person.” said Junior, looking at Terrance.

“Junior.” Hen whispered.

“What? It’s not like I’m lying cause it’s not fucking normal and he acts like it is!” he said as he stands up, very heated.

Valerie thought ‘hothead’ to herself, noticing a common trait she sees in Terrance’s subjects when talking about this.

“It’s for a better future for the planet. You seen the videos, my explanation, and the many success stories that came out of it. I say it’s very normal as the government approves it.” said Terrance, watching him pace back and forth.

“And you’re fine with what he’s doing? Coming in the middle of the night, telling strangers they been selected to space, disappearing for a while, and then suddenly returns, saying “we need to your measurements, memories, looks, what time you eat, how you shit, how you eat for your replica” constantly? Then when it’s all over, you move onto the next? That’s normal for you, Valerie? Your agent husband rolling into strangers’ house with a deal of a lifetime as you sit home, being oblivious?” he said, standing a few feet from the couple.

Valerie looks at him with a glare in her, processing what he just said to her.

“Junior, that’s enough! That is not how we welcome guests into our home!” said Hen as she got up, staring very anger at him.

“She’s not a guest. Just someone who follows everything he tells her to do.”

Valerie chuckles quietly, trying to find the right words to say without making this moment even worse.

“That is not how you talk to a wo…” Terrance attempts to get up to confront him, but she pulls him down, signaling him to not doing anything that might get him in trouble.

“You know…..I knew it was going to be you, and I mean specifically you, that was going to utter that.” she said, looking at Junior.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You think everything is perfectly fine here, but don’t realize the people you love are suffering around you. But I’m the oblivious one here?”

“Because everything is fine. I’m fine. Hen’s fine. The house is fine. All of this here? Definitely not.”

“Hen is definitely not fine. You just ignored her pleading to stop. In fact, you ignore everything she wants because you think being home and away from downtown is what makes life worth living.” she said as she stands up, placing the cake on the table.

“Valerie, baby, don’t.” mumbles Terrance as he tries to pull her down, but she snatches her arm.

“Oh, so we’re telling secret information to people that shouldn’t be knowing, Terrance? I thought you valued that.” said Junior as he stepped closer, but Hen pushes him back, mumbling “Stop!”.

“He does because he didn’t tell me. The notes on the file did. At least he knows how to value something instead of blowing it off for their own needs.”

“Valerie….” said Terrance, looking at her.

“Oh, so now it’s my own needs?” asks Junior.

“Yeah. Your own needs since you can’t please Hen’s.” says Valerie.

“Please stop.” said Hen, looking at her. Valerie shakes her head before gently moving Hen out of the way to stand in front of Junior.

“No, cause what we’re not gonna do here is let Junior walk all over you, me, and him because he hasn’t found his happiness yet. Which is why he’s very angry, dismissive about everything, and if anything, too possessive. So tell me. What are you hiding behind this tough guy persona, Junior?” she says as she gets in Junior’s face.

Junior looks her up and down, before glancing at Terrance, who sends a glare back at him. Junior leans near her ear, lowering his voice.

“You know he’s been spending a lot of time with my wife, right? Secret meetings, going in town for something, helping her out. You don’t find that worrying? Your husband being around another woman that’s not you?” he whispers.

Valerie looks back at Terrance, who is slowly getting angry and stands up.

“….I’m not dumb and I think you know that. If anything, you should be very cautious with your behavior because I know everything that she doesn’t know. Mentally, physically, and sexually. Especially that night.” she whispers back, glaring at him.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Is that a threat? Or is this your way of getting something you want from him?” she asks in her normal voice.

“Why you little….” he says, getting even more close to her.

Hen and Terrance look at each other before getting between the both of them, separating them. Junior reacts by flipping the chair and storming out, starling Hen. Terrance shakes his head before looking at Valerie, who looks down in an impertinent way.

“I told you to watch your mouth.” he says.

“Nothing gets better if you let someone like him walk over you.”

“He’s just uncomfortable.” said Hen.

“Well, he needs to grow up and be a man.”

“That’s just how he is!” she said, now extremely pissed.

“Oh well. This will all be over soon anyway. Oh, and I made this cake for you guys, if you give a damn.” said Valerie as she picks up the pan and carries it to the kitchen.

“Val!” said Terrance.

“Gee, thanks. That will go well with whatever we’re eating after I go grocery shopping as soon as I find Junior!” she yelled, storming out the house.

Valerie rolls her eyes before placing the pan on the counter. Suddenly, she feels a painful sensation from her stomach, causing her to fall on her knees and clenching it as she lets out a painful groan. Terrance rushes over, kneeling down to lift her up.

“Where does it hurt at?! Locate it to me!” he says.

She grabs his hand and places it over her stomach, breathing harshly. The area has a warm feeling that kept rising until it went away, along with the sensation. He stares in confusion, looking up at her, who now had an uneasy expression on her face.

“Seems like you were overheating a bit, but it went away.” he said, rubbing his hand over to check other areas.

“I probably need to rest. My tab is still half full, so I’ll be fine until tomorrow night.” she mumbled, slowly becoming tired.

“I’ll carry you to the room. But I might be gone by the time you wake up. Get some rest, sweetheart…” he says, watching her fall asleep in his arms before carrying her up the stairs.

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A few hours later, Valerie wakes up, breathing hoarsely. She sits up, looks around the low sun setted room, realizing that this is their bedroom. She turns to her nightstand, which has a glass of water, a pill, and a note, written by Terrance, that says:

“Take this when you wake up. It should calm down the shocks and whatever else is aching. Me and Junior went in town to do the grocery shopping for Hen and find something to eat for dinner since it will be little too late to cook. Behave yourself while I’m gone.

- T. “

She smiles, shaking her head at the last part before placing the pill in her mouth and washing it down with the water. She gets up, stretching herself out, before walking towards the window. She looks at the empty ground, with some puddles sparking from the blueish-purple sunset.

She thought about how peaceful it is out here. Not having to hear loud traffic, feeling overstimulated by people moving around, arguing, having sex, loud music overflowing your sounds. Just simply doing anything you like without having to worry about anything.

Walking out with her book, ‘Parable of the Sower’ by Octavia E. Butler, to indulge in the view of the growing night sky, she sees Hen lying on a massive branch, looking out in the distance. She calmly walks up, waves at her before taking a seat about a few feet away on the stump.

There’s silence between the two women for a few minutes before Hen looks down at her, watching her read quietly.

“What are you reading?” she asked, making her break out of her focus.

“Parable of the Sower. It tells a fictional story of a girl growing up in her poor stricken gated community as the world is going to chaos during the 2020s Los Angeles. She wrote this about 30 years before it actually happened, and before our time. Basically predicting it.” said Valerie as she showed the book to her in a better view.

“Like what?”

“Well. Climate change, the economic crisis, social inequality, inflation, escape from forced slavery, useless government, the collapse of cities by its citizens. Just to name the important details. Ms. Butler unfortunately didn’t live long enough to see it actually happen.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of predictions to get right.”

“Yeah. He got this for me when we were staying in Los Angeles for his assignment at the time. Said I would like it since I tend to read books like this. And he wasn’t wrong.” she says, smiling a little. It was one of her favorite things about him: getting her things he knows she would like.

“Were you downtown?”

“Not really. We stayed Hidden Hills. His assignment lived on Mulholland Drive, so he wasn’t too far from me.”

“Must be hard being alone all day.”

“Oh, that depends on where we’re at. I sometimes visit historic places on my own, go to the grocery store, shopping sometimes, or just drive around. With his awareness, of course.”

“He’s not bothered with you doing that?”

Valerie makes a confused face before looking Hen, who is still laying down.

“No. Terrance encourages me to explore the areas we’re around instead of waiting for him. If I’m comfortable with doing that. And then, he wants to hear about it or see it, incase I bought something, when he comes home because he doesn’t like being the only one explaining what he did today.”

“…..and what do you do for a living?” she asks as she sits up, keeping her eyes on her.

“Stay-at-home wife. I read, I crochet, I cook sometimes, bake a lot, clean if the place is messy, relax, listen to music on our vinyl player, and sleep in if I’m too lazy to do anything.”

Hen stares at her, at a loss for words with the information she gave her. Valerie, in her head, is thinking “wow, he’s keeping her locked up and she’s letting him for his love”, about to continue reading her book before she heard her laugh.

“Something funny, Hen?” she asks, looking at her again.

“That sounds like you’re using him. And he’s falling for it.” Hen replies slyly.

“Excuse me?”

“You do anything you want as long as he’s okay with it while he works? He wants to hear about your day so he’s not the only one talking? Showing him stuff you bought and he doesn’t get upset?”

“Why would he be upset if I told him what I did and he’s aware? He likes hearing me talk about anything even if I didn’t do nothing and if I have concerns or I’m not happy, he wants to hear it so he can reassure me or find a solution. Not just give up.”

“Oh, I find that very hard to believe he would be doing all of that for you.” she scoffs, looking away.

Valerie looked at her in an appalling way, couldn’t believe she’s accusing her of lying about what her and Terrance do after a long day. She shakes her head, getting up to leave, but stops and turns around.

“You know….envy doesn’t look good on you when you’re the one causing it. Because you’re the one who’s trying to save your marriage here, it doesn’t mean you have to put me down to get me to suffer in your misery.” she states, glaring at her.

“Oh, fuck you, Valerie. Pretending traveling all over the country so he can get information to make replicas of people going to space to replace their home life while you do absolutely nothing is not normal. Waste of time if anything!” she responded, not looking at her.

“Oh? But….you’re the one….who wants to explore, right? You’re the one with the idea of walking out on him, leaving him in an envelope with a letter that has nothing written, just to show how you thought of your relationship.”

Hen looks up, with a scowl on her face. Valerie smiles evilly, leaning forward.

“Yeah. I heard that part in the files. You two both come from sad backgrounds, it’s amazing you lasted this long.”

“And you think you and Terrance are gonna last longer?”

“We have. Hence why I’m here, right? He loves his job and loves taking care of me because he actually loves me. And you hate that. Cause Junior loves you, but not how you want him to. And that’s why you’re reacting the way you are because when the real one comes back, it’s not gonna be the same. Just this replica is willing to try to make you happy, I’ll give him that.”

“You don’t know me. You only know what I told your husband. That’s why you think you can stand there, give advice something you have no idea about. Just taking after his writing and whatever else included…..Junior’s right. You do follow everything he does because you have nothing to go home to after you’re done using him. I feel sorry for you, having to adjusting things to his liking.” Hen says, shaking her head.

Valerie’s jaw drops, in shocked at what she said to her. None of this is true, but watching Hen’s anger towards Junior make her believe that she’s using Terrance because she has nothing for herself just woke up something inside her that she didn’t have: overwhelmed anger. She walks back slow, keeping her glare up.

“I understand that you want to explore things that he won’t let you do because he’s afraid of losing you, hence why you’re taking it out on me and Terrance. I would suggest leaving him, but based on how you two met and looking around…….can’t really do much. But I’ll leave you with this: slap him one more time and I’ll fuck you up.” she uttered before storming off, walking to the house.

As she gets closer, Junior’s truck, with him and Terrance inside, pulls up. The men get out the car to unload the bags of groceries from the back when they see Valerie walking, not noticing her anger all over her.

“Hey baby. I see you’re enjoying the beautiful night sky out here.” said Terrance as he pulls down the tailgate and grabs a few bags.

“Your wife’s a bitch, Junior!” she yells, walking past them and onto the porch, swings the door open, and walks inside.

Both men look at each other, very confused on what just happened before resuming getting the bags.

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Valerie is sitting on the couch on the porch, reading Parable of the Sower, with the hanging bulbs being used as her lights.

Soft steps are heard until the front door opens, with Terrance walks out, carrying a tray of food and drinks.

“Hey.” he says, gently walking over.

“Hey.” she replies, not looking at him.

“I thought you might’ve been hungry and a little thirsty, so I brought you dinner.” he says as he places the tray on the table before sitting next to her. She looks at it, moving her book to the side.

“We decided on burgers from this local place, so I got you your favorite: a Spicy Jack burger with jalapeños, pepper jack cheese, chipotle mayo, sautéed onions, lettuce, and no tomato & pickles, of course. I wasn’t sure if you wanted the spicy seasoning on your fries, so I asked them to put it on the side. And I got you a Sprite. I just got a regular American and a Coke. Hope you like it.” he said as he places her drink and plate in front of her.

“Thanks, but I’m not that hungry right now.” she replied, going back to her book.

“That’s fine. Just don’t let it get cold.” he says, beginning to eat his food.

She nodded, still reading the page. There was silence for a few minutes, with the sounds of Valerie turn a page occurring a few times. Terrance watches her for a few moments, taking in her be focused on reading.

“…what happen between you and Hen while we were out?” he asked, laying back in his seat.

“Nothing.” she replied, not looking at him.

“You sure?”

“Very.”

“So why are you being dismissive?”

“….I can’t read after I said I’m not hungry?” she replied, now looking at him.

“I didn’t say that. I’m just saying…..you’re normally talkative. Asking me things. Just….being you.”

“Well, what if I’m not in the mood to be that right now?” she said, going back to her book.

Terrance frowns at that response, looking out in the opening as he thought about his next move that won’t make her mad.

“….did you two do something that you regret? I wouldn’t be mad if that was case, considering you know. We can always erase it.” he says letting out a small laugh.

Valerie, now anger, throws the book on the ground and stands up. She walks in front of the table, pacing back and forth before turning to him.

“Why the fuck would you assume we hooked up while you and hothead were out? Hm? She’s not even my type! Just because you got attracted to her husband, it’s doesn’t mean I’m going for the wife and I hope that’s not what you’re trying to get me to do.” she said, staring very angry at him.

“Valerie, I wasn’t being—“

“Serious? Because wow, that’s a terrible thing to joke about with me. I would never, ever lay next to someone as miserable as she is and you are a disgusting asshole for that…..”

Her voice trails at the end as she leans on the pillar. Suddenly, her chest begins beating fast, creating a painful sensation that it hurts for her to breath. She places her hand on it, trembling onto her knees as Terrance got and races over to her fast.

“Breathe…breathe….breathe.” he whispers to her as he holds her, mimicking a ‘inhale/exhale’ motion.

She follows, wheezing each time as the sensation slowly went away and her breathing was back to normal. Then, she cries, collapsing into him. He pulls her into an embrace, holding her tight as she cried into his chest, letting it all.

“What did she do? Cause this is not normal for you to be crying over and I’m getting very worried.”

She looks up, wiping her tears as she sniffles.

“She said….I’m using you because I have nothing to….to go back to once “this” is done.” she said in weak voice.

“Oh, baby…..” he mumbles, cuddling her.

“I know it’s not true and it’s stupid to throw a fit about…but, my god, it stings! People are so cruel and for what?!”

“It’s just a rough time for them. Just give them some space and they will be apologizing.”

“Fuck their apology.”

“You don’t have to accept it. I’m not gonna force you.”

Valerie lays against his chest, trancing her left hand over his chest before looking at him again.

“How are you so calm about this?” she asks, slightly sniffling.

“I’m used to it.” he shrugs. “If I break, they’re gonna use that as an advantage to do it again and I don’t want. Which is what you need to adapt. Don’t let what Junior and Hen get under your skin more than it should or else, you’re going to be stuck in an endless cycle with it. Ok?”

She nods. He smiles at her before kissing her nose, carefully helping her up and walking back over to the couch, sitting the both of them down.

“Please eat. I don’t want you going to sleep on an empty stomach.” he says, sliding her plate over a bit with her drink.

She smiles a bit before picking up her burger and biting into it. She moans as it still tasted very warm, even after her outburst a few moments ago.

“We have one more night and this will all be over for you.” he says as he picks up her book and places it on the table. He watches her eat as he peered into the window behind him, slightly locking eyes with Junior for a few minutes before he broke them and looked at Hen, who was drinking.

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Valerie is sleeping in the bed with Terrance, constantly moving around as she’s having a nightmare about being separated from him after OuterMore found he violated the policy by sleeping with a subject.

As she’s being held down to the ground by guards while Terrance attempts to get to her while being handcuffed and screaming her name, a man walks up with a needle in his hand. Just as he kneels down in front of her, he begs the man to leave her alone, just take me only. The man ignores, raising the needle high up, and as he is about to inject her..

She wakes up, breathing shakily. Doing the motion he showed her early, she relaxes, with each exhale bringing her back to normal. She looks over at him, who was peacefully knocked out, his light snores filling the quietness of the room.

Feeling very dry in her throat, she quietly gets up and puts on her robe before opening the door carefully and slowly walks down the stairs, not wanting to wake anyone up.

She looks both ways before walking into the kitchen, noticing no one’s around. Opening the cabinet door carefully, she takes out a tall glass before walking to the fridge. Opening the door, she grab the pitcher of water and carefully pours it in her glass, filling it until it’s enough. She takes a sip, releasing a quiet moan as the coolness and wetness hit the back of her throat.

As she turns to walk back up to her room, she hears a sound from the living room. She peers in, looking to see if anything catches her eye. “Nothing.” she said in her mind, turning back to the stairs.

“Fuck.” moaned a familiar voice, very quietly.

Looking back in the room, she scans the room once more before landing her eyes on something bewildering that she gasped.

In the one of the living room chairs laid Junior, whose eyes were closed, but his hands? Stroking himself as the moon shined on him. Recreating a scene Valerie saw weeks earlier where he was stroking himself as he watched her and Terrance make love. As much as she was slowly getting aroused by this, guilt filled her mind quickly and she had to do something or it will be very awkward if Hen or Terrance woke up and saw this.

“Junior?” she said, loud enough but not too loud that it wakes everyone up.

Junior opens his eyes, looks at Valerie, and immediately stands up quickly to pulls his shorts up, trying to make this situation less awkward, but failed. He chuckles shyly, not trying to look at her.

“Whatever you saw me doing……you didn’t see.” he says.

Valerie chuckles before walks up the stairs to her room, quietly closing the door, leaving Junior feeling embarrassed.

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A few hours later, Valerie wakes up again. This time, the sun is beaming into the room. She blinks slowly, running her eyes before letting out a big yawn. She touches behind her to see if Terrance was still in bed, only for cold emptiness to hit her hand. She frowns, hoping he was still in bed.

Rising up, she grabs a washcloth and bath towel before walking to the bathroom to shower. After rinsing her body and wrapping it in the towel, she heads back to their room, taking out a long, cream colored, leg slit crochet dress that had an off-the-shoulder top that she made when they were first starting to see each other. After oiling her body, putting sunscreen on, placing her curls in a half up-half down hairdo, and grabbing her crochet bag, she heads down the stairs to sit on the porch and make something.

Just as she’s about to pass the kitchen, a cinnamon sugar scent hits her nose. She walks in, where she sees Terrance chopping onions as Hen was stuffing the turkey with vegetables. She clears her, causing the both of them turn and look at her.

“Oh! Good morning—well, afternoon, Valerie. We didn’t hear you walk in.” he said, walking up to kiss her. “No issues with anything?”

Valerie shakes her head ‘no’ before kissing him, watching him walk back to his position as she looks at the uncooked food spread out across the kitchen.

“Assuming you two are making dinner?” she asks.

“Yeah. Just a simple roasted turkey, mac and cheese, collard greens, rice, mashed potatoes, and cornbread.” said Hen, not looking at her.

“Huh. You may be miserable but you got exquisite taste in food. I’ll give you that.” said Valerie, very amused at the menu.

“Valerie.” said Terrance, eyeing her with a “please drop it” look as Hen scoffs loudly.

“Well. Ima go sit on the porch and crochet a new piece while y’all cook. Its suppose to be very hot, so I thought it would be a perfect weather to sit out and do something.” she said as she turned to leave.

“You’re not gonna eat? I made you some pancakes, scrambled eggs, and some turkey scrapple since we don’t eat pork.” he said as he opened the oven and took out the plate, handing it to her.

“Oh. I didn’t think y’all saved me anything since I woke up late.” she said, gently taking the plate out of his hands.

“No? I always make sure you eat, even if you’re last. Did you want water or OJ?” he asks as he places a fork and knife on the plate.

“I’ll do a water.”

“Hen, do you mine pouring her a glass?”

“No worries.” she replies, taking out a cup before heading to grabbed the pitcher.

“Hothead not up?” Valerie whispers, making sure Hen doesn’t her farm.

“Working on the farm. He seemed a little off today.” Terrance replies in a whisper tone.

“Technically, he is…that.”

“Yeah, but…..he was being nice? He’s not usually like that.”

“Hm.”

Hen walks over to hand her the glass of water, but Terrance takes it from her.

“I’ll carry this for her. Thank you though.”

Hen nods before walking back to the turkey. Terrance walks to the front door and opens it, with Valerie walking out and over to the couch, placing the plate on the table before sitting down and placing the crochet bag next to her. Terrance hands her the water and kisses her forehead before walking back in.

After finishing her breakfast, she began crocheting her new piece: a sun shaped cone bra with a cloud hanging between. Using the colors, yellow, white, and orange to create a three colored pattern, she begins her piece, moving at a modern pace so she doesn’t mess up.

As she’s doing that, she looks up and sees Junior doing work on the farm. From sweeping up the hay to moving wood logs around, he seemingly focused a lot on cleaning, amusing Valerie a lot. After finishing up, he sees her sitting on the porch, working on her piece.

Cautiously, he walks over, taking a seat on the edge of the porch floor, his back facing her. She doesn’t notice him sitting there until he clears his throat and she looks up.

“Hello, Junior.” she says.

“Good afternoon to you as well.” he replies.

“I see you were working hard out there.”

“Oh really?”

“Mmhm. Seems exhausting trying to keep something clean just for it to get messy by the next day.”

“Yeah. That’s farm life for you.” he says, letting out a stifled chuckle.

She nods, looking down to resume crocheting her bra. There’s an awkward silence between the two for a few moments before Junior turns to face her.

“I wanted to apologize for not only last night, but my behavior towards you yesterday.”

She looks at him, moving her hook and bra to the side.

“I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did since you are only his wife that travels with him on these…..assignments as he calls them. We were talking yesterday as we drove into town and he was explaining everything about you and….I realize you are adored a lot by him. He’s mentioned you a few times since being here, but I never seen him talk about you in a captivating way that it slowly made me think that….maybe I do need to listen to things Hen wants and not put my needs above hers. And maybe this trip to space will save us in the end because I could come back a better husband and caretaker for her instead of fearing of losing her permanently. But, I do apologize and hope you can accept it.” he says, giving her a genuine look

Impressed by this apology from him, she smiles as she thinks of a response. But, the growing guilt of knowing that less than 72 hours from now, the real Junior will be home to rightfully take back his spot, settles in. She feels bad that she can’t tell him, but having the nightmare of being taken away keeps that reminder in tact.

“And, I should check my surroundings before I start pleasuring myself.” he adds, making the both of them laugh.

“Well…..I do accept your apology as it seems very genuine. But, if you’re thinking about taking what Hen wants seriously, you need to do it now before it’s too late. Life’s too short to be distant with each other all the time.”

“Thank you, Val.”

“No problem.”

He gets up and walks to the door. But before he opens it, he looks at Val again.

“….what happen between you last night? You were very….explosive with the bitch part.” he asks.

“All I can say is my intelligence was insulted, which hurts my feelings. And I can careless if her ass gives an apology.” she said, sighing in the process.

“…..I’ll talk to her when she’s done prepping dinner with him. I don’t want your last night here being ruined by what happened yesterday. And I do wanna try that cake you made.”

Valerie laughs, making Junior smile before walking inside the house. Wow. What a change of heart, she thought, resuming work on her piece.

Hours go by and Valerie finishes the bra, which came out very nice and fitted perfectly for her chest. She walks in the house and lays on the couch, deciding to take a hour nap since dinner was currently baking in the oven as Terrance and Junior were upstairs, doing another session. And Hen was….well, Hen.

She was peacefully sleeping when she felt someone gently shaking her, making her open her eyes. As her eyes unblurred, she can tell person in front of her was Hen, now dressed in a red and brown pattern dress.

“Sorry for waking you up. Dinner’s ready and I was wondering if you can go get the men while I set up?” she said, walking back to kitchen.

“Yeah….I’ll get them.” said Valerie, letting out a stretch before getting up and walking upstairs.

She gently knocks on the door, patiently waiting for Terrance to greet her.

No response.

She knocks again, a little louder, thinking this will get his attention.

Once again, nothing.

“Terrance? Junior? Is everything okay in there?” she asks, putting her ear against the door to hear.

Nothing. No movement, no sound, just silence.

She grabs the doorknob, turns it, and hears an unlock sound, signaling it’s not locked. She pushes the door open and walks in.

“Hey, Hen wanted me to tell y’all that dinner is re…..”

Her voice trails off, in shocked at what she sees.

On the bed, against the wall opposite to the window, was Junior and Terrance, passively making out with and rubbing on each other. Junior looks up, sees her standing there, and breaks away, backing up in fear.

“Why did you sto….” Terrance asks, slowly turning his head to see what he’s looking at.

Startled by Valerie’s presence, he gets up slowly, placing his hands in front to calm her.

“Baby, its not what it looks lik—“

“Dinner is ready. She doesn’t want the food to get cold.” she blurted out with a forced smile on herself, holding back tears.

Afterwards, she storms out, slamming the door behind her. She leans against the hallway banister, silent crying. All of those happy memories of them begin playing in her head. From the day they met to their wedding day to romantic dates to making love…..all just coming in to wash over her broken heart.

Wiping her tears, she walks downstairs, heading to the dining room where Hen was placing the turkey in the middle with the rest of the food.

“They….should be down…soon.” she said, clearing her throat as she sat down.

“…..you okay?” she asks, looking at her.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“I don’t know. You seen a little…..flustered?”

“I’m fine, Hen. Really….fine.”

Loud movement is heard before both men entered the room, cautiously pretending they didn’t get caught. Junior walks over to Hen and kisses her head as Terrance sits next to Valerie, gently brushing past her.

“Okay, so we should be ready. I’m just trying to figure out what am I forgetting.” said Hen.

“Drinks, plates, and utensils.” said Junior, looking at the table.

“Shit. I knew it was something important!”

“Come on. I’ll help you get it.” he said, pulling her into the kitchen, leaving Terrance and Valerie alone.

Silence fills the room as Valerie turns away, not wanting to see him.

“So…..when do you want to file to end this? After they approve you?” she asks with a cold tone in her voice.

“Don’t say that.” he replies, turning her seat to face him.

“What? You don’t like the sound of it? Being a divorcee? You don’t mind behaving like one.”

Terrance pulls her seat even closer, bringing down the distance between them. He leans forward, placing his hands on her thighs.

“You know….you’re acting the way she did when we butted heads. Distant. Insults. Not wanting to look at me. Sometimes slapping me if I said something wrong. But, I deserved it. Just like how I deserve you acting the way you are right now.”

“If this is your way of apologizing, you’re gonna have to try a lot harder.” she says, pushing his hands off.

“Which I am. You know I do. After everything we been through and yet, we’re still here.”

“For a reason I’m not gonna say cause I don’t want to hurt you. Hell, I don’t even want to hurt me!” she said, her voice beginning to crack.

Terrance leans back, sniffling a little as he hands her a napkin, with her taking it.

“I don’t know it’s because she never felt this whenever y’all were going through it or this is something else, but I just feel….not me. I don’t know if it’s because of what’s about to happen or I’m missing something that I want but can’t have…” she says, wiping her tears.

“Like what? Another person romantically? Being on your own?”

Valerie shakes her head, looking at him, who is now crying.

“….l can never be on my own. Or love someone else other than you, even if I tried. But I have no interest.”

“Then what do you think it is?”

“…..maybe it’s a memory I never seen that she wants me to unlock. Maybe I have to see something to get there.”

“I think I can help with that. I don’t know how, but I’ll try.”

“Do you think that’s enough?”

“I know it’s not. It just means I have to prove myself in order to earn your trust back.”

She looks away, wiping her face with the napkin as Terrance looks at her. She exhales, looking back at him.

“…..he was there.” she confessed.

“What?”

“The night we made love, when you asked if something was out there that I kept looking, it was him. Junior. He watched us.”

He lets out a surprise laugh, covering his mouth. He wipes his face as he looked to see if Hen and Junior were coming.

“What the hell……”

“And I liked it.”

“You’re telling me this now?”

“You kissed him. After telling me you had control over your urges. And I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the only time with the way you and him were going at it.”

He doesn’t respond, just nods. Confirming it. She rolls her eyes, not mad, just disappointed.

“….do you want him? Like in a romantic way?”

“No.”

“….me either.”

“But you want to fuck him.”

“……yes.”

“…….I’ll keep that in mind.” she replies, turning away from him.

He about to ask her what she meant when Hen and Junior walked back in with the missing items, placing them on the table.

“Sorry for the wait. We were debating which ones to bring out!” said Hen, putting plates in front of them.

“That’s fine. We’re just having a conversation.” said Terrance, fixing himself.

“Oh, is everything okay?” asked Junior, with a concerned look on his face.

Terrance and Hen look at Valerie, who feels the pressure building.

“Yeah, Junior. Everything is fine.” she replies, smiling at him.

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A/N II: trouble in paradise? or is the paradise about to cause some steamy trouble in the bedroom? A little long, but I liked it! Part 3 should be out some time next week, but have a good night/day everyone 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

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