#While running their own projects and streams?!?

[mothymayhem]

Guys. Y'all - y'all understand that if you don't enjoy something that y'all don't have to watch it anymore, right? Right?

And that you shouldn't be harassing and sending hate to VAs and Writers cause things aren't going how you wanted, right?!

This whole situation is- something else. I'm honestly sick as a dog so I'm not even gonna begin to word how truly awful this is, and all the love and support to Kat rn cause goodness gracious this is ridiculous. Like I've seen the toxicity of the fandom and unfortunately the harassment of the cast is sadly nothing new but it's - it's all just truly something else.

[maxwellatoms]

Do you think were any kind of specific aspects of the culture, industry, economy, etc that made making cartoons in 90s / 2000s better or worse than trying to make them today?

They're literally different worlds.

As a 22 year old neurodivergent, I was able to pitch show ideas directly to executives. Part of that was because TV Animation wasn't a glamorous profession (quite yet), so the higher-ups were genuinely passionate about the medium. I earned good money for the time and was generally trusted to run my show and tend to the crew. I would periodically be handed portfolios, which I would personally review and pass on to other show runners. For the networks it was always corporate, cutthroat, and ultimately about the money, but as an artist you could still have a voice and make art while being paid a living wage.

The pay for a freelance storyboard in 2005 is almost exactly what it is today, but now you're likely to have less time and be required to do an animatic on top of it. Portfolios are online, and (beyond metrics) you'll probably never know if anyone looks at it or not.

Animation got big. Too big. The executives got "glamorous", then the talent got "glamorous". By then you probably wouldn't get a pitch meeting unless you were a celebrity or knew one willing to be connected to your project. Animation eventually got so big that it popped. And that's where we are now.

Most of the people I know from Kid's TV Animation are currently unemployed. I have been off Jellystone for over a year, and I'm starting to get genuinely worried. Like, "move away to save money" worried. Most of the employed artists I do know are on long-running legacy series, and they're concerned about their futures when/if those series end. Right now is not a fantastic time for "animation as a money-making profession". The "glamorous" part popped years ago.

That being said, there are still opportunities out there. If you're just starting out, apparently there's a planned surge in adult and pre-school animation. It's also a great time (as long as YouTube remains sane) to be crafting your own content. But I think that the time of Big Studio Patronage is over for most of the industry. It's up to the individual artist now more than ever, not only to make but to promote their own content.

Back at the height of Billy & Mandy, we mostly pulled fours and fives in the Neilsen ratings, but we occasionally got a seven. For reference, E.R. consistently got eights. It's difficult to say exactly how many people that actually was due to how those ratings work, but it was a big deal for the time. Millions. Enough people that if I had a dollar for each person that just watched that one episode, I would have been set for life. Now, nobody gets a seven. A four is huge. Back then there were maybe fifteen or twenty channels of programmed content as opposed to the streaming smorgasbord we were all just enjoying (and which now also seems to have popped). Point being, even though I wasn't paid-per-view, I was able to use those views as justification for an eventual raise. In modern times, streaming numbers are seemingly deliberately kept secret. You'll never really know how well your show was doing until it's over. Or maybe never.

In modern times, a million views on YouTube is enough to get you noticed online. It's a lower bar for entry in a way, but you've got to get there all by yourself. Once you're there (hello Hazbin) a network may indeed come and scoop you up. Even if they don't, you can probably make a decent living with numbers like that if you're savvy and willing to take the time.

I feel like I could go on all day, shaking my fist at the sky, gray-ass beard blowing in the wind. Was it better or easier making cartoons in the past? It seemed that way to me, but that was a world I knew. There was no AI to sell you out to, and the media was more of a "Wild West" than it is today. I do think that AI is going to continue to displace artists (and soon others), making it even more difficult to get anyone's eyes on anything at all.

Culturally, we lack the common touchpoints that bonded our society in the 20th Century. I suspect that the media landscape will continue to become more "bubbly" and disjointed unless some powerful force swoops in to mandate a common viewpoint. Those are two very divergent, uniquely tiring futures, each presenting a different challenge for an artist's survival.

Outside of whatever our modern world is, animation was made for a century by photographing drawings. If Émile Cohl could do it in 1908, you can do it now. It's a lot of labor, but maybe that's part of what makes it special.

[bishovapls]

Our Little One - I think you both need Daddy, hm?

Relationships: Natasha Romanoff & Wanda Maximoff & Reader

Summary: When Carol asks you out in front of Wanda, she snaps. She takes you home, desperate to claim you, to mark you, to own you. But it’s not just her bed you belong in, and when Natasha comes home to find you both absolutely lost in the scene, she makes one thing very clear: if you’re going to be ruined, it’ll be by both of them. Together.

Warnings: 18+, Mommy Kink, Daddy Kink, Age difference, Older WandaNat/Younger Reader, BDSM, Dom/Sub, Strap-on, fingering, Cunnilingus, Punishment (kind of), Safe word/gesture check-ins. Aftercare, but also idk if it counts because it happens, and then they start up again like the feral animals they are.

A/N: There was never meant to be a part two to this, but after a request from @tomy5girls, who am I to say no? I know this isn’t exactly what you asked for, I may have taken a few liberties and run with it a bit, but I hope you still enjoy it!

I think there’s enough context to catch you up on what’s going on, so you don't need to read part one. But if you want to, the first part is here.

As I mentioned last time, smut isn’t something I’ve written too much of before, but the reaction on here to the first part was crazy. Thank you, everyone, for being patient and supportive as I step a bit out of my comfort zone!

Word Count: 10,143

Anywaaays, sorry for the yapping. NSFW below the cut, you can also read on AO3.

The café was warm and quiet, with sunlight streaming through the windows and spilling across the wood-panelled floor. The clink of mugs and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine created a soft, rhythmic background hum, while indie music played quietly from the speakers overhead. You were tucked into your usual corner seat, your laptop open in front of you, a half-empty latte sitting forgotten beside it. Across from you, Carol was scrolling through the shared project document, her brow furrowed in concentration as she absorbed the final bits of the work.

It was your last study session with her. After two months of grafting, revisions, and back-and-forths, this was it. The project was finished. And you were proud of what you’d done together. The project was solid, clean, well-written, even a little brilliant. Maybe even an A.

Carol had been more than tolerable during the process. She was smart, dry in her humour, and easy to get along with. You’d laughed, found a rhythm, and she never made you feel stupid for missing something or needing more time. But that wasn’t what had your skin buzzing, you weren’t thinking about the project. Not really.

What had your attention was Wanda.

She moved around the café with quiet grace, her apron snug around her waist, hair clipped back but a few strands escaping to frame her face. She hadn’t looked directly at you for a while, but you could feel her eyes on you, her presence heavy in the air.

Every time Carol leaned in a little too close, every time she gestured to the screen or shifted in her seat, you felt Wanda’s gaze flicker over to the two of you. You could sense the tension in the room, even without looking up from your work.

Your girlfriends hadn’t approved of the arrangement from the very beginning. You’d tried to be reasonable, explaining how it was strictly academic, that Carol was nothing more than a project partner. You reassured them, over and over, but it never truly landed, not with either of them.

Wanda’s eyes would darken every time Carol’s name passed your lips, her jaw set just a little tighter. Her touch would change, no longer casual or gentle, but possessive. A hand curling firmly around your waist, or fingers digging into the softness of your thigh like a silent warning. 

And Natasha? Natasha didn’t say much. She didn’t have to. The shift in her body was enough, the rigid line of her spine, the way her mouth pressed into a tight, unreadable line. You’d catch the flick of her gaze, sharp and calculating, as though she were already cataloguing the best way to make Carol disappear.

You weren’t naïve. You knew what it looked like when they were on edge. And with Carol, they weren’t just on edge, they were poised, barely leashed. Jealousy burned hot in both of them, but it manifested differently. Wanda clung to you like you might slip through her fingers. Natasha watched like a predator, calm and still, but lethal just beneath the surface.

They didn’t trust Carol, not because she had done anything wrong yet, but because they knew how easy you were to be taken. They knew how easy you were to corrupt. After all...they’d done it first. They knew the way you softened under attention, how you craved approval. They knew exactly what it looked like.

And they weren’t about to let anyone else try.

—--

The first night you’d gone to Carol’s to work on the project, they’d summoned you to their place the moment it ended; it didn't matter that it was late, or that you had an early class the next morning. There hadn’t been a choice, and you obeyed, of course, you always did. Because when they gave you an order, it wasn’t a suggestion. 

You’d barely stepped through the door before Natasha had you pinned against it, the sharp click of the lock still echoing when her hand curled around your throat.

“Get undressed,” she had commanded, her voice low and steady, like it was taking everything in her not to snarl. “Mommy and Daddy need to see if anything’s been taken from us.”

And they’d checked everything. Every inch of your skin, your scent, your breath, your neck, your breasts…your thighs. Wanda had traced the inside of your legs with her fingers, like she could feel if anyone had dared to touch you. Natasha had knelt before you, her gaze laser-focused on your pussy. She stared as if trying to figure out whether you were still truly hers, before leaning in to taste, just to be certain.

Some might have called it toxic. Obsessive. Overbearing. But you’d discussed the boundaries long ago. This was part of it. You weren’t afraid of their jealousy.

You needed it.

Before them, you had been quiet. Ordinary. Invisible, almost. But now, with them, you were something worth claiming. Protected by two beautiful women who saw the world as full of thieves trying to steal what was theirs. And what was theirs was you.

Three sessions at Carol’s were all it took before they’d reached their limit. Every time you were at her apartment, they were climbing the walls back home, restless, pacing, barely keeping it together until you walked through the door and they could get their hands on you. 

You remember that conversation clearly. You were lying in bed, your skin still flushed, marked, every inch of you thoroughly inspected, claimed all over again. Wanda had been the one to speak, her tone deceptively gentle as she tucked herself beside you, fingers dragging slowly over your hip.

You had two options: Natasha could pull strings, lean on her department contacts, and get you reassigned to a new group entirely. Or you could keep working with Carol. But only under Wanda’s roof, in her café, where her eyes could stay on you the entire time.

You’d chosen the café. And now, when you came home, there was no need for the checks. No demand to strip or let them inspect you. Wanda could see everything. Every shift of your body, every glance. She knew, without asking. She always knew.

—--

Your thighs pressed together under the table as you thought about them. About the possessiveness, the way they made you feel like you were something to be desired, something that belonged to them. 

Carol was still talking, but you were still only half-listening, lost in the anticipation. Eventually, Carol’s voice broke through your thoughts, her tone softer than before. “Hey, I was wondering…if you wanted to keep seeing each other, even though the project is done?”

You stiffened, but you tried to remain casual. There was no way your girlfriends would allow this. You gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Carol, I don’t think I can. But I’ll see you in Professor Romanoff’s lectures.”

Carol’s expression faltered, the corners of her mouth dipping into a subtle frown before she masked it with a casual, almost cocky smirk. “Why not?” she said, her voice dipping slightly, trying to sound playful. “We have chemistry, don’t we? We click, we laugh…Let me take you out. Just once.”

“I’m taken, you know that, Carol,” you said, keeping your voice steady, even as that familiar flicker of nervous energy crawled up your spine. And she did know, because Natasha and Wanda had made damn sure you’d told her. Had made it clear that you weren’t available. That you weren’t free to be taken.

Carol chuckled, but there was something more confident about her now, a playful lilt in her voice. “Oh, come on, baby. I bet I could treat you better. You haven’t even told me your girlfriend’s name. Can’t be that serious, can it?”

You wished you could’ve told her the truth, that the woman behind the counter was your girlfriend. That Wanda, along with Natasha, loved you in ways you’d never even known to dream about. 

That they touched you, ruined you, worshipped you, and made you feel things you didn’t think were possible. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t tell Carol that you belonged to Wanda, because everyone knew Wanda was Natasha’s wife. And if you were with Wanda…then you were with Natasha too. And that was a line you could not admit to crossing. Not without consequences.

The only time you were allowed to blur those lines was when the three of you escaped the city, trips to quiet towns or distant coasts where no one knew your names, where eyes didn’t linger and gossip didn’t follow. 

Or on rare nights when they brought you into their private circle, introduced you to the few friends who didn’t flinch at blurred boundaries. Friends who didn’t care that you were sleeping with your professor, only that Natasha’s smile came easier with you beside her, and Wanda’s eyes softened whenever you curled up in her lap like you belonged there. 

You’d gone quiet for too long, lost in the swirl of your thoughts, still reeling from Carol’s boldness and the weight of Wanda’s gaze. The sharp crack of glass hitting tile jolted you back to the present. Wanda had dropped the coffee pot, the sound slicing through the café like a warning bell. 

You looked up, and the moment your eyes met hers, you knew it hadn’t been an accident. The tightness in her jaw, the deliberate stillness of her posture, this was a message. A command. You scrambled to your feet without thinking, moving to her side as quickly as you could, heart thudding, because you understood exactly what she wanted: your attention, your obedience.

“I’ll, uh…I’ll text you, Carol,” you said quickly, kneeling to help Wanda clean up, the tension in your chest growing tighter.

Carol, unsurprised by your quick retreat, nodded as she picked up her bag. “Think about my offer, darling,” she said, flashing you a small, almost knowing smile before she left.

—--

Wanda was eerily silent as the two of you cleaned up the broken coffee pot, but the sharpness of her breath was impossible to ignore. Her hands trembled ever so slightly, and it was clear she was fighting something. Some dark desire that had taken root inside her, a simmering need she was trying to control.

You glanced quickly around, relief washing over you when you saw the place was clear. No one to witness whatever was about to unfold. You moved to the door, flipping the sign to closed as if marking the boundary between the world outside and whatever was waiting for you inside.

When you returned to kneel beside Wanda, paper towels in hand, the glass was in the bin, but her eyes were still fixed on the spill of coffee. Every inch of her body was taut, coiled, like a tightly wound spring ready to snap.

You wiped up the mess, taking extra care to get every last drop, even though you knew she wasn’t paying attention to that. She was watching you, studying every movement, every shift in your posture. You hesitated for just a moment, then whispered, "Mommy?"

Your voice came out softer than you intended, trembling slightly, betraying the nervous excitement that rushed through your veins. 

You knew exactly what kind of mood she was in. This wasn’t the woman who caressed you to sleep or soothed you with gentle words. This was the side of her that demanded everything and took what was hers with a force you could never deny.

She didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched, thick and oppressive, but you could see it, the tightening of her fist, the tension in her jaw. Wanda was struggling to hold herself together, not to give in to whatever force was swirling inside her. It was both terrifying and...thrilling.

"Mommy…I’m yours. All yours," you said, a little breathless, your words coming out almost like a plea. You needed her to hear you. To feel your devotion, your submission.

She finally looked up at you, and your breath caught in your throat. Her eyes were cold, unrecognisable. There was something in them that made your pulse spike, a jolt of fear curling low in your stomach. For the first time, you felt a rush of real fear, the kind that made your knees weak, and your breath shallow.

"Mommy, please…please," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a tremor in your words as your body reacted to the mix of fear and something else, the something inside you that wanted this, craved this. Loved this. 

Wanda’s voice broke the silence, low, smooth, and terrifyingly calm. "Get your things, little girl. We’re going home."

—

The drive back was consumed by an uncomfortable silence. You didn’t try to make conversation. Wanda’s presence in the driver’s seat seemed almost too quiet, but the energy she radiated spoke volumes.

Her hand said everything. It was firmly planted on your thigh, fingers gripping tight, the pressure almost unbearable. You swore you could feel her nails through the fabric of your jeans, a constant reminder of the simmering tension. 

The moment the car stopped and you stepped inside the house, the door barely clicking shut behind you, she was on you. Her body pressed into yours with a heat that knocked the breath from your lungs, pinning you against the door so firmly it rattled in its frame. 

Her lips found your neck immediately, and there was nothing soft about it. The first press of her mouth was hungry, almost desperate. She didn’t leave room for you to react, her lips closing around the sensitive skin of your throat, sucking hard, leaving a bruise in its wake. 

The sensation shot through your entire body, a mixture of heat and pleasure laced with a sharp twinge of pain that made you tremble.

Her hands were everywhere, gripping your hips, your waist, pulling you even closer. She was marking you, claiming you with each kiss, each bite. There was no hesitation, no gentleness, just raw possessiveness. 

She moved to the other side of your neck, the pace never slowing, her teeth grazing your skin, her lips locking onto every inch, every vulnerable spot she could find. You couldn’t escape it. You couldn’t even try.

She was determined to cover you in her marks. And she was succeeding.

Her hands slid up, cupping your face as she angled you just the way she wanted. You felt the sharp pull of her mouth once more, and this time it was even harder. She sucked at your neck until you moaned, the sound strangled as she left another mark, darker than the last. 

You couldn’t stop the shudder that wracked your body, couldn’t stop the way your knees threatened to buckle beneath you. 

She pulled away for a breath, her eyes narrowing as she studied you, searching for something that only she could see. “You didn’t defend me,” she whispered, her voice low, almost a growl. The words felt like a physical blow, and they twisted your stomach into knots. “She said she could treat you better…and you didn’t tell her otherwise.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of her words sink in. Before you could respond, Wanda’s hands were on your shirt, ripping it from your body with a kind of frantic desperation. You gasped, her actions both shocking and thrilling in their intensity, leaving you breathless in more ways than one. Her lips found your collarbone in an instant, her bites sharp and insistent.

Your heart raced, your thoughts scattered in a whirlwind. “I…I got lost in my thoughts,” you finally managed to stutter, your voice trembling.

She paused, just for a moment, her eyes flicking up to meet yours, and the tension between you crackled in the space that remained. “Oh yeah? What were you thinking about?” she asked, her voice rough and demanding, as though she needed you to confess something.

You swallowed, the fear and excitement mixing into something potent. “You, Mommy,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I was thinking about you.”

“Not her?” she growled, her lips brushing over your skin like she was tasting your response. “Your needy little pussy didn’t get wet at the thought of her taking you? Using you like the little whore you are?”

“No, Mommy,” you breathed, your voice shaky. “I was thinking about you and Daddy, how well you treat me, how good you make me feel.” You could feel the heat of her breath against your chest, her teeth scraping against your skin, each bite pulling you deeper into the tension that threatened to consume you both.

Her lips curled into a dark smile, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she leaned in again, her mouth brushing against the raw, bruised skin. 

"You’re mine," she murmured, the words sending a thrill through you. "And I’ll remind you of that every chance I get."

You nodded quickly, your throat dry, the weight of Wanda’s gaze still heavy on you. She stepped back just enough to give you space to pass her, but the moment you moved, she was on you again. 

Her hand slid to the back of your neck, firm and unyielding, guiding you forward and up the stairs with a force that left no room for hesitation. 

When you finally reached the bedroom, she released her hold on your neck. You felt the absence immediately, the air growing colder without the heat of her touch. 

But before you could gather your thoughts, she spoke, her voice low, controlled, but still carrying that dark, possessive edge. “Strip."

The command was simple, but it sent a rush through you, a tight knot forming in your chest as you quickly obeyed.

You could feel her eyes on you, watching every movement as you undressed. And the second you were done, she spoke. "Get on the bed. Arms up, legs spread," she commanded, her voice dark and unwavering as she undressed too.

Once again, you complied, your body responding to her authority as if it had no choice.

She approached with measured steps, a quiet authority in every movement. Her hands were steady as they guided you into position on the bed. She took her time securing your limbs, each secured with practiced precision. 

Her fingers brushed over your skin afterward, double-checking each restraint, making sure you were held but never harmed. The care in her touch was unmistakable, control, yes, but wrapped in a kind of reverence.

Even in the grip of her possessive rage, Wanda was measured, deliberate. She ensured your safety with every touch, her care never faltering. 

Her eyes, which had burned with jealousy moments before, were now steady, focused, scanning you for any sign of discomfort. 

“Colour?” she asked, her voice quieter now, gentler but still laced with the simmering remnants of her earlier fury.

The weight of the scene clung to you, every nerve alight, every sense overwhelmed. But beneath it all was something deeper, trust, safety, the grounding memory of how careful she’d been. How her anger never once translated into recklessness. You loved this. All of it. Especially the way she’d handled you like something precious, even as she claimed you.

“Green, Mommy,” you said, clear and steady, no hesitation in your tone, only devotion.

Her lips curled into a small smile, dark and approving. “Good girl,” she whispered, the praise both soothing and possessive, before her eyes darkened again, the storm of her desires never far from the surface.

When she finally climbed over you, it wasn’t lust that drove her, it was obsession, a force bigger than her body, bigger than her fury, something relentless and consuming that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with possession. 

Her fingers skimmed your sides, reverent but firm, her touch dragging goosebumps in its wake, and her eyes locked on yours, dark and unblinking, daring you to look away. 

Something about the way she held herself above you, barely restrained, seething with intent, made it impossible to breathe, and yet you didn’t want to move. You wanted this. You needed this.

And then she began again, just like downstairs, her mouth returning to your skin with a single-minded purpose. Her lips pressed against your collarbone, soft at first, almost deceiving, and then her teeth followed. 

You gasped, your back arching slightly off the bed, your fingers twitching uselessly against the restraints. Her touch ignited something low in your belly and high in your chest all at once. 

Another mark, lower now, then another just beneath it. Wanda was painting a story across your skin, one bruise at a time, and every single one echoed with the same word: Mine . 

The heat of her mouth was matched only by the fire burning inside you. When her teeth grazed just beneath your ribs, sharper this time, a heavy moan escaped you before you could stop it.

It trembled out of your throat, like your body was pleading for more even as it trembled under the weight of what it had already been given. 

Between every bite that still throbbed and the sting of the one currently being delivered, you could feel your cunt begin to ache. Soft whimpers slipped from your lips, your body aching to move, to beg, to chase more. But you didn’t. 

This wasn’t about your pleasure, not right now. Wanda needed this. She needed to mark you, to own you, to feel you give yourself over without asking for anything in return. So you offered her your stillness, your obedience, your surrender.

You caught her gaze again, her pupils blown wide, her breathing uneven, and for a flickering second, something shifted in her. Not softness. Not even calm. But relief. A raw, aching flash of gratitude that you were still here, still hers, still letting her claim you like this.

She leaned in again, slower this time, her lips dragging beneath your navel, warm breath ghosting across your skin, shaky, uneven, trembling with the weight of what she was holding back. “Mine,” she whispered, hoarse and low, like the word itself was a vow and a warning wrapped in longing. “Only mine.”

It wasn’t just a claim, it was Wanda pleading with the universe, needing to believe it. Needing to feel that she hadn’t lost you, that even in the wild, blurred aftermath of everything, you were still hers. Her hands gripped tighter, possessive, grounding herself in the feel of your body beneath her.

But beneath the burn of her touch, the worship in her voice, a flicker of something deeper pulled at you. Natasha. You knew you belonged to her, too. And yet Wanda didn’t speak her name. She didn’t leave space for her. Her world had narrowed until you were the only thing in it, and Natasha had been pushed outside it entirely.

You wanted to say it. You wanted to remind her. But the weight of Wanda’s devotion crushed your resistance, the sheer need in her pulling the words out of you before you could stop them.

“Yes, Mommy,” you whispered, voice shaky but sure. “Only yours.” Even as guilt curled warm and quiet in your stomach.

When she finally pulled back just enough to take you in, her eyes swept over her work like a woman on the edge of something unspoken. There was nothing untouched now, your neck, your chest, your hips, your stomach, your thighs, even your arms. Every inch bore her claim. Every inch screamed hers .

“So fucking pretty like this, printsessa (princess), ” she said, her breath hot against your thigh, her lips barely brushing the freshest mark, her voice ragged, torn from somewhere deep inside her chest. “Mine. All mine.”

You nodded instantly, your eyes wide and glassy. You could feel the ache she’d left behind, all over you, and you needed her to know you welcomed it. “I’m yours.”

Her smile returned, that slow, dangerous curl of her mouth that promised she was far from finished. “Say it again,” she murmured, her voice low and breathless, barely even a command this time, it was breathless and hungry, like she needed it to live.

“I’m yours,” you repeated, stronger now, even as your breath hitched, even as you squirmed beneath her.

She tilted her head, assessing, and you knew it wasn’t enough. Not yet. “Louder,” she commanded. 

You swallowed, your throat dry and tight, but you forced your voice through the tremble in your chest. “I’m yours, Mommy,” you said, louder now, loud enough to fill the room, to echo off the walls, to blot out everything else. “Only yours. Always.”

She must’ve been at least partially satisfied, because after one final glance at the marks she’d scattered across your body, she shifted, rising off you, and the loss of her weight made you whine, high and broken, a sound pulled from somewhere deep. 

Your skin felt too bare without her, your chest too open. Everything in you was aching now, not just with need but with dependency, your senses lit up and stretched tight, every inch of you focused on her. 

She had pulled you so far down into a space where nothing existed but her voice, her hands, her mouth, and now, without them, you felt unmoored, trembling. You needed her. You needed her. 

Her eyes caught yours, and for a moment, just a flicker, her gaze softened, something quieter slipping through the crack in her control. “Just going to the closet, Little one,” she murmured, her voice dipping into that gentler tone she only used when you were already falling apart. And even though the warmth in her voice was slightly forced, it was enough. 

She disappeared into the closet without another word, leaving you alone in the thick, buzzing quiet, your breath shaky, your body still thrumming with heat. When she returned, it was with her strap, a deep scarlet colour, the sight of it enough to make your breath hitch, and your mouth water, the anticipation knotting low and tight in your stomach. 

Your thighs shifted instinctively, trying to press together, to find even the smallest flicker of relief, but the restraints didn’t allow it, and your frustration only made the ache worse. Wanda noticed. Of course she noticed. Her eyes dropped to the movement, her gaze catching the way you writhed and failed to hide it. 

The smirk that curled across her lips was sharp and knowing, and in an instant, the softness was gone again. The Wanda who looked at you now was all shadow and fire again, dark and certain. The Wanda who would ruin you, just to put you back together again, mark by mark, breath by breath.

She crawled back onto the bed, her eyes locked on yours, hungry and unyielding. She moved between your legs and settled into place without hesitation. “Just stay still and let me use you,” she murmured, her voice low and controlled, but with that same simmering edge that had been there all night, that quiet storm of rage and want and need barely restrained. 

And then she buried her strap inside you, hard. No warning, no warm-up with her fingers, not even any gentle licks against your folds to get you ready. Nothing, as if she couldn’t bear to wait another second. As if being inside you is what gave her air to breathe. 

The sound that ripped from your throat was sharp, raw, somewhere between a cry and a scream. The stretch hit you like a wave, sudden and overwhelming, pain blooming fast and bright. 

For a heartbeat, it was too much. Your breath caught, your muscles tensed. But then, just as quickly as it came, the sharpness blurred, twisted into something hotter, something unbearable in an entirely different way. 

Wanda’s thrusts started slow, deliberate, and deep, her movements laced with restraint, but it was a fragile kind. 

But you could feel the tension winding tighter in her limbs, in the way her breath hitched, the way her jaw clenched. She was holding back, barely. She was trying to stay composed, to be gentle, or at least gentle enough, but it was written in every shaky inhale, every flicker of heat in her eyes that she was close to losing it, again. 

With every thrust, her desperation climbed higher, simmering just beneath her skin until it bled into everything she did. There were no soft praises, playful degradations, or the coaxing, honey-sweet lilt you’d come to expect; just raw, consuming need. 

Your body arched beneath her, straining hard against the restraints, every muscle taut, your thighs trembling with the effort of keeping up. You were gasping now, breath hitching in sharp, uneven bursts that never seemed enough, stolen too quickly as she thrusted again, deeper, rougher, like she couldn’t help herself.

“Such a pretty little fuck toy for me. Mine, my pretty whore, Mine,” she whispered the words into the crook of your neck as she sank into you again, barely audible over the thundering of your heartbeat and the rush of sensation unravelling you from the inside out. It didn’t even feel like she was speaking to you, more like a reminder to herself.

You whimpered, your hips twitching helplessly, straining for more. You had heard the word ‘mine’ more today than ever, and it hit something raw inside you, something so deep it felt like your soul reached out for her in response. Yes. You were hers. You wanted to be hers.

And then suddenly her rhythm shifted, less controlled, more frantic, every thrust and motion sharpened by her unraveling restraint. Her mouth was everywhere again, biting, branding, her lips dragging across your neck, your chest, down your stomach, as if she couldn’t decide where to leave the next mark.

Her hands tightened at your hips, fingers digging in with a bruising kind of need, anchoring herself to you like she might fall apart without the contact. She was slipping, further, faster, into that frenzy of need, of fury, of desperate, aching possessiveness that she'd tried so hard to cage since attaching the stap to her hips. 

But now with her cock slamming in and out of you, your moans and whines gracing her ears, it surged forward, unfiltered, dragging her under. You could feel it in the way she clung to you, in the way her breath hitched and her nails pressed harder. She wasn’t trying to hold back anymore.

And then she was chanting. “Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.” Over and over again, like it was the only word she remembered, the only thing that mattered. She was barely even present now, barely aware of the room, of anything but you. 

Your entire body shook beneath her, your lungs struggling to keep up with the broken sobs and gasps that kept clawing their way out of your throat. Her voice was low, hoarse, and relentless as it poured over you like a spell, dragging you deeper under with every breathless repetition.

And you didn’t fight it. You couldn’t. You just let go, let yourself be hers. Be claimed. Be ruined.

—-

You had no idea how long it had been, but you were both so far gone you didn’t hear the door open, didn’t register the familiar creak of the floorboards or the call of “I’m home” echoing down the hall. Nothing existed beyond the frantic rhythm of Wanda’s body against yours, the relentless chant spilling from her mouth, her teeth grazing your skin, her hands branding you with every touch.

It wasn’t until you heard a sharp, animalistic growl, low and guttural, torn from Wanda’s throat, that your hazy focus shifted. Your eyes blinked sluggishly through the haze, breath catching, and when you managed to look past her, you saw Natasha standing in the doorway.

Her arms hung at her sides, her expression unreadable. But her eyes dragged over you like a blade. Every bruise, every mark Wanda had left behind, every shiver and tremble of your overstimulated body catalogued in a single glance. Her jaw clenched, the muscle ticking once, like she was biting back something sharp.

Wanda didn’t stop. Didn’t falter. She kept chanting under her breath, a broken, breathless litany of “mine, mine, mine” spilling from her lips like it was the only word left. She was lost in it, lost in you. Her hips were steady, relentless, as though Natasha’s presence didn’t even register.

But you felt it. The air went taut, almost brittle. Natasha’s silence carried weight, thick with jealousy, with hunger, with a cold, simmering possessiveness that was entirely her own. She stepped forward, slow and measured, her gaze locked on yours, and something inside you fluttered and clenched all at once. You didn’t know what she was going to do. Punish? Claim? Interrupt? Join?

And yet, even with her rage coiled under her skin, even with her dominance thrumming off her in waves, her first move was exactly what you needed.

She shifted to your side with quiet purpose, her presence grounding as she reached for one of the wrists Wanda had bound. Her fingers ghosted over the edge of the restraint with precision, double-checking its snugness. 

The tenderness of it made something flutter deep in your chest, a soft ache blooming in contrast to the intensity you’d been caught in. And then, without a word, she laced her fingers through yours, anchoring you with that simple, intimate gesture: A single squeeze.

Because no matter how tightly jealousy coiled in her gut, no matter how fiercely the hunger flickered in her eyes, Natasha’s instinct was always the same. 

Just like Wanda earlier, she put everything else aside, possession, dominance, the sharp edge of being left out, and she checked on you first. 

That was who they were. That was what it meant to belong to them. Your safety, your wellbeing, your headspace…All of it came before anything they might want for themselves. 

The squeeze said everything she needed to ask: Are you okay? Are you still with us? Do you feel safe?

She didn’t bother to use words. She knew you couldn’t answer like that, not now. Not with your mind fogged and your breath stuttering and your body twitching with every slam of Wanda’s hips. She could read it all, your eyes, your moans, the pitch of your breath. So you squeezed once in return. Green . 

She knew what that squeeze meant: Yes. I want this. I want her. I’m safe. And something else, less clear, buried beneath the rest. I want you too. I miss your hands. Your voice. 

Her body eased, just barely, the tension rolling back a single inch. But the hunger in her never dimmed. It sharpened instead, focused and precise as she looked back down at you, at the mess Wanda had made of you.

After a beat, Natasha’s focus finally shifted, her eyes dragging away from you and locking onto Wanda, taking in the sheer, unhinged desperation driving every thrust of the strap into your battered pussy. She saw it immediately, the way Wanda had spiralled, and Natasha knew it couldn’t go on like this. 

She moved without hesitation, stalking around the bed with quiet authority, climbing on behind Wanda, one hand fisting in her hair and yanking her back just enough to make her spine arch. “Yours, huh?” she bit out, voice low and edged with something dangerous. “Just yours?”

But Wanda didn’t falter. Didn’t even slow. She snarled the word like it was a war cry. “Mine.”

The scene throbbed with tension. Wanda was still pounding into you despite Natasha’s hold, her chant relentless. “What the hell happened?” Natasha asked, voice tight but controlled, like she was clinging to the last shred of calm.

You couldn’t speak, your mouth too slack, your body too gone, and Wanda didn’t answer either, not until Natasha gave another sharp tug, pulling harder, her tone slicing through the fog. “I said,” she growled, “what happened?”

Wanda whimpered, her breath catching like the question had torn through something raw. Her voice came in pieces, ragged and splintered, every word punctuated by a desperate thrust. “Carol. Tried. To. Take. What’s. Mine.”

Natasha’s gaze snapped back to you. It was cold and brimming with something territorial. You braced yourself, expecting her to descend with that same consuming intensity, to tear through Wanda’s marks and press her own into every inch of you until her claim was carved just as deep.

But she didn’t. The sharp edge dulled, tempered by understanding as her eyes swept over you and then her wife. 

Wanda wasn’t just fucking you. She was holding on for dear life. Natasha saw it clearly now, recognised it for what it was. Wanda had lost too many people, too many pieces of herself over the years. The fear of losing you had cracked her wide open.

Natasha could’ve taken what she wanted. Could’ve made her own claim in kind. But for now, instead, she exhaled, letting her dominant instinct soften just enough. You needed grounding, and Wanda needed pulling back. And Natasha would be the one to do it. Even if every part of her still ached to take.

She reached around, her hand locking firm around Wanda’s waist, stilling her movement with ease. “What’s ours,” she said evenly, the correction deliberate as her grip tightened. Wanda whined at the restraint, hips twitching against Natasha’s hold, and you whimpered too, aching at the loss of friction.

Wanda’s control began to splinter the moment Natasha kissed her, slow, grounding kisses against her cheek, tender in a way that cut through the haze like a balm. 

Her head lolled back against Natasha’s shoulder, her body still tense, but wavering now. “Do you need to safeword, Wands?” Natasha murmured against her skin, the calm, coaxing cadence unmistakable. “You seem... out of control, lyubov' (love). ”

Wanda shook her head, a near-frantic movement, “No! Need to cum, wanna cum!” Neither of you had cum yet despite how long it had gone on, despite the desperate grind and the bruising rhythm.

Hearing that desperate plea fall from Wanda’s lips while she held so much power over you felt dissonant, but it lit a fire in you all the same. She usually took what she wanted, came when she wanted, without a second thought, but now it was clear she was floundering. 

The scene had shaken her, and no matter how hard she had been trying, she couldn’t do it alone. That crack in her composure did something to you. It slipped under your skin, tangled in your chest, and before you could stop it, a moan fell from your lips, needy, involuntary, betraying just how much it affected you.

Natasha turned to you at the sound. “If she hasn’t,” she murmured, voice gentle now as her eyes found yours again, “then I’d wager you haven’t either, have you?” You shook your head, breath still coming in shallow bursts.

Something in her expression changed again the moment she realised you’d been holding back this entire time. The flicker of pride came first, swift and searing, lighting her eyes with approval. “Good girl,” she murmured, and the praise landed like a reward you didn’t know you’d been waiting for. 

But then her gaze gentled, the pride ebbing into something softer, sadder, closer to regret than triumph. Like she could see how much you’d given, how much you’d endured, and how long you’d waited. “I think you both need Daddy, hm?”

It wasn’t often that Wanda submitted to Natasha, twice, maybe three times since you’d all been together, and only ever when she wasn’t fully in control of her headspace, when she needed grounding but needed to continue. But Wanda nodded slowly, the fight draining out of her body as she leaned back into Natasha’s hold, surrendering.

Natasha’s hands moved, settling on Wanda’s hips, allowing her to move again but slowing her movements with firm, steady pressure. “That’s it,” she murmured low against Wanda’s ear, her voice soft but commanding. “She’s been so good for you, Detka (babe). Took everything you gave her, didn’t she?”

Wanda shuddered, still panting, still half-lost, but she nodded, her body giving into Natasha’s lead without resistance. 

Natasha kept her tone gentle, coaxing, like she was taming something raw and shaking. “How about you let her finish now, hm? Let her cum for us.”

Wanda didn’t speak, she didn’t need to. She just followed, pliant under Natasha’s hands, her breath catching as she thrust her hips in rhythm with the guidance she was given. And Natasha, her mouth brushing Wanda’s temple, praised her low and warm, “Good girl.”

Wanda whimpered at the praise, her body trembling and her mind still fogged with the frenzy that had consumed her, but Natasha’s presence gave her something to hold on to, something solid to ground herself against. 

You could feel the shift, the difference in how Wanda moved now. Her thrusts lost their wildness and turned into something more intimate, more focused, like she was being taught how to feel again.

And god, you felt it too. Every inch of it. Your breath stuttered, hips jerking involuntarily with each movement, your body already so close to the edge it ached. The pressure coiled tight in your core, a simmering burn that had been denied too long. Natasha’s eyes were on you, catching every flinch, every gasp, every tremble.

“She’s close,” Natasha murmured into Wanda’s hair, her voice rich with heat and reverence. “Can you feel that? I bet her cunt is so tight around your cock.” Wanda let out a broken moan and nodded, her pace faltering for a moment under the weight of Natasha’s words.

Natasha’s hand left Wanda’s and slid up to her throat, not choking, just holding, grounding, a firm reminder of presence, of who was in control.

Her other guided Wanda’s towards your clit, silently reminding her to provide the stimulation you needed, and it shattered you, the added touch stealing your breath as you cried out.

“That’s it,” she purred, low and commanding.. “Let us have it, Little one. Let go.”

And you did. It crashed into you like a wave, hard and fast and all-consuming. Your back arched, the restraints biting into your wrists as your body bowed under the force of your release. 

You screamed and whimpered, and they were both there, holding you through it, Wanda clinging to you like she could anchor herself to your pleasure, Natasha murmuring praise that bled into your skin like balm.

With Natasha’s guidance, Wanda stopped thrusting and began to grind, the base of the strap finally giving her the stimulation she needed. She came not long after you with a desperate sob, body trembling violently. Natasha’s voice, a blend of filthy praise and affection, slid into her ear, coaxing her through it. As Wanda’s body went limp, attempting to collapse against you, Natasha caught her effortlessly, aware of the soreness you’d likely feel.

Wanda whimpered at not being able to snuggle into you, and Natasha pressed a kiss to her temple. “She’s right here,” she murmured softly, before gently laying her down beside you. Wanda instinctively curled into you with a sigh, seeking the comfort of your warmth.

Natasha pressed another gentle kiss to the top of Wanda’s head before shifting her attention to you. Her movements were practiced, instinctive, and soft as she moved to unbuckle the restraint on your wrist.

The second the leather came loose, your arm dropped like dead weight, boneless and sore. Natasha caught it gently, guiding it to rest over Wanda’s back. You curled your fingers into her skin instinctively, craving the contact, the reassurance.

The other restraint came next, then your legs, Natasha working with slow, deliberate tenderness, her hands steady and reverent. Every time you winced, she soothed it with a murmur, a stroke over the inflamed area or a kiss.

Wanda wasn’t moving much now. She was pliant, completely surrendered, clinging to you with the last threads of adrenaline. Natasha knew that look, knew Wanda had dropped deep, and you weren’t far behind.

Her voice softened even further as she pulled the blanket up over both of you, tucking it around your bare limbs like armour. She leaned down, her hand brushing tenderly over your cheek, her thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “There’s our girl,” she whispered, her voice low and thick with pride. “You did so fucking well. Mommy really used you, huh?”

Your throat was too raw for words, your mind still floating in that hazy space between pleasure and exhaustion, but you nodded. 

Natasha kissed you once more before slipping away from the bed. You assumed she was going to get water, and you were right; she was back within seconds, moving with her usual calm efficiency. 

She guided your head gently, coaxing the glass to your lips until you took a few slow sips, then shifted to pry Wanda up just enough to do the same for her. Neither of you drank much, but it was enough to get you at least a bit hydrated.

Wanda exhaled, her breath hitching before she whispered, “Didn’t mean to lose it like that.” A pause, a stillness between you, broken only by her unsteady breathing. “Carol wanted you...said that...that she could...treat you better.”

Her voice cracked slightly, the words filled with vulnerability, and your chest tightened at the pain in them. 

Then her tone shifted, rising into a whine, hurt lacing her every syllable as she clung to you tighter. “She tried to take her from us, Nat,” Wanda whimpered, her eyes flicking to Natasha even as she clung to you like you were the only thing keeping her anchored.

Natasha’s jaw tensed, her eyes flicking up for a moment, but she said nothing. Instead, she settled in behind Wanda, wrapping herself around her wife like a shield. Usually, you were in the middle, the one cocooned in their arms, but it was clear Wanda needed that security now. 

Natasha began to stroke her hand gently over Wanda’s spine, her touch slow and comforting. She didn’t forget you either, though. Her other hand reached across the space to where your wrist was still faintly marked, fingers brushing the bruised skin in slow, soothing circles.

Time passed in a slow, syrupy kind of stillness, thick with warmth and the quiet hum of three heartbeats finding their way back into sync. Wanda lay curled against your side, her face pressed into your collarbone like she could disappear into you, her breath evening out in slow pulls that softened with each minute. 

You felt the shift in her, how the tension bled out of her muscles with every exhale, how her fingers that had clutched you with bruising desperation earlier now merely rested, featherlight and unmoving.

Natasha’s hand never stopped. She trailed her fingers lazily up and down your arm, over Wanda’s spine, keeping you both tethered to the present. 

Eventually, Wanda stirred. Not much, just a shift in how her legs tangled with yours, a blink that stretched long enough to signal she’d returned to herself. She looked up at you, her cheeks still pink, her hair tousled from earlier. But her eyes, they were clearer. Worry creeping back in.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice hushed. Her gaze scanned your face like she expected to find something broken.

You gave her a tired, lopsided smile. “Course I am. I don’t break that easily,” you said with a wink, even if your voice was still a bit scratchy from earlier. 

She looked relieved. Kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, a soft, fluttering press that made you giggle as her breath brushed against your skin. “Good,” she whispered against your mouth, and you could feel the last of her tension ebb as she rested her head against your shoulder again.

“Alright,” Natasha said eventually, propping herself up on one elbow and glancing down at you both, her voice light but edged with unmistakable command. “Time to soothe those marks, you must be sore, hm?”

You groaned immediately, flopping back onto the pillow. “Do we have to?” you whined, dragging out the syllables like a sulking child. “Can’t we just stay here? Forever?”

Wanda let out a sympathetic sound and buried her face back in your chest for a second. “She has a point…”

Natasha raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You two are impossible. Yes, we have to. Wands, you went feral. She's covered in bruises and bites.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you rolled your eyes. “You make it sound like she mauled me.”

Natasha sat up straighter, grabbing the lotion bottle off the nightstand. “She did maul you. Look at this—” She tugged the sheet down just enough to expose your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thighs. The marks were everywhere, hickeys darkening by the minute, deep, vivid bursts of colour in the shape of Wanda’s mouth. “You’re a goddamn work of art. Or a crime scene.”

Wanda peeked down at your skin and let out a low, sheepish laugh. “Oops.”

“‘Oops,’” Natasha repeated dryly, her tone somewhere between fond and chastising. She gave Wanda a light nudge with her shoulder. “You’re lucky she likes being ruined.”

“I love being ruined,” you chimed in helpfully, grinning as both their eyes snapped to you with matching looks of exasperated affection.

Wanda leaned down and nuzzled your jaw, her voice a little lower now, velvet-soft and sincere. “I do still feel bad. I got...swept up. Possessive. Jealous. Like I had to prove something. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” you said gently. “And you didn’t. I promise.”

Still, she dipped her fingers into the lotion and rubbed them together slowly to warm it, her movements suddenly careful. She started at your wrists, your poor, bruised wrists where the restraints had bitten deep, and touched you like she was handling something sacred. Her fingers glided over your skin in slow circles, whispering apologies into every motion. 

Natasha joined in a moment later, taking your other side. She pushed the sheets down further, exposing more of your bruised body to the soft lighting, and began to work the balm into your sore muscles. Their hands moved over you in tandem, smoothing across the worst of the bruises, ghosting over the places that still burned faintly from overstimulation.

And for a while, no one spoke. The only sounds were your soft sighs, the quiet slick of lotion on skin, the muted creak of the bed as they shifted around you.

Once they were done, Natasha glanced down at your neck and snorted. “There is no way you’re going to college looking like this,” she said with a laugh, dragging a fingertip lightly over a particularly brutal hickey under your jaw. “You look like you tried to join a vampire cult.”

You snorted softly, still squirming beneath their slow, soothing touches. “If Wanda were a vampire, I’d definitely let her bite me.”

You thought it was harmless. Wanda certainly looked pleased. Her eyes glinted, teeth flashing as she leaned close again, brushing her lips along your throat. "Careful," she breathed, her voice low and smooth, “I might take you up on that.”

A shiver ran through you at the sound, your breath hitching as her words sank in, stirring something deep inside. Your body responded without hesitation, already aching, already yearning for more despite the evening you’d already had. 

And just like that, Natasha froze, her eyes locking onto Wanda, as she once again threatened to claim. But now, as she saw the way you were reacting, the way you were craving more, Natasha’s restraint faltered. It was different from before. You were ready, and that knowledge twisted something deep inside her, making it harder to hold herself back.

“I better be allowed to bite too,” Natasha murmured, her voice low and simmering with tension. It wasn’t loud, but it had a sharp edge to it, a warning wrapped in something darker. “You’re lucky I’m not already. Wanda stole you, made you hers, and hers alone.”

You opened your mouth to speak, to deny it, but she was already moving. Her fingers left your skin only long enough to catch Wanda’s chin in a firm grip, tilting her face up, forcing her to meet her eyes.

“You ever forget that she is ours again,” Natasha said, quiet and razor-sharp, “you will regret it.”

Wanda swallowed hard, the flush on her cheeks deepening, her pupils dilating wide as she whimpered under Natasha’s hold. Her legs squeezed together as if that could do anything to stop the ache building between them. Her body instinctively allowed Natasha to take the lead again, as if it knew that was what Natasha needed. She nodded once, quickly. “Yes, Nat.” 

“Good girl,” Natasha praised, brushing her thumb across Wanda’s cheek with maddening softness. But she didn’t let go. “You don’t get to take her like that without me, ever.”

She finally released her chin and turned back to you, eyes darker now, warmer, but hungrier.

“And you,” she murmured, smoothing both palms down your sides, fingers slipping over your hips and between your legs, “you were very good letting Wanda use you, weren’t you? Letting her get drunk on jealousy and ruin your pretty little pussy without even thinking to let me join.”

You gasped as her fingers brushed over your slick again, slow and unhurried. You were soaked already. Every part of you felt raw and needy, but Natasha was in no rush.

“But you are ours,” she said, sliding two fingers through your folds, not yet pressing in, just letting you feel the threat of it, “Ours .”

Wanda let out a soft, broken noise, eyes fixed on where Natasha’s hand was between your legs. Her hand moved as she was about to reach for you, but Natasha caught the movement without even looking.

“Don’t you dare touch her,” she said, like it wasn’t up for debate. “You don’t get to help until I say so. You had your fun.”

Wanda whimpered, chest rising and falling fast, her cheeks glowing with shame and lust.

Natasha finally slipped a finger inside you, slow and shallow, barely enough to satisfy, but your back still arched up from the mattress. Her other hand splayed across your hip, holding you still.

“You’re so fucking wet,” she murmured with a smirk, leaning down to kiss your inner thigh. “You like this, don’t you? Being good for us. Letting her make a mess of you, and then letting me put you back together.”

Wanda’s breath caught as she watched, her hands fisting in the sheets beside her thighs. “Natasha—”

“Shh,” Natasha interrupted. “You don’t get to speak unless I tell you to either.”

You whimpered at the sound of Wanda’s submission, it added fuel to the fire burning through you. Natasha added a second finger, pressing deep this time, and you cried out, your whole body tensing around her.

“That’s it,” she cooed. “Such a good girl. Ours. Not hers. Never just hers.”

You nodded frantically, brain already fogging under the slow, relentless pace. “Yours, yours, yours. Daddy, please!”

Natasha smiled, pleased, eyes gleaming as she leaned in to kiss your jaw, your ear, her tongue darting out to taste the sweat there. 

Wanda’s hands were trembling as she watched, the heat between her thighs unbearable. She couldn’t stand the fact that she had to watch.

Each sob, wail, moan, and sigh that left your lips only deepened the ache in her chest, reminding her of what she had done, of how she had left Natasha out when she should have known better. 

It was the perfect punishment, but Wanda couldn’t help but try her luck again. “Please, Nat,” Wanda whispered, her voice thick with need and desperation. “Please let me—”

Natasha turned her head, eyes flashing. “No,” she said simply. “Not yet. You want her? You earn it. You wait.” 

And then she curled her fingers just right, again and again, dragging you higher with each pass, her thumb barely brushing your clit until you were trembling, too far gone to do anything but moan.

The room pulsed with the sound of your breathing, with your soft cries and the wet sound of her hand moving in and out of your cunt. Every stroke, every whispered word sent a rush of heat through you, the world narrowing to nothing but the feeling of her fingers inside you. 

Even as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, Natasha never let up. Her movements were unrelenting, rhythmic, a steady push and pull that kept you coming without giving you so much as a chance to truly catch your breath. 

You didn’t know how many times you’d screamed in release, each one blurred into the next, an unending rhythm that left you gasping, skin slick with sweat, your body trembling under her control.

Eventually her pace slowed, and your eyes fluttered open, the world around you a haze of soft light and warmth. You turned your head slightly, and your gaze found Wanda. Her eyes were wide, her breath equally as erratic. She was flushed and panting like she’d been the one writhing beneath Natasha’s hand.

“God, look at you,” Natasha murmured, eyes still on you, even as she addressed Wanda. “So fucking needy, you only had her an hour ago. Pathetic.”

Wanda whimpered as her hands twitched again, and this time, she couldn’t resist; she reached out, just enough to brush her fingertips against Natasha’s arm. “Please,” she begged again, her voice barely a whisper, but it was a plea nonetheless. 

“Fine, but only because I’m generous,” Natasha murmured as she kissed your temple, and then your cheek, her fingers never stopping. “I’m not cruel. I share.”

She tilted her head, her gaze soft yet commanding as she finally looked over at Wanda. “You want to taste her?” Natasha’s voice was low, deliberate, as if she already knew the answer.

Wanda's breath hitched at the words, her entire body tense with yearning. Her eyes flicked to Natasha, wide and pleading, before they dropped to you. 

Your skin was glistening with sweat, your chest rising and falling in the haze of pleasure still swirling through you. She nodded, the movement almost frantic, her voice trembling with need. “Yes, yes, please, Nat! I want to please!”

Natasha’s lips quirked into a small, wicked smile, a brief flicker of satisfaction passing across her face before she leaned down, her kiss slow and deep. It was a kiss that said she was still in control, even if she was letting Wanda in. She pulled away just enough to speak, “Then come here.”

Unlike her usual poised self, Wanda wasn’t graceful as she moved, urgency in her every motion. The moment she reached your legs, her gaze lifted, her eyes locking with Natasha's. 

Natasha moved her hand, slowly, so slowly from between your folds, her fingers glistening with your cum. “Open your mouth.”

Wanda obeyed. Natasha pressed two fingers past her lips, watching her take them in eagerly, greedily. 

“Good girl,” Natasha praised, eyes softening just a little. “Now you can touch her. You can thank her. And you can show her just how sorry you are.”

She shifted to one side, but not far, not giving up control, just…allowing space. Letting Wanda kneel between your legs, hands shaking as she lowered her head.

Wanda’s tongue slid over your folds and your clit gently before diving in fully, like a woman starved. It was as if the act of watching had only intensified her need, making it raw and undeniable despite the fact that she had already claimed you so thoroughly. 

“That’s it,” Natasha murmured, stroking your stomach, watching Wanda devour you. “She’s ours. Not yours. Not mine. Ours.”

Her hand slid up to cup your breast, squeezing gently, her thumb brushing over your nipple, squeezing and teasing in perfect time with Wanda’s mouth. 

Every touch sent waves through you, every whisper tangled around your spine. Natasha’s voice wrapped around you, her praise both tender and unrelenting, while Wanda’s lips and hands moved like a vow, her remorse bleeding into every lick and every suck as she drank you dry, bringing you closer and closer.

You couldn’t hold yourself together. The intimacy, the intensity, it was too much. You splintered under it, unravelled into the space between their bodies, between their worship and their claim. And this time, when you broke, it wasn’t just your body giving in. It was your heart, your trust, your submission. 

And through it all, Natasha's voice, low and reverent at your ear, became the centre of everything, grounding you even as you soared.

“That’s it, Little one,” she murmured, almost like a prayer. “That’s what you needed. That’s what we give you, together.”

[julymusings]

Jason Todd x Single Mom!Reader

I've been plagued for many months now by the idea of jason todd x young single mom!reader. I literally made this blog this morning just to post this

this is so LONG try as i might to shorten it i've been itching to get all this out of me so enjoy this word vomit i might just make a full fic if i'm feeling extra frisky

You got pregnant in college, and now you’re fresh out of grad school moving to a new city with your 3 year old daughter

You got a job at Wayne Enterprises, leading an important new project. You and your colleagues are invited to the latest Wayne Gala, hosted at the billionaire’s own manor. All these years as a young mother and a student, you hadn’t any experience with such extravagance-- how could you say no?

the party lowkey sucks because it's all old rich people so you sneak out to a balcony where you find a young man drinking whiskey and texting on his phone.

he introduces himself as jason, and his hand is rough and calloused when you shake it, but it's warm and sends a tingle up your arm. (😏)

You chat about your work, he complains about the stuffiness of a life at Wayne Enterprises and you laugh when he warns you to get out while you can (he's joking, of course. not because he thinks it's worth staying but because if you leave he'd never be able to hear that adorable laugh again)

when you go off on a tangent about how excited you are for your project, he's not even listening anymore. the sheer passion that lights up your face has his mind going fuzzy and a full orchestra playing in the background

you're pulled back in before he can get your number :( he's so mopey all weekend he doesn't even have it in him to retaliate when damian makes fun of him for having pink pony club as his top song for this month :(

when you get home your email is flooded with warnings from other parents at your daughter's daycare about a lice scare?? okay, you think, she's definitely not going on monday, you can just bring her to work with you, right? what's the worst that could happen?

the following monday he just happens to show up at the office (He can't just stop by to say hi to his brother who he loves?) (tim calls security almost immediately)

you're not at your cubicle (in a meeting, your desk neighbor informs him) so he mills about the floor like a lost puppy just waiting for you to show up so he can "accidentally" run into you

the woman at the front desk has a chair pulled up next to hers where this little girl with pigtails is sitting, trying to console her as tears stream down her face

jason springs into action, kneeling in front of her chair to ask what's wrong

she just sniffles and holds up her stuffed animal, an elephant whose button eye has popped out, the woman watching her trying to get her to hand it over so she can sew it back on but she wont let go

he goes full grey's anatomy, fussing over the toy like it's in mortal peril and complimenting her for being so brave before gently asking if he can try to fix it

she lets him take it and he uses the woman's travel sewing kit to stitch it back on

she's ecstatic, leaping forward into his arms to give him a big hug

but now she won't let him leave because no he has to have a conversation with the elephant first and introduce himself and give it post-surgery care instructions and listen to it talk about how much she it wants a puppy and he feels like such an idiot talking to that thing but anything to make this little girl smile

she pulls a little picture book from the backpack hung on the back of her chair and asks him to read with her and he can't just say no!

so he plops down on the tile floor and starts reading out loud and even though she's standing next to him craning her neck to see the pictures he's a head taller than her

when you finish your meeting and head back to the front desk to thank gretchen for watching your kid the sight you see makes your heart absolutely melt

jason and your daughter are sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor of Wayne Enterprises as he reads to her, and he's pulling out all the stops, he's doing voices, sound effects, and she's giggling so hard she can't sit up straight

but then they both finally notice you

"mommy!" she yells, running to you and wrapping herself around your leg

you're surprised to see him, but definitely not disappointed, and if what you just walked in on indicated anything, it was that you wanted, nay, needed this man

so now you're flushed and hopeful, mind running with possibilities of why he's here; could it be? he couldn't stop thinking about you either? he came all the way to ask you out?

but jason is also surprised, astounded even, by the miniature carbon copy clinging to your leg saying something about scooby snacks

he's freaking out on the inside

through a tight-lipped greeting he excuses himself with what he hopes is a neutral demeanor (spoiler alert: it's not) and goes home to think

and you obviously know exactly what that was about, one doesn't go through pregnancy at 19 without becoming well-acquainted with the whole catalogue of surprised/judgy reactions

of course you're a mess because the early/mid 20s dating scene is hard enough as it is but with a toddler? forget it, might as well just give up now

you go home to call your best friend and get drunk over face time while she assures you that men aint shit and offers to put a curse on him (you consider it, but how are you supposed to get a lock of his hair?)

he's up all night hating himself for being such an asshole and trying to come up with a scenario in which this works, in which he can have you in his life and also a child and be the red hood because he can't stop thinking about you

so then he just says fuck it and the next morning he shows up at your office with flowers and a puppy stuffed animal and finally asks you out

[xxepherr]

.ೃ࿐ELECTION DAY

summary — in which austin accidentally lets it slip that hasan’s faceless (yet public) girlfriend is the woman they’re currently watching analyse the maps on CNN. 

pairings — hasan piker x politicalcorrespondent!girlfriend!reader

pronouns — she/her

word count — 1893

note — i personally would have “6’4 jacked boyfriend” as his contact name so that whenever weird men try to hit on me they see that but thats just me (and this reader insert ofc) (also this is nothing special just me rambling tbh — what’s to say this political!reader doesn’t become a mini series)

THE DAY WAS HERE. election day. not only was it the day your boyfriend had spent hours upon hours preparing for for weeks, but you, too. you were a political journalist and correspondent currently working the map for CNN during the weeks in the lead up to the election. 

it was a big day for you. four years ago you were streaming your own map coverage to fifteen thousand people on twitch, accessing your sources across multiple states to provide statements on what was going on nationwide. being asked a couple months ago to run the maps in front of millions was certainly a step up, but it gave you control to speak objectively without bias unlike most of the other news anchors and correspondents that were pushing right-wing sentiment over any other coverage. 

you hadn’t seen hasan in a few weeks now unless you counted facetimes and tuning into his streams. you’d get texts while he was streaming and the occasional kaya video ( because apparently she’d been whining with your leave ). it wasn’t the same, but you were both incredibly career-driven people, so being hours apart by plane wasn’t as daunting as it probably should’ve been.

“you’re gonna be late to stream,” you laughed softly, fiddling with the cap of the bottle of water someone had gotten you. endless tabs were open on your laptop in front of you, following aspects of every state because there was still hours to go before the polls closed, so you were only needed in short segments for now to go over 2020 and 2016 county votes in particular states at a time. 

“you’re right,” hasan’s voice was slightly staticky through the phone. “i might have to focus on kornacki or fox news so that i don’t spend too long staring at you.”

“aw,” you let go of your phone, holding it between your ear and shoulder to screw the cap back on the bottle. one of the directors caught your attention across the room, holding up his hand to say that she had five minutes before they were back on air again. “i’m back on in a few . . . i’ll have your stream open on my laptop, though!”

“good luck today,” hasan said softly as he started his stream, leaving it on his opening scene while his mic was muted. people were already flooding in by the thousands. “i’ll talk to you in, what, twelve hours? i love you.”

“twelve hours,” you hummed in agreement, “i love you more,” you sighed softly, noticing that the twitch tab was reloading to take her to his ‘starting soon’ overlay. “good luck.” you ended the phone call first, quickly putting it back on do not disturb and placing it over on the table that was full of analytical notes. the board that now had the map of the united states of america was lit up again, an empty canvas waiting for you to load up the old votes to load up projected blue and red areas.

TOO MANY HOURS TO count and three hundred thousand viewers into the election, hasan was still going strong. despite the pull to watching CNN more than he probably should, he managed to force himself to switch between fox news to laugh at republican propaganda and msnbc. though, he would one hundred percent lying if he said he didn’t have CNN up on his second monitor. 

things were steadily climbing, and josh ( ettingermentum ) was back after mike from PA left the call. josh, who had been raging on ( no seriously, no one had really heard him be that loud all day ) about how the democrats fucked up was finally broken up when austin joined the call, the atmosphere shifting.

christmas sign in full view and a cold slab of a slice of pizza being shoved into his mouth, austin’s discussion on if he was being sent to prison if the republicans dominated was dwindled until josh left the call to analyse the polls for twitter. 

“ugh, can we watch something else?” austin asked, barely swallowing his mouthful of pizza first. “all i’ve done is watch fox today.”

“yeah,” hasan chucked humourlessly, clicking around mindlessly between tabs as he tried to find msnbc’s coverage. because the tabs were so small thanks to the fifty million twitter tabs he had open, he almost groaned in frustration when he accidentally clicked on the CNN tab.

 the tab where you were conveniently fiddling with the data of state of pennsylvania. it was already a dangerous game having you on screen when the chat knew what the silhouettes of you looked like — photos from behind of you walking with hasan, photos of your eyes after he tried to do your makeup, mirror fit checks with your face covered by the phone . . . chat only needed to be railroaded enough to work it out. 

just as he was about to switch tabs again, austin opened his mouth. “oh, man, i miss her,” there was a shift in his tone, more than just him speaking without thinking. familiarity shone through. from the way he casually uttered your nickname to the sigh, it was probably worse than railroading. it was the train forgetting to slam the brakes on worthy. 

hasan wisely kept his mouth shut as he switched to fox news — anything was better than CNN currently — and his eyes slowly zeroed in on the chat. question marks upon question marks until it eventually morphed into ‘holy shit she looks familiar’ and ‘girlfriend reveal????’ to ‘omg face reveal’ and his breathing faltered. 

someone switched the chat to emote only mode in the few moments he was silent for, austin thankfully following suit. glancing at his second monitor, you were still doing your thing, this time discussing the iowa flip from blue to red, completely oblivious. 

“austin,” hasan finally said, tone flat. there was no use making a big fuss out of denying it — that would just make it more obvious. 

austin chuckled nervously, awkwardly. “uh . . . sorry, hasan. i didn’t think about it . . . awkward.”

“clearly,” he grumbled, digging his fingers into his hair for a moment as he thought. the election was put on hold in his mind for a moment as he switched the screen to the full facecam. he wasn’t going to directly deny or confirm anything, so instead he said, “take what you will from what austin said. in saying that, don’t go harass her, clearly she was faceless for a reason. anyway,” hasan cleared his throat, “moving on, back to the election . . .” and he swiftly moved on like nothing ever happened ( while the mods were timing out anyone who asked about it for an entire week ).

“PENNSYLVANIA AND NEVADA ARE expected to be the closest as of currently,” you gestured to the map that demonstrated the slight wave from the blue shift. “we’re looking at about half a percent, but election night is full of surprises so . . . we’ll continue to keep an eye on that for now.” the directors in the back signalled that the camera was no longer live, and you nodded and took a deep breath. the polls weren’t looking as good as everyone had expected it would look for the democrats.

finally off the air for a much needed break, you wandered back over to your little table off to the side. notes were piling up, but upon noticing the spam of notifications flashing across your phone. weird, you thought, your notifications usually not showing up unless it came from verified accounts across all social media platforms . . . until you noticed that it was coming from your private instagram and twitter account. super weird. 

and then the text from hasan. 

6’4 SUPER JACKED BOYFRIEND: uhhh so austin accidentally told 300k people we’re dating 

6’4 SUPER JACKED BOYFRIEND: call me when ur done? so sorry

oh. on one hand the first part was exciting. three hundred thousand? it was a new viewership record for him. on the other? that means a shit ton of people knew the secret you guys had spent almost two years safeguarding. you’d wanted to keep your face out of everything because you had your own career and didn’t want his to intertwine with it. a healthy work-life balance was keeping that shit separate, but it was only really time until people found out anyway. it wasn’t the best kept secret, anyway. 

still, you weren’t mad. you sent off a quick text saying ‘it’s alr’ with a smiley face emoji and shut your phone off completely, shoving it off to the side and turning your laptop back on. you’d be back in california tomorrow, anyway, it could be dealt with then.

THE AIRPORT WASN’T AS secretive anymore. tired after only getting a couple hours of sleep because you got back to your hotel at some god awful hour this morning, it was an instant relief to see hasan waiting for you, dresses comfortably to not draw too much attention to himself — which was difficult because he was fucking huge.

either way, you had no energy to do anything but collapse into his waiting arms, letting him engulf you until you were suffocating. “this is nice,” you mumbled. “sorry i didn’t call, was so tired.”

“you’re fine,” he promised, pulling you back slightly to look at him. “i missed you,” he slipped his hand into yours, and he took your suitcase with his other hand. it was nice to be able to publicly be in his presence without worrying, so much so that you leant into his arm, tiredness dragging your feet.

“missed you more,” you said honestly, but there was more on your mind than just small talk. “where’s austin? motherfucker’s been blowing up my phone.”

hasan chuckled, “if i hear him apologise one more time i’m gonna commit a hate crime.” he then shook his head, “he wanted to stay at the house but i told him to come ‘round tomorrow . . . want you to myself first.”

you knew what that was code for, so you shook your head with a silent laugh. “let me sleep first, god.”

and sleep you did. the house was silent thankfully so you were content tucked up in hasan’s arms, stealing him from clocking in with his twitch chat for ten hours in a fit of selfishness that you were entitled too.

“austin might’ve saved our relationship,” you teased, trailing your fingers up his arm that was tightly wrapped around you, both on the verge of falling into dreamland. “now we can go out on proper dates again.”

“you can tell him yourself,” hasan’s arms tightened around her a little bit more, so full of warmth that the blanket was starting to render useless. “when he knocks our door down tomorrow morning.”

“aw, come on,” you tapped his arm a little harder, fighting the urge to gnaw on his forearm. “you love him.”

“i love you, he’s just my side piece,” he kissed the side of your neck tenderly, “night, baby.”

“g’night,” you mumbled back with a soft smile, the world drifting away for just that little bit longer until tomorrow rolled around. you could deal with your very public relationship then.

[omgthatdress]

I see you're talking about something you don't know anything about, soooo let me get into the story behind all that!

A while ago, I joined a cemetery preservation society lead by a person I'm going to call A. I worked as a researcher for them, and it seemed to be going GREAT. I was really good at what I was doing and A and I seemed to be perfectly aligned in our goals.

A seemed to know EVERYONE in the city and was very good at networking and planning and social stuff, which I am not very good at. It made us a really good team.

One project had me documenting burials in a local historic Black cemetery with burials going back to 1920. I was able to get records from 1920-1939 through death certificates on familysearch.com, but for burials after that, @ye-old-news suggested I look up obituaries in my local Black newspaper. Since they only had records on microfiche in a library, I spent 5 months of a summer going to the library every day, scanning obituaries for three hours a day (there was a 3 hour time limit), and then coming back and putting the named into a spreadsheet.

In the end, I was able to document 15,000 names with an estimate of 20,000 total burials, in a cemetery with only about 7,000 marked graves.

This really came in handy when the property got sold to a property flipper who wanted to "develop" the property, repeating Tampa's long history of erasing Black cemeteries. Eventually, with a constant stream of advocacy from the ogranization I was with, prominently featuring my research, the city bought the cemetery back. (google Memorial Park Cemetery in Tampa if you want proof of all of this).

Perfect! Right? So what do I do next?

Fast-forward to about a year later, I get word that the city is working with the anthropology department at USF to document burials at this cemetery. Hey, I already did that! I should totally share my work with these people, right?

I message A, and she tells me not to share it. I ask why not? She doesn't really give me a reason. I tell her that's not fair, I worked really hard on this, and if I don't share my work, they might reproduce what I did, making the months I spent working on it pointless.

A freaks the fuck OUT. She tells me I'm out of line and being selfish, trying to satisfy my own ego. She tells me I just want attention. She then claims that the research I did doesn't belong to me, it belongs to the organization, and as head of the organization, she's the one with control over it.

We NEVER discussed this beforehand. I never signed any kind of contract or ever got paid for it. I did it believing that since A was my friend, she'd trust me to be able to do with it what I thought best.

But it turns out A wasn't the person I thought she was. She was a classic communal narcissist, a person who uses charity and doing good things to get their narcissistic fulfillment, who then turn into your worst nightmare the moment you say no to them.

So I went ahead and shared my research with the city because it was what I'd meant to do with my research all along. At which point A send out an email to the people I was talking to, along with city council members, people on the city's historical preservation committee, and several other people I straight up did not know. She claimed that I did not own the research that I had done and heavily implied that I had either faked it or stolen it. I was physically ill when I read it. I have never in my life been angrier or felt more humiliated. Needless to say, I was done working with A.

So I decided I'd start my own little research organization. I needed to get a business license for it if I wanted to get grants, which is why I started asking for donations.

I heard of another, very small rural historic Black cemetery that needed preservation work & research done, so I reached out to the person doing that. Again, it all seemed to be going great. She explained to me how to get a non-profit going and said I would be great at what I'm doing.

Soon, we're going to have a re-dedication ceremony for this cemetery, and I'm really looking forward to it as an opportunity to network with other cemetery people and to get my name out there and establish myself.

But then a few days before this event happens, I get a text. I've been disinvited. An "elder" from the church has "heard about me, and heard that I'd been disrespectful."

It was A. She was out there telling people that I was a horrible person who somehow stole my own work. I knew this because I'd seen how she talks about the people she's mad at first hand. BTW, the biggest red flag that you're dealing with someone toxic is if they're CONSTANTLY talking about the people who have done them wrong and they won't shut up about it.

So yeah. I can't go to this event, I can't do my networking, and now everyone in this small community of cemetery preservation has been told that I'm untrustworthy the worst person alive. I simply cannot move and do my own work if A is in the way, she is that nasty and vindictive.

So make the very hard, heartbreaking decision to step away. That's when I offered to refund the money. Nobody asked for a refund. If you still want a refund after all this time, give me the documentation that you donated to me, and I'll give it back to you when I have the money.

I went through a really long, really dark depression after that. I felt like I'd finally found the thing I was meant to do, only to have it ruined by someone who is genuinely the worst person I've ever met. I had to start taking new anti-anxiety meds to stop obsessing over everything I want to scream at A.

But yeah, keep saying that I just didn't want to do the work. That's one of the things that A said about me.

You don't know me and what I've been through, and I've always been honest about my needs for money and how that money was being spent, unlike the bots that spam my email box.

I've had Amal telling me five times a week for over a year that her son may die at any moment. Guys, I'm kinda starting to think that her son may not die at any moment.

And just to clarify: from this point on, when I refer to gazabots, I am referring to the bots that beg for money in my inbox. Those things are absolutely not real people because they're just really obviously bots at this point. I'm not saying all Gaza fundraisers are scams, just the ones clogging my inbox. (Zionists fuck off, BTW)

One of the things I hate, hate, haaate about the Gazabots is how they make you feel special. I see so many posts of "this mother of four reached out to me! ^_^" and like... I really hate to break your heart but a mother with four starving children isn't one by one going through people on Tumblr looking for the right kindly soul to ask for help, it's a bot program that sends out thousands of the same message at once and happened to land on your page.

When you give money to a Gazabot, you aren't keeping a helpless family alive when you give money to these things, you're finding this:

Anyway, if you want to help with Gaza, and I mean like really, actually help, consider donating to one of these organizations:

Doctors Without Borders

World Central Kitchen

Palestinian Children's Relief Fund

Palestinian Red Crescent Society

[pome-seed]

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 41

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Summary: Life with the Avengers

Word Count: 7.0k

Warnings: Mention of anxiety.

18+ blog, Minors Do Not Interact.

Authors Note: Easily the longest chapter of this series. Oh my. ALSO, if you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

Bucky found his way to your room every night, just after you clicked the light off in your lab station. Most nights he was there before you were. You’d shoulder through the door, pulling your hair down with a groan as you kick off your shoes. You’d stifle your surprised yelp when you found him sitting on the corner of your bed, elbows on his knees. 

“Hey,” you slowly set your bag on the dresser. 

“Hi,” he raises his head, blue eyes flickering over your body. “How was your day?”

You run your fingers through your hair, wincing as the tangles knotted around your fingers. “Good, they have everything here- like, everything.” You smile, stepping closer. “It’s weird being back in a lab, honestly. I haven’t done anything serious yet, just familiarizing myself again.”

“Mm,” he nods along, staring up at you through dark lashes. “Do you have any ideas on what you’re gonna be working on?”

You shrug, digging through your dresser for pajamas. “Not really, I still have to go back to school to finish out my degree, before I go forward with any of my previous projects.” You gather your clothes under your arm and glance back. Bucky’s already standing, moving towards the bathroom.

Everything had changed since moving into the compound, but the one routine you could always rely on was Bucky sitting with you while you shower. In those first few nights, he found you in your bathroom, using the last few sprays of dry shampoo, panicked. He had to pry the can from your hands, and calm you down. You felt embarrassed that you were too scared to shower on your own, even surrounded by the Avengers. 

But Bucky just listened. He listened to you panic, watched you lower your head in shame, and told you it was okay.

You hadn’t wanted to bother him, now that he had his own room, own life, and now that you had a job again. You wanted to feel safe and healed, now that you were home. 

But you didn’t.

And you never would.

So Bucky threw your dry shampoo away, sat on the lid of the toilet, and told you to get your change of clothes and towel. At first you just stared at him, amazed, but eventually did what he asked. 

So now, he found you every night before bed, and sat with you while you showered, like he always did before. 

Except now, you welcomed him to sit inside the bathroom, back against the door. He always kept his head down until you got in the shower, and always left before you got out. But this way, you could share a moment to just talk with one another. And it gave Bucky a way to keep your mind off your anxiety.

“Are you gonna go back to school?” Bucky clicks the bathroom door shut, then flips the lock.

You drop your clothes onto the counter. “Absolutely, just- not yet…” you mutter, fiddling with the shower settings. “I just need some time to settle in, you know?” You glance back, watching Bucky settle with his back against the door, his arms thrown over his bent knees. 

“Mhm,” he nods, his metal fingers picking at his cuticles. “You don’t have to rush anything. I’ve barely left this damn building.”

“Hey, you go out every morning,” you smile, tugging off your socks. 

“Training doesn’t count.” He lowers his head, his gaze dropping to the floor. 

“It does,” you give him one last look before finally stripping out of your clothes. Bucky’s eyes snap shut when he sees your underwear drop to the tiles in his peripheral. “Steve tells me all about your guys’ jog route- he keeps asking me to tag along.”

“You should,” he mutters, listening to the shower door slide open. 

You chuckle quietly as you step under the stream. “I’m not gonna train with the Avengers, and a bunch of super soldiers.” You dip your head back under the water. “You can open your eyes,” you mutter in afterthought.

“Maybe not, but you could still tag along to the gym sometime. I don’t know how much of Sam’s chit-chatting I can take alone.” He mumbles, raising his head. He tries not to, but his gaze flickers up to the frosted glass doors of the shower, your silhouette fairly clear. 

He turns his head away.

“Maybe,” you shrug, raking shampoo through soaked locks of hair. “I need to polish up on those self defense moves you taught me.”

“Do you even remember what I taught you?” He chuckles.

“Not really,” you rinse out the suds. “Never really got a chance to use it,” you scrunch conditioner into your hair. “So I wouldn’t mind going back to class with Mr. Barnes.”

You snicker at the sound of Bucky’s quiet groan. 

“Knock it off,” he mutters.

You pump soap into your hand, laughing. “What?”

Bucky rolls his head back against the door. “You’re ridiculous.”

You have to suppress your smile while you wash your face, but the giddy feeling in your chest is there. It always is when you tease Bucky. 

He huffs, wiping a hand down his face as steam sticks to his skin. 

You stick your head below the stream, rinsing your face. “Almost done,” you grab your body wash. 

“Take your time, sweetheart.” His eyes roll closed.

Your stomach flips. 

You continue washing your body, trying not to focus on his fond tone. 

Once you finally finish with your shower, Bucky lowers his head and you step out, dripping with water. You towel off and tug on your pajamas, then wrap up your hair. When you’re dressed, you take a second to stare down at Bucky, his head hung low. 

His metal arm is quite literally fogged over, dripping with perspiration. Stray hairs stick to his face, and you can tell he must be hot. Fully clothed in a steamy bathroom. You bite down on your tongue and shove your dirty clothes into a basket. 

“You can open your eyes.”

Bucky raises his head, his lips curling at the sight of the towel sitting lopsided on your head. 

“Wanna watch a movie now?” You ask, shifting.

Bucky climbs to his feet and cracks the door open. “Yeah, c’mon.”

The long wooden dining table is littered with the remnants of dinner- empty plates, half-eaten pies, and at least three varieties of hot sauce- courtesy of Thor, who insists "All meals need a bit of fire." Everyone’s kicked back, lounging with drinks in hand. The warm glow from the fireplace makes the whole place feel like a cozy retreat.

You’re on the couch between Natasha and Clint, knees tucked to your chest.

Tony’s actively poking fun at Steve for his pick of music, as they fight over the Spotify control.

Natasha snickers as Clint carefully tosses popcorn into Thor's long hair, where he’s making himself another drink at the bar.

You’re still getting used to these moments, these calm, domestic slices of peace. You were nervous to start sticking around after dinner, for nightly movies and conversation. But Steve and Wanda urged you, begging to make you feel welcome. 

And slowly you did.

It was a bit harder for Bucky. He didn’t often stick around after grabbing food and slipping back down the hall. You wished he felt a bit more at home, but you would never force him. You started to think this slice of the afternoon was his alone time.

Away from training, people, and you- not in a bad way, just time to himself.

You honestly think he just spends this time in the gym, working off pent up energy.

You blink back into the conversation as Tony is raising his glass, boasting some crappy speech about successfully making dinner. He decided to take the responsibility of cooking tonight, which Vision usually took liberty of.

You stifle a snicker behind your glass, looking up at him across the coffee table. “It’s impressive how you always find a way to make a speech about yourself.”

Tony cracks a smirk. “And here you are, still listening. It’s called charisma. Or maybe that’s just my cologne,” he sniffs his shirt. 

Pepper smacks him in the arm.

“I don’t think they could bottle your ego,” you smile, finally feeling comfortable enough to tease. 

“If someone could, I’d notice.” Tony tsks sarcastically. He squints at you dramatically. “Speaking of things I notice, which is everything, by the way- wanna share with the class why a certain super soldier is always spending his nights with you?”

You freeze, not expecting such a straight shot. “What?”

“I see everything,” he grins, taking a swig of his drink. 

Clint, always a bit out of the loop, looks at Steve. “What’s happening now?”

“Not him, airhead.” Tony smirks. “Sergeant Barnes.”

“He’s not spending the night with me- and how do you even know he comes to my room?” You grimace at Tony.

“The cameras.”

“Tony,” Steve scolds, shaking his head. 

“What? I have a right to know what's happening in my house. So, why the routine visits?” Tony raises a nosy brow. Pepper shoves her arm in his side, trying to shut him up. 

But the seed is already planted. Several eyes are now curiously on you. 

“It’s not anything special-” you blurt, shrugging stiffly. “He just- we have this routine.”

“Uhuh?” Clint leans forward, now unabashedly interested.

You roll your eyes. “It’s from our time in Romania.” You shrug. “I have problems showering alone, so Bucky just sits with me. But that’s not what’s important- you’re spying on me through the cameras? Are you seriously that bored at night?” You gape at him.

“Very true-” Natasha shifts her judgmental smirk to Tony.

“We have cameras, is it a crime to look?” He rolls his eyes. “But anyways, don’t change the subject. You’re the one letting Barnes watch you shower.”

A loud shudder makes everyone's attention snap to the right- where Bucky is standing by the fridge, his hands frozen around a bottle of water.

“Speak of the devil!” Tony grins.

You swallow awkwardly. “And that’s my cue.” You climb to your feet and set your glass on the table. You carefully step around Natasha until you’re walking away, towards Bucky, towards the elevator. “Goodnight.”

Bucky doesn’t move until you step past him. He silently follows after you, not saying a word. 

Tony whistles as you step into the elevator. 

You glance up at Bucky, whose dark hair is tucked carefully behind his ears, slightly damp. He must have just washed up after the gym. He doesn’t say anything as the doors finally close. He cracks open his water bottle and takes a sip. You realize the tips of his ears are a dark pink.

“Tony was just being an ass-” you blurt, feeling the need to explain yourself. “He saw you coming to my room, so I was telling him about the shower thing.”

He carefully caps his bottle, smacking his lips together. “Ah,” he nods in understanding. 

He glances up at you from beneath dark lashes. Your stomach twists warmly. 

“Did you just get back from the gym?” You mutter. 

“Mhm,” he nods, his large hands carefully wrapped around the bottle. His index finger slowly taps against the cold plastic. “‘Re you goin’ to bed?”

You shake your head. The elevator dings, the doors opening to the residential floor. “You?”

“Mm-mm.” He shakes his head.

“Wanna come help me with some Romanian homework? I picked up a translated copy of The Hobbit.” You shift, tilting your head up at him. To Bucky’s endearment, you were still happily studying the language you spent so long learning.

“Sure-” he lets you step out of the elevator first, then follows after you. “Can we watch The Godfather after?”

Your expression breaks into a soft smile. “We’ve watched that movie like six times now.”

He shrugs, following you to your room. “It’s a good movie.” You could swear he sounded like he was pouting.

Most people would think that the kitchen in the Avengers compound would be constantly stacked full. Except most people didn’t realize just how much super soldiers needed to eat to sustain their bodies. That, and several team members were fans of movie nights, with piles of snacks. 

So grocery runs were often.

When the Avengers lived in the city, in the tower, it was much easier to just have everything they needed ordered. Except they were now located in upstate New York, with miles of forest surrounding the compound.

Which meant longer drives and an entire evening dedicated to shopping.

And as one of the only people in the compound that wasn’t an active soldier, you found yourself being the designated grocery shopper.

You didn’t mind actually, it gave you a reason to leave the lab and drive a car. Which you really missed. So once a week, you loaded yourself into the car and drove into the city, shopping for everyone's favorite snacks and ingredients.

You thought it would be easy and exciting at first. But on your first trip, you only got halfway into the city before you were hit with a massive panic attack, and Vision had to fly out to drive you home.

Something about the packed environment, the prying eyes, and being alone, just got to you.

Maybe because in the last two years, every time you found yourself alone in a city, you were being shot.

When Bucky found out about the incident, he refused to let you go out on your own again. You wanted to protest, to say you were fine and it was just jitters. But in all reality, you were deeply relieved.

So the next time you drove into the city, Bucky sat beside you. 

It was honestly deeply sweet, because while you drove, he grumpily sorted through your Spotify, playing random songs until he found something he liked.

When you finally got to the store, you grabbed a cart and Bucky followed you like a puppy.

He went silent the moment he stepped inside the chilled building, overwhelmed by the many colors and options. “And you thought Romanian supermarkets were bad,” you nudge him with your elbow.

He huffs, following beside you with a frown. “Where’s the list?”

You hand him your phone, where an excessively long grocery list waited. “Let’s start with the dry food, then go for fruits and veggies, yeah?”

He hums, scrolling through the items.

You take your time sorting through the aisles, picking out pastas, cereals, rice, herbs, flour, and countless other dry items. Bucky holds your phone close to his face as he reads out the items in the specific aisle you were in. 

You would have done it the other way around, but you could pick out items a lot quicker since you recognized packaging. Bucky was much slower with finding what you needed. 

There was something so simple about grocery shopping with Bucky. Something that felt familiar and safe. You felt comfortable being able to scour the store without that nagging fear, because you had him.

You knew you were safe with Bucky at your side.

Even when strangers' gazes lingered, or when you had a camera pointed at you both from the corner. You still felt safe, because you had Bucky.

You push the cart towards the dairy section when your phone goes off.

“Uh, Tony says don’t forget ‘pop-tarts?’” Bucky read off the message, following behind you.

You click your tongue and glance into the cart. “Right- can you run back to the snack section and grab a few boxes? It’s the blue box- strawberry flavored?”

Bucky squints down at your phone, then nods. “Okay- just stay here.” He glances at you once before walking off toward the snack aisle.

You continue picking through the freezers, grabbing milk and the coffee creamer you like. You realize about two seconds later that Bucky took your phone, so you can’t continue shopping for any cheeses or yogurts. 

You sigh and start reading through other creamer flavors, when a voice speaks up behind you.

“Excuse me?” You flinch and snap your head back to see a tall blonde man smiling at you. “Sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to say you’re absolutely stunning- do you think I could get your number?”

You gape at him for a second too long, your heart thudding quickly in your chest with unexpected anxiety. “Thank you-” you snap yourself back into the moment. “But uh, no thank you,” you smile awkwardly.

The man scratches his nape, his ears flushing a soft pink. “You sure? I’d love to take you out, we could get coffee or lunch or something.”

You glance over his shoulder, wishing you would have just gone with Bucky. “I’m sorry, I actually don’t have my phone on me right now-”

“Let me take your number, it’s fine.” He steps around your cart, holding his phone out. 

“I’m just-” you cringe. “I’m sorry, I’m just not interested.”

His smile falls slightly, shifting to something more wounded. “Why not? I’m sure I could show you a great time- just give me a chance, I’ll make your night.” He insists.

“I’m busy tonight-” you keep trying to end the conversation, but he just seems to grow more and more insistent.

“Tomorrow then, or this weekend. C’mon, you’re gorgeous, I’m a catch, let me-” The rest of his sentence faded to silence as Bucky’s dark silhouette flashed in your peripheral vision. Your head snaps to the side, watching as Bucky calmly sets the boxes of pop-tarts in the cart, then manoeuvres himself to stand in front of you.

“Sounds like she said no, so the conversation is over now. Walk away,” Bucky exhales.

The blonde man’s frown deepens, his gaze shamelessly wandering over Bucky as he sizes him up. You swear you can see him puff up his chest to seem bigger- to match Bucky’s size. “You her boyfriend?”

“No,” Bucky’s voice is steady, calm. His response makes your stomach flip- making you want to sink further into your shell.

It’s true. He’s not. But then again, you don’t really know what Bucky is.

“Then you can’t speak for her, back off-”

Bucky turns to look at you over his shoulder, his dark gaze making you shiver. “Do you want to go out with this man?”

Startled, you blurt out “no.”

Bucky turns back to the man. “Enough said.” Bucky gestures for you to start pushing the cart away. You grip the handle and push it about an inch before the man's pale hand smacks down on the end of the cart, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Come on-”

In the second it takes you to blink, Bucky has ripped the man's arm up and shoved him back a step. “Go check out,” Bucky’s command makes your spine straighten, shock washing over you. He keeps his eyes on the man in front of him, knowing you’ll listen.

“Okay-” You shove the cart forward, mindlessly walking towards the front of the store. You refuse to look behind you as you hear the two start to argue. Something about Bucky’s frustrated voice lowly scolding the man makes your skin break out in goose-bumps. 

You get to the register and start loading up your items, nerves pinching at you the longer Bucky’s not with you. As you set a small bag of limes onto the belt, you hear a shout and a loud crash. You wince, groaning internally at the possible ban from the store you might be getting.

When Bucky finally pops back up beside you, you’re setting your bags back in the cart. Bucky pulls a heavy bag of milk from your hands, wordlessly helping to load up the bags. 

You stare up at him, confused. “What happened?”

A voice calls over the speakers, “clean up on aisle 12.”

Bucky looks down at you, his jaw fluttering as he clenches his teeth. “We talked.”

Under the lull of the moonlight and the silence of the room, your bedroom door cracks open. You lay motionless in bed, having nodded off hours before. Bucky slips through the cracked door and clicks it shut behind him. He pauses there, at the threshold of the room, a silent guilt crawling up his chest. 

He woke in a cold sweat, a terror gripping deep in his chest, pulling and tugging until he thought he might vomit. He was still shaking. But he had no right to bring this to you, he knew that. He had no right to enter your room like this, he knew that too. 

You look so at peace in your sleep, it makes him pause. It makes him want to watch you, observe and appreciate the gentle beauty that is you.

But he doesn’t watch. 

He doesn’t wait.

Because the fear gripping his chest is so strong, so familiar, that he needs it to stop. And the only way he knows how to do that, is to be close to you. Like that day back in Romania, cradled in your touch.

You stir from unconsciousness when you feel the bed dip. You hadn’t even really realized you were awake. Your eyes are so heavy, they feel glued shut. You contemplate just slipping back into the river of sleep, when you feel the covers shift.

You freeze, your body reacting on instinct. 

A weight slides over your waist, wrapping around you. Your frazzled mind wanted to gasp and flinch away, but you stopped yourself.

Heavy. Firm. Freezing. 

You blink through the haze of sleep and panic and glance down at the metal hand resting on your stomach. 

Shock follows when you feel the attached body draw close to yours, large chest pressed to your back. Stubble tickles the back of your neck where Bucky presses his face against your nape. A shiver runs down your spine as he blows out a sigh, warm breath coasting along your skin. Like he was exhaling the stress that knotted its way around his spine.

A part of you wants to pretend you’re still asleep, to ignore it and pretend you had no memory of it in the morning.

But you knew that was wrong.

He wouldn’t seek you out like this for no reason. 

Ignoring the flutter in your stomach, you slide your palm along the cold steel of his arm and close your eyes. You let him pull you tighter against his body. You let him nuzzle into your neck. You let him find silent comfort in your embrace, and you let him do it without forcing him to explain himself.

His large cold fingers spread out over your stomach, pressing you closer.

With a pink blush tinting your cheeks, and his soft breath tickling your skin, you fall asleep in his tight embrace. Bucky slips under the veil of unconsciousness not long after, taking comfort in your familiar scent and your familiar touch. 

Through the night you barely budged. Bucky was strong, even in his sleep. He kept a tight grip on you, his other arm sliding beneath your head, cradling you close. 

As the sun finally rises against the horizon, soft golden light melts through the windows, bathing you in warmth. When your eyes finally roll open, you forget the night before. You forget ever waking up.

Until you instinctively start to stretch, squirming in place to adjust your shoulder, but the strong grip around your waist holds you in place.

You freeze, and everything hits you. Your gaze snaps down to the large steel fingers spread out over your stomach, now fully awake. It takes you a second to fully register what's happening, as you’re now aware of the large body pressed against yours. 

His face is nuzzled into your hair, his lips pressed to your nape. His soft little puffs of breath tickle your skin. The strength of his arms wrapped around you shocks you. He clings to you, holds you in place, even in his sleep.

Thankfully you don’t have to use the bathroom, because you doubt you would be able to climb out of his grip without waking him.

As you lay there, you wonder what made him seek you out. What happened in his dreams, in his night, that rocked him so deeply. You wonder how many times he’s wanted to do this before. 

So you lay there silently, heart pounding, allowing him to rest. You doubt he got much deep, uninterrupted sleep.

Your fingers dance absently along the grooves of metal of his knuckles, the material warm from your body. You don’t mean to do it, but you almost have to, to keep yourself awake. The calm, silent lull of warmth that surrounds you begs to drag you back to sleep.

And you almost do, until those strong arms squeeze a little tighter. His face presses a little closer. A heavy sigh brushes your neck.

A small grunt leaves his throat as he disgruntledly wakes. You shiver as a puff of breath tingles against your ear. Bucky stiffens behind you, as if just realizing you’re awake. You can feel the bob of his throat as he swallows. He nuzzles his face into your nape, his ears tinged pink.

“Morning,” you whisper.

He makes a small huffing sound. 

You try to laugh, but wince. “Can’t breathe-” 

He immediately loosens his grip on you. His arm around your waist slides back, his steel palm dragging from your ribs, over your stomach, to rest on your hips. You ignore the butterflies that twist in your gut.

You slowly turn in his arms until you’re facing him. His eyes downcast towards the pillows, with shame or embarrassment, you don’t know. Your cheek rests against his bicep, his other hand still finding its home on your hip.

“Hi,” you whisper, insecure and a little flushed under the new circumstances.

“Hey,” his voice is rough and groggy with sleep, like velvet stretched over stone. 

With slow movements, you brush dark hair from his eyes with the tip of your finger. “What’s going on?” He gulps, his gaze fixed somewhere between you. “Hey,” you whisper, tilting his head up slightly. Stormy blue eyes meet yours. Your stomach flips. “What happened?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He swallows. You nod, tracing the pad of your finger along his jaw. 

“Okay,” you nod. “Wanna talk about it?” He shakes his head. You assumed he would. You stare into those clear blue eyes, shadowed beneath dark lashes. “Then, wanna go get breakfast and watch Steve yell at the morning training group?”

He huffs out a gentle laugh. He nuzzles his head into his shoulder, glancing at you through his lashes. “I’m sorry.” He mutters. 

“Don’t be.”

“I should be,” he insists. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-…I just shouldn’t have.”

You slide your hand down to the soft corner of his jaw and pinch him. “Stop, just stop, okay?” He hisses and looks up at you. “You didn’t do anything wrong- besides almost cracking a rib.” You smile, lifting a brow. “Okay?”

He frowns at you, motionless, speechless. His silence makes you sigh. You rake his hair out of his face, your fingers pushing into the dark lengths. You catch his visible shutter. The flutter of his lashes.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” You whisper.

“I shouldn’t put this on you.” He mutters, his voice quiet in the small space between you. 

“You know I don’t like when you talk like that.” You tug gently on his long hair. 

He winces. “Still.” He grumbles. 

“What really happened last night?” You trace your nails against his scalp, making him shudder. 

His ashamed gaze moved to the place between you, his eyes sliding shut. “I…” He swallows, clearing his throat. “I had a dream.” The darkness in his voice makes you shiver.

“What kind of dream?”

“About those people.” He confesses. “The people I hurt.”

Something awful twists in your gut, something painful and dark. “Buck,” you whisper, your touch gentle as you pet the back of his head. He refuses to look at you. Something you recently learned was that Bucky was on a mission to make amends for his past. Something encouraged by his therapist. 

You knew it was hard. Writing down all the names he could remember. Searching for the stories of those he disgracefully laid to rest. 

“Can you look at me?” It takes him a moment, but eventually he does. “I’m gonna say something, and I want you to hear me out, okay?”

He nods. 

“Look…I know you’re on a mission to make amends, and I know you think it will help, but honestly? I don’t think it’s doing anyone any good.” You feel guilty saying it, but you need to say your piece. “At least, not the way you’re doing it right now. This mission is to make you feel more at peace, but it's also supposed to right wrongs. But what you’re doing is just hurting yourself and the families of the people who died.”

Bucky watches you with a frown, his brows knit together with shame.

“I think there's other ways to help the living. To help the communities of those who died. I think bringing people closure is great, but there's a difference between bringing closure, and torturing yourself- and them. There's more that you can do, other ways to help you feel like you’re doing the right thing.”

Bucky stares at you in silence, digesting your words. You chew your cheek in thought, nervous that maybe you should have kept your mouth shut. 

“Like what?” He asks carefully.

“There’s relief missions you could go on, disaster relief, habitat for humanity. Or you could join veteran outreach programs.” You list off, hoping the intense look he gives you is a good thing. “You could raise funds for causes that your victims were fighting for, even. There’s so many things you can do, that aren’t torturing yourself and stalking those families.”

Bucky sighs, his eyes falling shut. “I just want to do the right thing.”

Your heart aches for him, in that moment. You trace your fingertips down his nape, your thumb rubbing circles into tense muscle. “I know,” you whisper. “How about we go get breakfast, then do some research?”

He rolls his eyes open, dark lashes fluttering at you. “Okay,” he sighs, his frown softening. But Bucky doesn’t move, he doesn’t pull away. The hand on your hip stays frozen, strong and firm. He stares at you, almost cross eyed with how close you two are. 

He watches you, like he’s picking his thoughts apart carefully. Hesitant. 

You start to get a little confused, until he leans in.

Bucky presses a gentle kiss to your lips, soft and still. Just a brush, like he’s not sure he’s doing the right thing. Your pulse spikes and you push closer, tilting your head. You kiss him back, slow and careful.

He sighs into your mouth, his lashes fluttering fully closed. The strong fingers on your hip press a little harder. 

And then he withdraws, letting space flow between you. 

You blink up at him, a little dazed from the sudden casual affection. It wasn’t something you were used to. It wasn’t something he was used to. But he moved like he wanted to try. Because with you, he wants it to feel easy. He wants to know what he’s doing, and how to do it right. 

“So uh- breakfast?” You whisper, licking your lips. 

He nods slowly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he sits up.

Your relationship with Bucky was complicated.

Complicated was honestly the best word to describe it. Complex, intimate, vulnerable, and complicated. 

No one would dare argue that.

But it was also clear to everyone around you that neither of you really knew what you were doing. 

You knew what you felt. You knew Bucky held a place in your heart that no other person could. That his voice brought a peace to your soul that felt like the gentle wash of the sea. You knew that his presence, his touch, his being, made you feel safe- in a way nothing else could.

You knew Bucky was special. 

But you knew he needed time. 

What you didn’t know was that Bucky was ready- he just didn’t know how to say it. What to do.

You didn’t know that he reread your letter from last year, nearly every night. You didn’t know that in your time apart, he’d close his eyes and ghost his flesh hand along his cheek, trying to remember your touch. Trying to replicate the feeling.

But nothing could.

Because you weren’t just a warm hand. You weren’t just a kind presence. 

You were everything.

You were the light in his dark abyss. You were the gentle laughter that tugged at his soul. You were the smile that made him believe in joy again. 

You were the beauty that captured his heart, in every manner.

But Bucky was broken. He’d always be broken. He would never fix the damage done to his soul. Neither could you. But you could ease the pain. 

He just didn’t know how to push past his shattered pieces, and find his way to you.

You didn’t know the internal battle he fought every time he was near you. You just let him work through it, by his side. Patient.

You’re sitting against the headboard of your bed, legs curled up. Bucky lays beside you, not close enough to touch, but close enough that the space between you buzzes with something unspoken. His elbow occasionally brushes your leg, but neither of you moves.

It’s the kind of closeness that doesn’t need to be loud.

You’re quietly reading aloud to him, from a new book in Romanian Bucky bought you. He got it for you days ago, but this was your first time reading it. You wanted to wait. You wanted to read it together.

Bucky lays back, his head at the foot of the bed. He subtly watches you frown at the page, stumbling over unfamiliar words.

A soft smile curls at his lips. Fond. Familiar.

The walls buzz gently with music from the other room, the team settling in for a late night drink. You weren’t familiar with the song, but you also weren’t paying attention - too focused on getting your pronunciation right.

Bucky listens silently, quietly correcting you everytime you add the tense in the wrong part of a word.

You scribble in the notebook resting on your pillow, taking notes. 

You start reading again, beginning another chapter. Before you can get too far in, the music in the other room changes. Soft saxophone rumbles against the floor, floating through the air. Bucky shifts, lifting his head. 

You look down at him, smiling. “Guess it’s Steve’s turn with the playlist.” 

Bucky’s lips twitch as he drops his head back down. “Must be,” he mutters, his hands folding back over his stomach. 

For some reason, you don’t look away. Your gaze catches on the shadow of his jaw. The contrast of his dark lashes against bright blue eyes. The flushed color of his lips, as he smiles to himself. 

“Keep readin’ sweetheart, it was just gettin’ good.” He glances down at you.

Instead you close the book and set it down. “Nah,” you slowly climb out of bed, your socked feet sliding against the floor. Bucky lifts his head, watching you with confusion. 

“What’re you doing?” His brows pinch together.

You hold your hands out to him, wiggling your fingers. “C’mere.” 

He stares at you for a second longer before sitting up. You catch his hands and yank him up, to the open space in the middle of your room. “What?” He chuckles, swallowing around the lump in his throat as you pull him close. 

You tilt your chin up at him, straining to hear muffled lyrics through the wall. “Dance with me.”

He stiffens slightly, his lips curling into a frown. “Dance?”

“Yeah,” You carefully slide a hand to his shoulder. “Dance with me.” You whisper. 

He stares down at you with something you can’t decipher. Something familiar and nostalgic. You’re patient, standing with him in silence. You wonder if he’s thinking of the last time you danced. The last time you were cradled in his arms, swaying to scratched CD’s.

He slides his heavy metal palm around your waist. His other hand, rough and warm, cradles yours, raising it up. “It’s been a while,” he mutters.

“That’s okay,” you hum, tilting your head to rest on his chest.

He worries, absently, that you can hear the heavy beat of his heart. That you can hear the way his ribs nearly crack beneath its pace. So he tightens his gentle hold on you and sways to the music, staring down at your smile.

You sigh into him, thinking of how far you’ve come. 

How different your lives are from back then. You don’t have to lower the volume of your crappy cd player, you don’t have to sway in silence. You don’t have to hide. You just have to dance. You just have to live.

You squeeze Bucky’s large hand, leaning into his warmth, his scent. 

Bucky leads you with each small step, each careful spin. His muscles still remember the joy of his childhood. The practiced steps. The feeling of freedom when dancing. 

But it’s you who makes him enjoy it. 

It’s you who makes him want the song to stretch on.

He wishes, in the deepest corner of his heart, that he could explain that to you. That you’re the electricity that sparks life into his old bones. He wishes he didn’t have to find the words- because you never failed to make him feel speechless. 

“I used to force Steve to go dancing with me when we were kids.” He mutters, his chin resting on your head. “Every damn week.”

“Yeah?” You close your eyes.

“Yeah.” He nods, your hair tickling his jaw. “He could never find a date, so he’d always end up sitting on the sidelines, watching me. He’d always tease me.”

“Did you? Find a date, I mean.”

“Mhm,” his voice rumbles in his chest, the feeling vibrating against your cheek. “I had lot’s of dance partners.”

“Waitta make a girl feel special,” you chuckle.

But he doesn’t laugh.

He slows your careful sway, looking down at you. “You are special.” 

You glance up at him, your easy smile softening. 

His brows twitch together. The warmth surrounding you grows thick, tension melting into his expression. “I wish I could have taken you dancing back then.” He whispers, his metal fingers stroking circles into your hip. Your words die out, speechless as you stare up at him. “You would have loved it.”

You swallow. “Yeah?”

He exhales, shaken suddenly. You often find yourself grappling with the easy way Bucky’s mood could change. His warm blue eyes burn through you, something strong brewing there.  He looks down at you like you’re all that’s anchoring him to the present.

“I wish I could talk to you, like I could back then.” His throat bobs softly, frustration with himself growing steadily.

“I like how you talk now.” You squeeze his flesh hand, grounding him.

“It would be different.” He whispers, holding you close. “I’d be able to say it.”

Your brows slowly knit together as you stare up at him. “Say what?”

But he doesn’t answer. He just looks at you - really looks at you. Like he can see right through you. Beneath your skin, beneath the physical. Down to your very core. To the blood that pumps in your veins. To the breath that fills your lungs. To the soul that brings you life.

That brings him life.

“I’d be able to say it.” He repeats, barely a whisper. 

“Bucky-” You swallow, your hand on his chest sliding up to cup his jaw. You shake your head. “It’s okay. I don’t expect anything from you.”

“But I want to.” Metal plates shift as his arm winds tighter around your waist. You’re no longer dancing. Nor swaying. Just standing there, together. “I want to say it, Y/n.”

“Then say it.”

You look up into his eyes - vulnerable, raw, and burning with devotion.

“Y/n, you…” he exhales a trembling breath. Light catches on the glossed corners of his eyes. “Time is the only constant in my life. The only thing that never changes,” his voice is broken, raw. Like a wound torn open. “Except for you. Except for-” his tongue swipes over his lips, nerves sparking beneath his skin. “Except for this. Everything I’ve ever known has changed at least once, but- not this.”

You stare up at him, your lips parted on a breath you can’t catch.

“Not you. Not what I feel for you,” those words sound like they clawed their way from his very core. Climbed their way up, fought darkness and pain, just to float into the air between you.

“You’re the only thing in this world that’s mine.” He whispers. 

Something hot burns behind your eyes, fogging your vision as you teeter on the edge of breathlessness. 

Soft music floats through the walls, buzzing against your skin. 

“I am,” you tremble, your thumb brushing his jaw as he shakes. “I am, Bucky. I’m yours.” 

He flinches, like your words strike him- not in a painful way. But in the way of stepping into sunlight after months. Like tasting water in a drought. Like hearing your voice after drowning in his own thoughts. 

“I just want to be yours,” you whisper. 

And just like that, his hand slides behind your neck, pulling you into a kiss - not hurried, not rough - but sure. Possessive in the way that says you’re not going anywhere, and neither is he.

This isn’t a question. It’s a promise.

A/N: I was gonna add the next scene to this, but the chapter was getting really long, so I'm giving you guys a cliff hanger. You'll never guess what happens next.

@rafesgurl @pleasecallmeunhinged @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @frog-fans-unite @lonelyghosts-stuff @cherryandsugar @a-world-with-pure-imagination @unicornqueen05 @cupids-mf-arrow @sharkylalala @littlesuniee @meineguete @hawkinsavclub1983 @theconsultingdoctor10 @dollface-xoxo @bloodmocha @natalia42069 @nicolebarnes @fallen-w1ngs @justachillgirllui @avaout @local-crazy @nynxtea @cherryheairt @soupiemeowmeow @akkklys @escapismurmom @sleepysongbirdsings @bumblebeebutter @lalaren @valyriantarg @hosshihusshi @mysoulbelongstobuckybarnes @sebastians-love @clown420cunt

[dughole]

radiohead’s complicity in israeli-occupied palestine

my feelings on radiohead are complicated these days, as i’m sure they are for many. i'm using this post as a method of sorting out my own thoughts & to provide sources.

for me, the bottom line is this: radiohead is both a brand & a musical group. the brand of radiohead has always had deep roots in the israeli colonial project - they have played many, many shows there throughout their career. their breakout single - creep, was intially only a hit in israel (x, x) & the personal choices of some of radiohead's members remain just as involved. jonny greenwood met his future wife - the israeli artist, antivaxxer & vehement zionist (x) sharona katan - at a show radiohead played in israel in 1993 (x). jonny consistently collaborated with zionist musician shye ben tzur & his projects continue to tour in tel aviv as recently as last september. as for jonny himself - his only statement in regards to the war on gaza has been in mourning for the israeli concert goers on october 10th - w no such empathy spared to the 100,000 palestinians dead, injured, or missing. as for thom, while he’s thrown a few bitchfits (x) through the years abt criticism of radiohead’s shows in israel, he has imo - only paid lipservice to the criticism, saying “playing in a country isn’t the same as endorsing its government” going against the pleas of his peers & coworkers in the music industry. as well as the pro-palestine activism undertaken by his long term friend micheal stipe (x & x). (note: stipe stood by radiohead’s performance in israel in 2017, but his current political choices suggest his understanding of the situation has evolved). even his own son - noah yorke, a fellow working musician, has voiced his opposition to the genocide in gaza via instagram stories. as for the other members, rhythm guitarist ed o'brien has called for a ceasefire, as well as making a few tweets about "solidarity with palestinians & israeli peacemakers". while bassist colin greenwood reportedly refused to accept letters of dialogue from the fan-run organization radiohead fans for palestine. drummer phillip selway's commentary is similarly brief but defensive, saying radiohead's 2017 tel aviv concert "felt right"

to me, this paints a picture of a band who's members stances on israel range from abhorrent to simply not enough. & as a brand, their particular combination of action & inaction amounts to a fundamentally zionist perspective. you cannot separate radiohead as artists from radiohead as a brand name.

i've loved radiohead since i was 14. i was brought into it by another longtime fan. i cried & danced when i saw them live back in 2017 - it was, & remains, a moment that allowed me to live through the hardest parts of my life. i felt for the longest time, that radiohead's music & political positions encouraged my empathy - my questioning of conservative political authority. & while all celebrities are failures in some sense - it is still heartbreaking to know how wrong i was.

i don't think it's possible to disconnect the decade of connection & love i have for their music - I won't ask that of myself or anyone else. & the idea of scrubbing one's taste of the "morally impure" is useless effort & an inappropriate simplification of both art & our conceptions of what makes someone "bad". but i can say with certainty - i will not be giving them any more of my money, whether that be streaming their music or buying their merch - & i encourage you to do the same. silence is complicity - this is beyond silence.

in the words of nina simone - "an artist's duty, as far as i'm concerned, is to reflect the times. how can you be an artist and not reflect the times? that to me is the definition of an artist."

[mariclerc]

Nerd is good (pt.2) | cl16

Warnings: none, just fluff, youtuber reader, Charles being such a simp.

fc: adelaladoll on pinterest & ig.

Part 1, part 3

Sunlight streams through the window, illuminating the cozy living room. You are dressed in a comfy sweater and some jeans, you're sitting at your desk, setting up your camera and knitting supplies for a tutorial, you have a basket of colorful yarn beside you. With trembling hands, you're setting up your camera, a playful smile on your face.

You love making little videos, it's your way of connecting with other people and while you have hobbies in common, you are characterized by your somewhat spontaneous and chill vids, some vlogs and, since you love knitting, the occasional knitting tutorial.

“Hey everyone! Welcome back to my channel! Today we're making a super fun and easy project… a cute scarf! Which is perfect for this fall season!” you hold up a colorful ball of yarn while smiling at the camera, your eyes sparkling with excitement. “So, grab your yarn and needles, and let’s get started!”

You started explaining the basic knitting techniques and steps, your voice is soft and gentle. You're clearly passionate about your craft, your fingers moving with practiced ease with every step, you're completely absorbed in your cute little project.

“Okay, this stitch is called the "gather stitch", and it's perfect for beginners.” you say in a soft voice as you show how you are making the scarf.

Charles, with a book in hand, walks past the camera, a soft smile on his face while he looks at you. He can’t help but admire you, your focus on the craft, your hands moving with such effortless grace. He’s a little bit in awe of you, this shy, innocent girl who brings such warmth, love and joy to his life. He loves your quiet passion, the way your eyes lights up when you talk about your knitting or about the things you like.

“Okay, so now we're going to turn the work.” you say to the camera.

He passes by the camera once again, this time pausing for a moment to observe you closely, you doesn’t even seem to notice his presence behind you. He raises his eyebrows playfully while smiling, then ducks out of view, disappearing into the bedroom.

“And then we’re going to repeat the pattern… We can add some nice and cute figure to it, it could be a star, a flower or a cute little bow, but it is up to each person.” you say giggling a little. “In my case, I'm going to add a star!”

Charles loves the way you focus on your work, your entire being absorbed in the process of creating. He loves that you never seem to be aware of his presence behind you, because you're completely lost in your own little world, and he adores that.

“And... We're done guys! It's so easy to make, you can also make it for yourself or as a gift, since it is a cute and nice gesture.” you say with a light blush on your cheeks and you put on the scarf to show how it looks. “And that's it! Now we have a cute scarf with an adorable detail.” you say excitedly to the camera, and then you end the video and turn off the camera.

“Whoa! You were so so good babe!” Charles says and you jump a little, he giggled at your reaction. “My cute little knitter.”

“Charlie! I thought you went to the library with Lando or Logan!” you say in a whisper. “I didn’t even notice you were here.”

He smiled. “It’s okay sweetie, I was enjoying the show, you’re a natural!” he leaned over and kissed your cheek. “Your videos are so calming and soft! I just love the way you explain everything so clearly, it's wonderful.”

You blushed. “Oh, thank you baby boy!”

He sits next to you and he reaches for a strand of yarn, gently running it gently through his fingers, he looks so good, so domestic and soft.

“You know babe, you’re incredibly talented... I mean, I can’t believe you can make something so beautiful out of this simple… yarn.” he smiles, a touch of wonder in his eyes.

You blush slightly. “It’s really not that hard, honey.”

He smiled again. “Oh, I don’t know babe, you make it look effortless, it's amazing!” he looks at you, his eyes filled with admiration.

You giggled. “You're so sweet.” you whispered.

“You're so so beautiful.” he whispered back.

***

Later that night, you're checking some stats of your video, which did pretty well, it's nice to see that people like what you do. Suddenly you check the comments and you find good ones talking about your work and some rather curious ones, so to speak.

"Girl who's that cute guy in the background?"

"OMG! I’m so in love with this scarf! And… who is that cute guy who keeps walking behind you? 😍"

"He was so cute! I think he was watching you the whole time, so sweet."

"That boy walking behind you looked so so in love with you, it's adorable!"

"I'm totally distracted by the guy in the background. Can we see more of him?"

"Is that our daddy, mommy? 🫣🫣"

You blush when you see the comments, you didn't think that Charles had passed behind you while you were recording your video, and even while you were editing you didn't notice that small detail. Still, that doesn't bother you because he loves seeing you in your element, doing what you like and you do the same with him.

“Oh my gosh, I didn't even notice he was there.” you muttered to yourself, you turn to Charles, who is sitting beside you on the couch, reading a book. “Babes, I can't believe people are asking about you!” you say while giggling a little bit.

He looks up at you. “Hm? Really? What did they say, honey?” he says softly.

“Well, they think that you're so cute and adorable, and they want to see more of you!” you whispered.

You smile at him, your heart full of warmth because you've never been so happy! It’s amazing how much you're falling for Charles every single day. I mean, he’s smart, funny, cute, kind, and… well, kind of a nerd. And you love and adore every single bit of him.

“Oh, well, I'm glad they like me darling! But I think that you're the real star of the show.” he smiled and blushed.

You blushed too. “Aw, you are so cute, and very modest!” you give him a kiss on his cheeks, he blushed.

He giggled. “No, seriously honey, you are the star of the show.” he comes closer to you to hug you. “My precious girl.” he says in a soft whisper and then gives you a kiss on the lips. “So cute and creative!”

You just sigh and feel a flutter in your heart, being with him is something so precious, because it's such a cute, innocent love and you've never felt that way before.

He leans in. “Hey, remember that time you tried to make a soufflé and it exploded?”

You blushed at his words. “Oh my, please don't remind me that.”

“It was hilarious honey. You looked like a little flour-covered chef.” he smiled softly.

“Okay, okay, I admit it was a disaster.” you giggled.

He chuckled while taking off his glasses. “But that's what makes it fun!”

You lean closer to him too. “Hey babe, do you remember that time you tried to fix the printer and ended up breaking it?”

He groans. “Please don't remind me, baby. It was a huge mess!”

“But you looked so frustrated, it was adorable and cute.” you say softly while smiling at him.

“Yeah, well, you know I'm not the best at fixing things, but at least I try.” he said while chuckling.

“But you're the best at making me laugh.” you whispered and he giggled.

“And you're the best at making me smile and feel all fluffy inside.” he said while taking your hand.

You smile at him and give him a little kiss on the tip of his nose while he closes his eyes, you can't help but feel so happy and fluffy with him.

“So, what do you want to do tonight smarty-pants?” you asked him.

“Hmm... How about we order in pizza and watch a movie?” he says softly and you nodded. “Perfect! I'll order the pizza amour.” (love)

While he is waiting to place the pizza order, Charles starts calling you cute nicknames, something that is very common between you two, giving each other cute and adorable nicknames, it's like a kind of secret and comfort and cute language between you two.

“Hey, little cupcake, what kind of pizza do you want?” he asked softly and shyly at you, you smiled at the cute nickname.

“Ehm... I don't know, maybe pepperoni?” you say softly.

He fixes his glasses. “Pepperoni? That's so boring and basic, chérie... How about a Hawaiian?” (darling)

You make a face. “Ew, absolutely not, Charlie. Pineapple on pizza is a crime and it's so gross!”

He laughs. “A crime against humanity, you would say?” you nodded.

You laugh too. “Exactly! That's what it is.”

After ordering the pizza, Charles leans in and kisses you softly on the lips, you giggle between the kiss and he smiled softly.

He sighed softly. “Oh, I love you, little cupcake! You're such a cutie pie.”

You smiled at him while caressing his rosy cheeks. “I love you too, smarty-pants!” you kiss one of his cheeks. “You're such a cutie pie too!” you say while giggling and blushing a little bit.

The love and affection you feel towards Charles is immense, it's so nice to feel that way for someone as special and unique as him... And he and you complement each other a lot, and that is something very precious.

itsynusername

liked by carmenmmundt, logansargeant, oscarpiastri and others.

tagged charles_leclerc

itsynusername new video up besties! 🩷🐇🧶 (ft a cute little background star 🫶🏻🫶🏻)

see comments

user4 OMGGGGGGG HE WAS SO CUTE LOOKING AT YOU THE WHOLE VIDEO 🥺😭😭😭

carmenmmundt ahhhhh my time has come, it's time to knit <3

itsynusername heheh, i hope you like the tutorial bby 🤍🤍

georgerussell63 now you created a monster itsynusername

itsynusername it's not my fault that pretty girls want to knit 😋😋🤭 georgerussell63

user5 omg i loved the tut bestie, and your bf looked so cute behind you the whole vid 🥺🥺🥺 he looks so madly in love with you

liked by creator

lilymhe yassss, finallyyy bestie 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

user6 omgggg you and your bf are so cute 🥹🥰 my new fav couple

landonorris hahah, charles looked like a total simp

itsynusername lando shut up, please

charles_leclerc and what if i'm a simp of my girl? landonorris

user7 the best tut ever!!! Now I can wear cute scarfs this fall 🤎🍂

liked by creator

charles_leclerc my cute creative girl 🩷🧶

itsynusername hehe, love you baby 😭🫶🏻🫶🏻

charles_leclerc i love you too, my sweet girl 🤍🤍 i'm gonna need a scarf too, love 👉🏻👈🏻

itsynusername coming right up baby, don't worry about it sweetie 🤍🤍🤍

[ivorycello]

An Introduction to the Lifesteal SMP - Season 6 Starts on July 6th

The Premise 

Lifesteal is a competitive, PVP based soft-anarchy server, with one core gimmick: In the server, if you kill somebody, you can steal one of their permanent hotbar hearts, with a maximum of twenty hearts. If you drop down to zero hearts, you are banned off of the server, unless another player revives you with an expensive item called a revive beacon.  

One of the biggest draws in the fandom is the incredibly organic improv storytelling that arises from the server, with the competition extending past simple combat. Players clash as they all attempt to enact their own plans, creating moral and emotional conflicts that draw in stream viewers and make the server incredible to follow as events unfold. 

Watching Lifesteal Streams and attempting to have a complete picture of what is going on is very time intensive. Luckily, starting in season five, they do weekly sessions where the most important events usually happen.

How seasons work

Each season runs independently of each other, and the entire world resets when they move to a new season. 

There is no in-universe lore explanation for what happens during a season reset. Some streamers may choose to treat it like they’re playing a different character, but most choose to leave things that happened in previous seasons in the past while still acknowledging it. Knowing what happens in previous seasons may help you understand things more, but is not necessary in the slightest.

Is Lifesteal a roleplay server? Kinda, kinda not. 

Please respect that creators have different levels of interest in rp and are primarily on the server to make youtube videos of a particular niche.

Lifesteal is unscripted, though different players will create and enact elaborate plans with insane amounts of effort, but all of this is with the goal of a genuine, entertaining reaction. 

Most members enter every situation with the primary goal of creating a good video, and their actions often reflect this. Videos are designed to be standalone content. Each video tells a complete story, and doesn't often tie into other videos or arcs. Lifestealers will also twist the narrative in order to create a linear storyline, including changing the order of events, or even just straight up lying. (We’re looking at you, Mapicc.) Due to this, with few exceptions, it is near impossible to gain full context of an arc or event via video alone, as so much context and information will be glanced over or covered up. Streams are a much more reliable way of understanding the full story. 

New and leaving members

The eight new members announced so far for season six are:

Derapchu

Ecorridor

Chiefxd

Kaboodle

Flamefrags

SB737

Hannahxxrose

Manepear

Members who have left over the past season are:

ItzSubz_

Vitalasy

Parrotx2

Rekrap2

Poafa

Midmysticx

Branzycraft

Where to watch Lifesteal

There are a few active streamers and uploaders, who we will introduce below, and there is also a fan-run archive of all Lifestealer vods that you can access here.

The archive runs as far back as 2020, though only becomes mostly reliable around July 2022, when the project started. The archive also has links to every members’ youtube and twitch account, as well as any vod channel they may run themselves!

POV Recommendations Frequent Streamers: If you want a consistent pov to watch, and be able to follow a consistent storyline here are your best choices. PrinceZam: Zam was lifesteal’s most consistent streamer in previous seasons and puts a very large amount of effort into his rp and storytelling. Goes live at random times for long hours. Kaboodle: Kab is a new addition this season, but she consistently puts an incredible amount of effort into rp and storytelling. She streams most days at 7pm EST! ChiefXD: New Member who streams daily at 11am EST. HannahxxRose: New member, frequent streamer, but we don't know how her streaming style will adapt to lifesteal yet. Derapchu: He’s a little bit of a freak. Australian but has a bad sleep schedule so he streams at US friendly times or earlier. Does pretty long streams. Pangi: Has been on hiatus, but usually streams regularly around 2-4 PM EST at an EU friendly time for shorter hours. He typically does sillier, shorter projects. 4CVIT: Frequent streamer when he does stream, but may go inactive for long periods of time. Kinda roleplays, one of the better builders on the server and likes to keep projects secret from chat.

Honorable Mention: Follow these people anyway, they’ll probably go live for big events or random streams. Minutetech: Typically streams large events and sessions Mapicc: Occasionally streams, mostly important events Ashswag: Occasionally streams, mostly important events Jumper: Occasionally streams Bacon: Occasionally streams Woogie: Frequent streamer at the start of the season, but will become less active when college starts again for him Roshambogames: Occasionally Streams, mostly important Events

Youtube: Current Season: Frequent Uploads: Mapicc: Uploads frequently on main and 2nd channel, however he is known for lying a lot in his videos. It’s a little bit funny. Minutetech: Long videos about huge arcs, mostly truthful but may simplify some stuff. Wemmbu: Long videos about huge projects. FlameFrags: Medium length SMP videos. ChiefXD: Has an episodic style, we are not sure how that will change for lifesteal as he is a new member. Jumper: Mix of long form videos and short videos about a variety of topics. Squiddo: Fun, High Effort and Energy videos about a variety of topics. Lots of custom art. SB737: Uploads often but unsure if he will upload Lifesteal.

Do Not Upload as Frequently But Its Good When They Do Planetlord, Roshambogames, Ashswag, Spokeishere, Princezam, Baconnwaffles,     ECorridor, Pentar, Clownpierce

Past Seasons, we linked povs that cover full seasons or large amounts of a season, but other non listed members still have fantastic one off videos about single events or arcs. Link All Videos Playlist (updated infrequently)

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLiRXq4v6FXPn8D15UEAY6oZuPF23-NTG8 Mer S4 Summary Document

Lifesteal Season 4 Directory (public access version) Cog S4 Summary Doc

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1E0Mi2s64to6BzoAJuWHw16lnJpdEdYBXfd62tC7O0jY/edit?usp=sharing Minute S5 Videos: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL6xtt50MzkHWil_vQbgkll9rZTDyfI5k1 Spoke S4: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLYmAm1lW6hlgK3WHPORSYeC80PVNUuUcZ All Parrot Videos: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLu0onnEWPanttCW1zIfh25bQ_b5sBo8_p Clownzy S3 Videos: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLCUTLKqDTev0e1y9Paex97_KP-TpF6QIs

Squiddo S5: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlWJegiCG6X_iKkO-CEd6J9GMAhkzYjVn&si=Kx6lLPLZQeexGdio Baconnwaffles1: https://www.youtube.com/@baconnwaffles1/videos

Princezam S3: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLmPnYnLs0WLoJTEdRpFBMTS21X631LKtu&si=37bk0Gs1haPYOSEd Mapicc, warning. Unreliable Narrator. https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLsiSq_WYMOAV7HPEqn8QY_981n19u2qO0 Roshambo: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLaa_QQN2V8hZ78ACgXFOGt4tGcfDPTp_B

Stream Etiquette

Do not stream snipe / metagame, which includes sharing or hinting at any info whatsoever, even silly things, about another creators playthrough that the streamer wouldn’t know otherwise, you will get banned in all lifestealers chats. Information revealed via videos is considered fair game.

Do not backseat game or backseat lore Lifesteal Members on Tumblr

Several Lifesteal members have public tumblr accounts they use to varying degrees. Because of this, we use the #Lifesteal Spoilers tag to mark posts they shouldn't see because of metagaming reasons or when we just don’t want them to see it. They’re mostly chill, please just block them if you don’t want to deal with them. hdusa - Princezam lowkeywaffling - Baconnwaffles0 Neverpoor - Ashswag TheRealSquiddo- Squiddo BigPangolinMan - Pangi

Fancontent:

Lifesteal has a big fanartist community and we encourage you to join in!

Duo Name List

Lifesteal Animatics and Edits Wormhole Zine

Minecraft Roleplay Analysis -  Barrier Blocks

[revelboo]

Been rereading es soundwave and just..thinking of all the old memes for him. Current favorite is The one dog vine "He don't bite" "YES HE DO"

😂

He definitely does

Son of a Gun Pt 3

TF Earthspark Soundwave x Reader

• “Why do we have a squishy?” Squinting up at the other smaller humanoid alien as they nudge you with a ped, you glare as big bird hops up to sit on you. Head dropping and to your surprise, he bites through the extension cords. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay?” Sitting up slowly as soon as he hops off of you, you start untangling yourself. Glance at where the alien poster boy for anger management has his back to you poking at something on a tall shelf, then at the smaller two. And then at the wide open door. “Don’t,” big bird growls as you make a mad bid for freedom and the other small Cybertronian starts cackling in delight.

• Snarling when he hears you take off, he turns and tracks you. Watches you until you reach the door and then lifts his arm, palm out. One pulse is all it takes for you to crumple with a cry of pain, hands clapped over your ears as you writhe. Striding over as your eyes stream and you cringe into a ball, he stares down at you. “Next time, it’ll hurt,” he growls as you glare up at him. That defiant look sparking through him as his servos flex. Ignorant little savage just glaring up at him, completely unrepentant.

• Next time? Feels like he blew out your eardrums this time, his words muffled under the feeling of your ears being stuffed with cotton. Eyes watering as big bird wings over to sit on you, head cocked, you groan. “I tried to warn you,” he says. And the other, the punk rock wannabe looking one, crouches and prods you with a servo, while the big guy growls and stalks back to whatever he’d been doing. “So, you gonna bail again?” Punk Rock asks as you just lay there. You’d never imagined sound could hurt so bad.

• Hands stilling on his project as Ravage leaps up onto the shelf and tips her head slightly, he watches her look at the other cassettes. As curious about the human as the other two, but less willing to investigate. Reaching out to scratch along her jaw, he listens to Frenzy and Lazerbeak peppering you with questions. Knows the two get bored of being cooped up, but it’s for their own safety. With all the infighting going on, he’s not sure who he can trust and they’re all so small. Fragile. His to protect whether they like it or not. Head turning slightly as you sit up and Lazerbeak shifts into your lap. Almost certain the cassette is trying to keep you from running again. Cause that look on your face? You definitely will try again.

• Hands lifting away from Big Bird as he settles in your lap, before you can tell him to move, Punk Rock is grabbing your wrist to examine your nails. “I shouldn’t be here,” you mutter, stiffening when Big Bird tugs at your shirt with his beak. “I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you,’” he says, head tipping to indicate his scary, what? Daddy? Murder hobo uncle? Adopted serial killer? “I’m Frenzy, that’s Ravage with the boss. You know Lazerbeak,” she says refusing to let go of your hand when you try to tug free of her examination of your chipped polish. Glancing up at anger issues daddy, because with that build, you’ve settled on him being daddy. Why does an alien robot need a waist like that? Spotting the third small Cybertronian staring at you with wide optics, you offer it a smile. And big and scary turns to glare at you as though feeling your stare. Somehow managing to convey so much hatred with so little of his expression visible. Skin prickling, you look away first. “So, do you like rock and roll?”

Previous

Next

[hyunjincanraptoo]

Hi!!! First off I just wanted to say your writing is absolutely astonishing! And you are one of the main reasons that Hyunjin is bias wrecking me rn!!

Secondly, I think that Prompt 12 could be so adorable!!! Especially with your writing!

You are so amazing! Stay healthy and hydrated, Mwah!! <3

Hi, anon! Omg you are so cute, ily 🫶 Idk who is your bias BUT i have to say it: come to Hyunjin side of the force muahah. It's an adorable place filled with love.

Stay healthy and hydrated as well, my love 💜

This is from my prompt list. Pick a number and send it to my asks 😊

Word count: 573

No warnings

Alexa, play Pink+White by Frank Ocean

Painting each other’s bodies instead of canvases

The plan was just the two of you innocently  painting together in the sunlit room, soft music filling the air, brushes and palettes scattered around. You were supposed to work on separate canvases. That was the idea.

But Hyunjin had his own plans.

He hummed softly along to the song playing in the background as you dipped your brush into pale pink. You were in the process of adding a little more color to the canvas when he, with a mischievous grin, leaned forward and swiped a streak of blue across your cheek. You gasped, feeling personally offended, “Did you just really…?”

Without letting him finish his laugh, you grabbed a fresh color and dabbed a streak of yellow across the bridge of his nose, “Now you match the sky” you teased, grinning— satisfied with your revenge.

From there, things got out of control quickly.

After a paint war, brushes traveling centimeter by centimeter across skin and splashes flying throughout the entire room, Hyunjin, thriving in his playful spirit, took a step back, lifting his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. The moment his buzzcut, dyed in pink, glinted under the sunlight, you caught yourself staring— his abdomen tightening as he moved, the faint lines of muscle flexing with every movement, the way his skin glowed in the light. Though, of course, you weren’t going to admit it.

“Your canvas is ready” “Oh, I see”, you said, tone teasing, “You just wanted me to paint on you”. Hyunjin hummed again, this time a little louder, “You know you want to”, he said, his voice light, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

With no argument needed, you dipped your brush into lavender, and gently painted a swirl along the curve of his collarbone, smiling when he closed his eyes with a soft hum of satisfaction. “Is this a new art project?”, he asked, his voice a playful tease.“Only if you stop looking so good. Otherwise I won't show you off to others”, you teased back, running your fingers across his arm, adding tiny strokes of color to his skin. He grinned at that, clearly enjoying the moment.

You painted little flowers on his shoulder, and he reciprocated by running his fingers over your arm, delicate and soft, painting you with lines that seemed to dance along with your movements. “Baby, you look like a walking sunset”, he whispered, brushing a thumb across your painted skin. You smiled and leaned forward, leaving a soft kiss on his shoulder, “And you look like art”, you said, breathlessly.

There was no rush, no pressure to make anything perfect. Just the sound of Hyunjin humming under his breath, the sensation of soft brushes and splattered paint, and the warmth of sunlight streaming through the window.

You both ended up lying on the floor full of paint stains, your bodies covered in color, hearts full of love. You were both too caught up in the moment to notice the strokes of pink on his nose. Your ear was gently pressed against his chest, listening to his calm and steady heartbeat while his arms wrapped you tightly. “Next time”, you murmured, eyes closed in a relaxed, peaceful flow, “Let’s skip the canvases from the start”

Hyunjin chuckled softly, his voice low and close to your ear, “Deal”.

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

[kiaxet]

HOW ABOUT THAT @somerandomdudelmao DISASTER TWIN REUNION, HUH

Went a little feral to the tune of 2.2K words of self-indulgence. What else is new?

~~~~~~~

Donnie can't sleep. More accurately, he won't sleep. Not until he's done. He'd never been one to leave a project unfinished; death and resurrection hadn't changed that.

He taps incessantly, repetitively, on a keyboard and screen, the motions long since past inputting data and now only serving to keep him awake. The repetition is soothing, easy, and - counterintuitively - he finds his head drooping forward into sleep-

And he snaps back upright. No. Not until he can confirm Leo is okay.

Leo is behind him, he knows. Breathing. In bed. Asleep. Very much alive. And-

He jumps and whips around as a thud sounds behind him. "What the-"

Leo is on the floor.

Well, that answers the question as to whether his twin is awake.

For a fraction of a second, part of him wavers uncertainly. He loves his idiot twin. The question he hasn't been able to answer is whether his reaction to Leo waking up will fall on love or idiot twin-

"Leo!"

He can hear the exasperation in his voice, and yep, it's the latter. He takes a knee next to Leo and hauls him into his arms, lecturing him all the while, and if he can hear the annoyance in his voice then Leo sure as hell can. Sleep deprivation for the purposes of keeping his brother's soul alight had done nothing for his temper. "I swear to God, all you had to do was make a sound! Why are you such a difficult patient?"

He deposits Leo carefully on the bed - "Sit still!" - and checks him over, running every scan he can think of and making sure his brother's new body really is in good working order, spouting increasingly irritated commentary all the while. Of course the fall didn't hurt him - Leo is tougher than that, and Donnie does better work than that - but he still can't help the rising anxiety in his throat.

This almost didn't happen.

"-stupid, stupid selfless idiot!"

Donnie almost couldn't save him.

"Grrhh-"

Leo nearly died for real. Permanently beyond Donnie's reach. Well and truly gone-

"Do you have any idea how close you were to having nothing left to save?"

And now here Leo is, in perfect health, sitting on Donnie's bed with a big dopey grin on his face as Donnie chokes on his anxiety and damn near shakes himself apart-

Oh for fuck's sake.

"Hey. Are you even listening?"

Leo speaks up for the first time since he's woken up, voice shaky from disuse. "D-Donnie?"

And that is not a goddamn answer to anything Donnie has been saying, because of course it isn't. It's Leo. He's always had his own priorities. "Yeah. No. You're not fucking listening." Donnie heaves a long-suffering sigh, sinking back into the routine comfort that irritation at his twin provides. "At least you're talking." Small favors. "Although I'm surprised you're not throwing your stupid jokes at me." Even smaller favors.

He stops short as Leo's hand closes around his wrist, drawing Donnie's arm to Leo's plastron. "You're real," his brother breathes, looking from Donnie's hand to Donnie himself with tears streaming down his face. "You're real!"

And then, in the space of a thought, Leo's joy breaks, his smile turning desperate. "Are you?"

For a moment, Donnie stares at his twin, wondering at the sudden change in expression. He takes a breath-

And the part of him that had lain dormant for so long after he'd woken up - the part of him that had been screaming for his twin's safety ever since they'd recovered the few scattered embers of Leo's soul - gasps to life, blooming like a time-lapse video of a flower and reaching to the edges of Donnie's soul. Leo had called it their twin sense, and Donnie hadn't had it in him to argue after a while. Whatever it is, it's back, connected to Leo's renewed presence, and-

Donnie's heart floods with emotions. Relief and joy sprout quickly and are nearly swept away in a tide of exhaustionanxietyfearfearfearfearFEAR-

But down beneath it all, steady against the rising wall of terror, is the little blue spark of hope that his brother always carried. His core. The thing that let him continue on in the face of insurmountable odds, and lent that same strength to everyone around him. A ninja's greatest weapon.

It's Leo. It's Leo-

And Donnie can't leave him alone in his fear. Not when there's no need for it. Not when they're safe.

He lets that breath out, and sits next to Leo on the bed. "Mhm. I'm alive. And you're alive. We're safe. The Krang are gone." That's all the news that's fit to print, or at least the most important parts. What else does he have to say?

Oh.

"I'm sorry I..uh…"

He's sorry he what? Died? Left a mess for Leo to deal with? Didn't do enough while he was alive to keep everyone else alive in turn after he was gone? Kept his brother's soul in a fucking mug, because that was the only way he could ensure he wouldn't break it while Leo was still fragile? All of the above?

…yeah, it's all of the above.

He owes Leo one hell of an apology, and he's never been good at any of this, so instead he shrugs haplessly and leans forward, pulling Leo into his arms and hanging on tight.

It's a matter of moments before Leo has him flat on his shell on the bed and is sobbing into his arms. Normally he'd hate seeing his twin cry, but it's proof of life - proof that Leo made it, that his soul is intact enough for him to still be Leo, that he's alive and awake and here - and Donnie will take it.

And if he's squeezing Leo back pretty hard himself, well, that's fine too. Nobody else needs to know.

~~~~~~~

Donnie is yelling at him.

Donnie is strong enough to have picked Leo up off the ground, well enough to be on his feet without support, running tests and reading Leo the riot act over his latest boneheaded maneuver - in this case, forgetting he was missing an arm and falling out of bed.

Donnie is yelling at him, because Donnie is here to yell at him.

And Leo is smiling, because he couldn't be happier. He lets the words wash over him, draping over his shoulders like a favorite cozy blanket that he'd lost so many years ago, and he basks in the warmth that is his brother's voice and smiles.

It's enough to interrupt the yelling for a question, though he doesn't really hear it - just keeps smiling, and says Donnie's name, and it's so nice to be able to say it with a smile now, because Donnie is here-

-he is, right? This isn't just a dying hallucination on Leo's part, right?

(It couldn't be- he remembers his death, remembers breathing his last, remembers being trapped- but this-)

He reaches out, taking Donnie's wrist in hand, and pulls his brother closer to him. "You're…real…" It certainly feels real - skin and scales, softer than his own, and his fingers barely fit all the way around the wrist instead of encircling them with room to spare - and he stares down at it, tears rolling down his face as he finally looks back up at his twin. "You're real!"

The Krang show you what you want to see.

The thought strikes him unbidden, turning his joy and relief to ice. It's a well-known fact: a Krang infection can show its host what they want to see, visions of comfort and family and home, and extract intel from the host's reactions. He knows that- he knows that, and-

And he'd died surrounded by Krang- and even if he couldn't see or hear or feel, he knows he'd been held captive-

But it's Donnie- he wants this to be real- he needs this to be real- he wants his twin back so badly he can't think, and the idea that this could be a Krang hallucination is almost too much to bear-

"Are you?" He can hear how choked the words are as they leave his lips, but he needs to know-

And Donnie stops, and sits down next to him, and tells him everything he wants to hear - everything he could've ever wished for. They're alive. They're safe. The Krang are gone. It all sounds too good to be true.

And then Donnie offers him an apology and a sad half-smile, pulling him into a strong hug-

And the ice in Leo's mind shatters in a flood of warmth as his twin sense opens for the first time since Donnie's death. He feels his twin's irritation, and deep-seated exhaustion, and a choking wave of guiltguiltguiltguiltguilt-

And beneath it all, steady and strong as ever, the thrum of unending determination, powered by an unfathomably deep well of love. It's the backbeat to the melody of Leo's life, the point-counterpoint to his own heartbeat- it's something he'd never had to live without until he did, but it's back, rushing in to fill the silence he'd known with the strength to go on and the knowledge that he is loved loved loved, strong and overwhelming and all-encompassing in the way only Donnie can love-

It's something the Krang could never imitate.

This is real. This is all real-

He throws himself against his twin, toppling them both over on the bed as he clings to Donnie, unable to stand even a fraction of an inch of space between them, as though he could push their hearts together through their plastrons, and he cries, sobbing out worry and terror and grief and the slow, crushing exhaustion of a losing battle finally lost. He cries as though the world was ending - and it had, once when the Krang had invaded and again every time he'd lost a member of his family, over and over until he'd sent his last hope through a portal that had cost his littlest brother his life and succumbed to death himself.

And now he's alive. Here, wherever here is, with Donnie. Clinging to his twin, and being held in turn as Donnie gently sits them both up, never letting go as Leo cries himself out.

It takes a while - long enough for Leo's gaze to settle into a stare and his thoughts to settle into a comfortable static. He's alive, Donnie is alive, and he has no fucking idea what else is going on, but he's just going to be okay with that for now.

His thoughts rouse enough to inform him of something wrong - the line of tension Donnie is carrying down his neck and over his shoulders. That won't do. Leo could try to massage it out with one hand, maybe try to get Donnie to talk about it, but Donnie never likes to talk about it, and Leo isn't one for slowly soothing away tension when he can just take an axe to the release valve instead. Plus, it gives him something definite to focus on, instead of…this whole situation. Whatever 'this whole situation' actually is.

Donnie had mentioned his stupid jokes, right?

"H-hey Dee?" His voice wavers from disuse, thick with tears, but he pushes through. "Why did- why did the tree buy a camera?"

"What?" Oh, Donnie is not going to see this coming. Excellent.

"To do a photosynthesis." It's nowhere near the level of pizazz he normally uses for a punchline delivery - he's still too tired and frazzled and clinging to Donnie entirely too hard for that - but that beautiful pause of a terrible joke sinking in tells him it had hit home nonetheless. Donnie moves - he can hear the telltale slap of face meeting palm - and then breaks down into helpless laughter, smacking the back of Leo's shell as the tension Leo had felt in his twin's shoulders abruptly relaxes. Good. It worked.

"This is so fucking stupid," is all Donnie manages as his laughter fades, and he slumps fully against Leo with a murmur. That's...abrupt. Sure, Leo had felt Donnie's exhaustion, but he hadn't realized it'd been that bad. He takes hold of Donnie, gently laying him down on the bed to rest-

Remember what happened last time Donnie fell asleep next to you.

He gasps sharply at the thought - not again NEVER again - and keeps his hand steady as he moves, laying both fingers gently against Donnie's neck and feeling for his pulse. It's easy to find, strong and steady and even, like it had been before the infection had taken Donnie's vitality and then his life.

But he's alive, and healthy, and sleeping. He's okay. And Leo-

Leo moves his hand to the side of his own neck. His pulse is also easy to find, quickened with the adrenaline of an unknown situation and multiple consecutive shocks to his system.

Okay. Take stock. Assess. Figure out a plan from there.

He's alive. Donnie's alive. The Krang are gone. And everything else…is a big fat question mark, with no easy answers and no indication as to where to begin looking for them.

Well.

Uh.

"What the fuck," Leo whispers to the room at large, as though the walls could answer.

~~~~~~~

(A world away and still very close, a younger pair of twins cling to one another the way a drowning man clings to driftwood: desperately, clutching tight, as though letting go will spell their doom. Neither of them know where the emotions came from, or why; all they know is that each of them are damn glad the other is alive, and they'll do everything they can to make sure that continues to be the case.)

(What the fuck, indeed.)

[yandere-sins]

Prisoner #006

a/n: A spin on the usual yandere situation, but this story has been sitting in my drafts for a while, I think it's time to release it ^^

Fandom: Genshin Impact Characters: Yandere!Prisoner!GN!Reader x Prisoner!Kaveh Warnings: Yandere, Violence (Reader is being psycho, lost of mentioning of murder and death, Reader stabs someone... a few times, Scratching, Intimidation, Threats, Cornering and intruding on personal space), Long Post

[Prison Project Introduction | Pinterest Moodboard]

Kaveh should have been afraid.

Deep down, he believed he wasn't as stupid and gullible as everyone made him out to be, and yet, he sat still as you drew meaningless little patterns into his skin. The stolen pen scratched over his arm, leaving the area next to the ink red and agitated, but he didn't have it in him to tell you to stop.

You've been a depressed mess since you came to prison, not your typical murderer behind bars. He'd been dealing with a lot of them, and if they weren't the psychotic type, they were haughty and always up for cruel jokes.

But not you. You were... peaceful.

Even when you cried and begged him not to hurt you after you've been brought to his cell despite his protests, the air around you was calm. Unlike the storm of personalities outside the bars of your cell, Kaveh actually managed to think in peace when he was around you. He had learned to navigate and time his way around the prison. Still, with the ruckus and disgusting things happening in the shadowy corners, there was never any space for him to let go and relax for a while—until he met you.

The knowledge about your prolific murders should have upset him enough to keep his distance, but you reminded him too much of himself when he first came here. Scared and unable to go anywhere without being harassed by the others. You clung to him desperately when he told you to tag along to the cafeteria on your first night, and you still asked him to go to the washrooms with you for safety. Kaveh couldn't blame you for being scared. It was a scary world, outside and inside of this prison.

So even though he knew about your wrong-doings, he let you scribble your marks on him in ink. You were humming a song he hadn't heard before, your mind in your own world as you left butterfly wings and flower petals on his skin, and Kaveh honestly had no complaints. Coming here, art had become sparse around him, the radio rarely running, the TV filled with sports but never dancing or acting. The paintings on the walls leading to the facilities were, frankly, hideous copies of capitalistic emphasis, and the prison layout was a smack in the face of any architect.

And then there was you. Not a Picasso per definition, but you drew the patterns effortlessly, unbothered by pressure to perform and perfectionism. Every stroke of the ballpoint pen was all you, not a style you worked to learn or something you copied from another artist. It was all and truly just you. Kaveh had no idea how much he could admire someone—even someone as terrible as you. But he did.

"Let's leave from here. Together."

The words slipped from his lips before he could even think about them. Alhaitham's plan of escaping was still fresh, depending on some hacker he met in this prison, and Kaveh should have never talked about it so casually. He couldn't promise it, couldn't say it would actually work. But when you stopped scribbling, he realized his mistake, looking up at you in horror over his own blabbermouth.

Only to be met with tears streaming from your eyes.

"You'd take me with you? After all I've done?" you mumbled, rubbing the back of your hand over your eyes.

"You... you didn't do it to me. We could start over, somewhere new. Somewhere no one knows our faces and just... live. Quietly and unknown. Only if you want to come... with me."

For a long moment, you stared at him. Unblinking, unreadable. Your arms were thrown forward, wrapping around his neck before your whole body jumped into his lap, discarding the pen and leaving it to clatter on the floor. "Yes!" you agreed euphorically, smiling from ear to ear.

Kaveh felt the heat rush into his face, happiness prickling in the corners of his eyes as he hugged you back. It almost felt like you agreed to marry him, rather than just join him on the escape. But he knew then that he'd work hard to become the man you needed in the future. Someone reliable, someone who could provide you with a life that wouldn't need you killing anybody anymore. So that the dream of you two living together in peace could become reality.

«──────── 🗡♡ ︎𓍝 ────────»

Kaveh should have been afraid.

Deep down, he was as stupid and gullible as everyone told him. He believed that you could turn over a new leaf. Running away with you could become a new start, different from the pitiful life you two had. That the two of you could live away from cruelty and bloodshed, in peace and quiet and togetherness.

And yet, he was staring down at the cold-blooded killer he fell in love with. Whose trap had been placed so subtly that Kaveh ran right into it. He didn't even know you had a knife ready on the day of your escape, and there was no one left—alive—aside from you two to turn to. Everyone who had fled had spread into different directions, and now it was only him and you and the dead corpses of the police that had caught up to you.

It was his fault, entirely so. They might have survived this encounter if he hadn't gotten close to you and you hadn't been convinced to run away with him. Had he not gotten himself caught, maybe you wouldn't have turned back to help him and had kept running instead, far, far away. Perhaps you wouldn't have pulled out your blade and killed these innocent men who were only doing their job to keep unruly people away from society. That kept psychos like you away from more victims to massacre.

"[Name]..." Kaveh stammered, not believing his own, wide-open eyes. The hand he was holding out towards you was shaking violently as he watched you slam the knife into the policeman's back again and again, blood spraying all over you and the squelching sound of flesh being stabbed echoing through the forest. Somehow, he had gotten back on his feet after being tackled to the ground. However, now that he had to watch you defend him so violently, Kaveh wished he had stayed face-down in the dirt.

"GET YOUR HAND OFF HIM! HE'S MINE!" you kept yelling at the dead body, and Kaveh couldn't help but feel pity for the guy as you mauled him. "YOU CAN'T HAVE HIM! HE BELONGS TO ME! HE'S MINE! MINE!"

Your voice was a screech in the dark, possessiveness thrumming in every word you screamed. Even if you two had grown closer the last few days, Kaveh couldn't understand your thoughts. Although you had protected him, seeing the blood drip off you in the moonlight only sent shivers down his spine rather than thankfulness. And where he felt a crush bloom in his heart before, there was nothing but terror and disgust left.

"[Name]--" he tried again, this time a little firmer as he grabbed your shoulder.

Instantly, you whirled around, fury and madness in your eyes. The bloody blade swiped up his arms, cutting up the beautifully drawn pattern left by you. Kaveh knew it was just an accident, but he couldn't help but yell, "Ow!" holding his own arm firmly against his chest as he stared at you fearfully. Stumbling back, he tripped over a root, the pain of collapsing to the ground shaking him, but fear forced him to keep watching you. What if he was your next victim? Nothing about you screamed trustworthy, and yet, when you came to your senses, you changed completely.

Suddenly, your body went slack, eyes swelling up with tears as you looked at him. "Kaveh!" you sobbed, the knife falling to the ground as you stumbled to your feet, knees buckling so you collapsed into the dirt before him. You stretched out your arms, but this time, Kaveh managed to jerk away, avoiding your blood-soaked hug.

However, you were just a little faster than him. A little more alert. You managed to grab the wounded arm, your tears stinging as they fell into his wound. Leaning over his limb, you cried bitterly, but Kaveh couldn't help but try and tug his arm from your hands. Immediately, your crying stopped, fingers clawing into your skin as he tried to get you off him—no success.

"You can't leave me!" you sobbed, looking up with tears in your eyes. Manipulative tears, as Kaveh began to realize, the reality starting to dawn on him. "I love you! We'll have a life together! We'll go somewhere no one knows us! I won't kill again, I promise! I just didn't want them to hurt you... I wanted them to leave you alone! I won't do it again, I can be harmless, I promise!"

His gut wrenched, hearing you throw his words back at him. Now knowing how easy it was for you to end someone's life, how much of a crazy person you really were, it felt like he was the one that had been gutted. Maybe everything would be fine this time, but Kaveh couldn't justify it with himself to find out. Your hands were already so bloody; no trying to pretend you were normal was going to wash away your sins. At least he never killed someone. He couldn't imagine someone doing it as easily as you had, not even thinking twice before attacking.

"N-No..." he stammered, unable to put all these feelings into words.

"No?" you repeated, the tears stopping suddenly. "What do you mean 'no'? I saved you, didn't I? Without me, you'd be the dead one!"

Your tone changed so quickly that it scared him to the bone. The fire started back up in your eyes as you glared at him. Kaveh felt your nails dig into his arm, tearing apart layers of skin as your anger turned towards him.

"You won't leave me! You can't leave me!"

With your voice raising back into screeching, Kaveh shuddered, eyeing the knife that laid out of reach. You didn't need it, your nails cutting into his flesh just as painfully. Fear was mangling every muscle in his body, making them tense and tainting his judgment.

"O-okay," he stuttered out, and immediately, the pressure vanished. Your shoulders slacked, and a smile crept back on your lips as you whispered, "Thank god..."

You hunched over his wounded arm, now punctured by your nails and the cut starting to dry up. The next thing Kaveh felt was wetness wiping over his wounds, your tongue lapping off the blood that stained him, whether it was his or the one dripping from you.

"I love you," you mumbled while licking. "I love you, Kaveh. You're so nice, so sweet. You're perfect, and you're mine. All mine. Kaveh, Kaveh, Kaveh..."

Looking down at the unsightly view before him, Kaveh couldn't help but pity himself. Had he known what he got himself into, could he have prevented this? Which version of you had been the real one, and had you pretended to be sweet and shy, tricking him into this all this time? Or was it real? So many questions and so few answers. All he could think of was how he had been scammed yet again as he watched the ink smear from your licking, the beautifully drawn butterflies vanishing alongside those in his belly, all of them dropping dead.

And now, Kaveh was afraid.

[n1ght0f-nyx]

mha boys with their quirkless au! jobs- Headcanons

i got bored and im procrastinating actual fics so here this is ig!! characters- izuku midoryria, katsuki bakugo, shoto todoroki, denki kamanari, ejirio Kirishima, fumikage tokoyami, koji koda, mezo shoji, tamaki amajiki, hanta sero, tenya iida

Izuku Midoriya - Detective or Analyst

Majorly detail-oriented, he over-prepares and strategizes with backup plans for his backup plans.

Known for highly detailed reports; they’re both impressive and a tad overwhelming.

Can get totally absorbed in research, like spending entire days analyzing social media for clues.

Frequently says, "The clues were there—you just had to look," as if narrating a detective show.

Runs on coffee and protein bars, completely invested in his cases.

His desk looks chaotic with notes and photos scattered everywhere, but he knows exactly where everything is.

Becomes the “did you know?” person at social gatherings, sharing obscure trivia.

His obsessive streak makes him revisit case files repeatedly.

Gets overly excited about new gadgets, especially anything with a “zoom and enhance” function.

Katsuki Bakugo - Personal Trainer or Chef

Commands with intensity, whether grilling someone in the gym or grilling steaks in the kitchen.

In the gym, he pushes clients to their limits, which they both dread and love him for.

He’s as knowledgeable about nutrition as he is about weightlifting—skip his advice at your peril.

Takes skipping leg day personally, calling it "a disgrace to all athletes."

Wins every cook-off but hates it when people compliment his food; he’s all business in the kitchen.

Runs his kitchen like boot camp—there’s no messing around under his watch.

Works out even on his days off; he’s fueled by the grind.

Secretly rolls his eyes at fitness influencers but will do a protein shake tutorial for cash.

Yells, “Do you want to stay weak?!” if he catches anyone cheating reps.

“Self-care” to him is just a mental strength exercise; you toughen up or move out.

Shoto Todoroki - Lawyer or Therapist

Reserved and perceptive, he’d be a formidable lawyer, calm and unshakable in court.

Not overly enthusiastic about his work, but he knows he’s great at it.

While people think he’s distant, he’s actually very empathetic and insightful.

Straightforward yet gentle, his clients appreciate his no-nonsense therapeutic approach.

As a lawyer, he’d specialize in taking down the unjust, handling high-stakes cases with ease.

Owns a vast collection of ties, barely noticing the variety himself but others sure do.

Prefers listening, making his quiet presence seem mysterious.

Treats himself to something small after big victories, like a quiet solo ice cream celebration.

Misses jokes occasionally, but people find his delayed reactions endearing.

Known for offering thoughtful advice, especially to those questioning life choices.

Denki Kaminari - DJ or Social Media Influencer

Natural at hyping up a crowd, making DJing feel effortless.

All about good vibes, even if it means playing crowd-pleasers more than deep cuts.

Boasts a huge social media following, constantly interacting with fans.

Always a few days behind trends but plays it off like he’s an innovator.

Gets sidetracked on live streams, responding to comments like he’s hanging out with friends.

Calls his fans “Denki-squad” and treats them like his close pals.

Buys flashy gadgets that he half-understands how to use, just for the aesthetic.

Always “goes live” if anything remotely exciting is happening around him.

Knows every meme song, dropping them like he's got an internal playlist.

Excessive with hashtags, yet somehow it works for his brand.

Eijiro Kirishima - Firefighter or Construction Worker

First in line to respond to an emergency, he’d run into a burning building without hesitation.

Embodies responsibility, always ready to go above and beyond.

Dedicates free time to community projects like building playgrounds.

Known for drinking multiple protein shakes daily to keep up his strength.

Takes pride in being reliable, volunteering for extra shifts to support the team.

Appears in firefighter calendars, where his popularity skyrockets.

Has a small following of neighborhood kids who adore him.

Constantly cracks dad jokes, his hearty laugh always filling the room.

Gets good-natured ribbing from his friends, but his solid character makes it easy to take.

Saves lives like it’s just another day, then heads to the gym for an after-work workout.

Fumikage Tokoyami - Poet or Author

Writes in dim, cozy coffee shops with dark, atmospheric vibes.

Known for abstract poetry that sometimes only he fully grasps.

When he’s not writing, he’s buried in gothic literature.

Runs a mysterious blog where he posts poems and eerie stories.

Takes his coffee black, no sugar—anything else would compromise the flavor.

Friends think he’s enigmatic, though he’s simply introverted.

Dresses like every day is a moody poetry reading, favoring dark attire and unique accessories.

Quietly garners a following for his “haunting” works but never tells a soul.

Rarely performs live, but when he does, he’s met with enthusiastic finger-snaps.

Keeps a journal that’s practically sacred—he won’t let anyone read it.

Koji Koda - Park Ranger or Vet Tech

Gentle with every creature, treating each animal encounter like a treasured interaction.

Knows endless animal facts, stopping hikes to point out specific birds and plants.

Considers the forest a second home and refers to animals by names he’s given them.

Animals instinctively trust him; he’s practically an animal whisperer.

Loves natural remedies and can talk about herbs like they’re magic.

Has a way of convincing people to adopt pets because they’re just “so cute.”

Blushes when praised for his kindness; it’s just who he is.

Popular with kids who love his animal knowledge and gentle nature.

Known for leading long, informative nature walks, always taking his time.

Prefers animals over people most days and has countless photos of rescued animals.

Mezo Shoji - Wilderness Survival Guide or Youth Counselor

The “quiet giant” on outdoor trips, guiding with a protective watch over everyone.

Preps gear meticulously, never forgetting a single item.

Has a knack for discovering secluded, scenic camping spots.

Amazing with kids, his steady nature makes him a beloved camp counselor.

Has a calm, reassuring vibe that draws people in effortlessly.

Knows endless survival skills; always has a tip or trick in his back pocket.

Enjoys nighttime hikes, talking about constellations in a thoughtful, poetic way.

Treats each trip like an important bonding experience, bringing the group together.

Carries spare marshmallows because he knows someone always forgets.

Compassionate and patient, especially with less outdoorsy folks, quietly setting them at ease.

Tamaki Amajiki - Marine Biologist or Florist

Thrives quietly in his element, tending to ocean life or delicate blooms.

Committed to preserving marine habitats, he’s passionate but too shy to boast.

His deep knowledge surprises people when he speaks up, making an impact.

Friends are amazed by his niche knowledge—he could ramble about coral reefs for hours.

His floral arrangements are carefully crafted, almost reverent in their precision.

Quietly determined to protect the environment, joining cleanups or advocacy events.

Adds hidden messages to flower arrangements, though few notice the subtle artistry.

In marine biology, he’s published numerous papers on sea creatures, always under the radar.

Works with kids effortlessly, they love his gentle explanations.

Finds joy in rare plants or marine life, though he blushes if anyone mentions it.

Hanta Sero - Event Planner or Stunt Coordinator

Organized to the last detail, he keeps his events running like clockwork.

Can handle last-minute emergencies with a calm, “I got this” approach.

In the stunt world, he’s dedicated to safety, while making things fun and exciting.

Adrenaline junkie, he loves ziplining, bungee jumping, and anything that feels risky.

He’s a great listener, always taking others’ ideas to make events inclusive.

Stays cool under pressure, adapting quickly to whatever comes his way.

Good at making tiny changes on the fly, never losing sight of the big picture.

Finds the best deals for supplies, he’s got a knack for party logistics.

Ensures killer sound systems, knowing good music elevates any event.

Somehow pulls off a laid-back vibe even while he’s juggling a million tasks.

Tenya Iida - Professor or Physical Trainer

The professor who hands out a 20-page syllabus but genuinely believes it’s necessary.

Known for his strict yet fair approach, he challenges students but offers support.

Obsessive about lesson plans, updating them constantly for “maximum efficiency.”

In the gym, he’s relentless about proper form and discipline.

Can’t handle slacking, probably shuts the door precisely five minutes after class starts.

Students tease him, but they secretly appreciate his rigor and dedication.

Motivated by improvement, he’s always seeking ways to upgrade his methods.

Hyped to offer inspirational speeches that are almost intimidating in their passion.

Puts extra time into student support; he’s the go-to for anyone serious about self-betterment.

[ficsbyabby]

A Rough Morning

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Warnings: Periods, injury mention, a load of badly written fluff

Words: 861

a/n: This is the most self-indulgent thing I've ever done. It's been a rough month, filled with procedures, sickness, and a car accident. All I wanted when on my period, was someone to cuddle with. And thus, this was born. It is not good, but maybe it'll be comforting to someone else.

:readmore:

Dividers from @firefly-in-darkness

There was nothing worse than waking up in a cold bed alone. At least, that was how you felt today. You woke up without Steve in your bed and all the man did was leave a note. You had asked him time and time again to wake you up when he had to go on missions late at night, but he never listened. He insisted that you looked so peaceful sleeping. Normally this wouldn't bother you (for longer than a few minutes, that is) but this wasn't a normal day.

It was shark week, hell week, Aunt Flo's visit. Whatever you wanted to call it, it was awful and all you wanted was to cuddle up to Steve. The serum increased his metabolism, which meant that he ran hot. So when he was there, he was your own personal heating pad. But alas, Steve was not here, leaving you to find a real heating pad, and maybe some chocolate.

Groaning as a cramp ripped through your lower abdomen, you rolled out of bed. Heading into the bathroom, you turned on the shower, hot. After a solid half an hour sitting under the warm water (and mentally reminding yourself to thank Tony for the amazing shower you had), you got out and set about getting a pad and your comfiest jammies, which happened to be Steve's stolen t-shirt and your sweatpants.

Content for the moment, you ventured out of your room and into the kitchen. There, you retrieved a large mug of hot chocolate, securely contained in your Captain America mug that you only had to bother Steve, and a heating pad before getting comfortable on the couch, intending to watch a load of terrible rom-coms.

Settling down, you turned on the tv. The news channel appeared. Across the screen, images showing an intense fight were displayed. You could see Steve get hit by some weird robot. He got up again, but you could see blood running down your face.

On a normal day, while you wouldn't be happy about seeing Steve hurt, you knew he'd be fine.

But today, your hormones caused your emotions to run high. You were already tense from Steve not being there to cuddle with, an injury just sent you over the edge. Tears started streaming down your face, and you missed the note at the top of the screen that read "previously recorded."

Shutting the tv off to prevent further anxiety, you curled up on the couch, stress eating a load of chocolate, and waited for Steve to return. At some point, you fell back asleep.

After a long debrief and a quick shower to get rid of the blood on his face. Steve was on the way back to their rooms. He knew y/n wouldn't be happy with him for leaving without telling her, but it was 2 o'clock in the morning! While that was a good enough reason for him, it definitely would not be for her.

So, to make up for it, he had a box of her favorite beignets. Y/n always wanted them, but she complained that they had too many calories and that they would add too many pounds to her. Steve always disagreed, she was perfect, and always would be, but she was serious.

Though, every once in a while, Steve would buy a box as a surprise for her. Once they were in their rooms, Y/n couldn't resist (and it didn't hurt that Steve liked them too.)

Opening the door with one hand, while trying to balance the box in the other, he stepped in. It was dead quiet, which was odd, usually, Y/n would be awake by now, working on a project for her job, or going about her daily routine.

Steve set the box on the kitchen counter, near the entrance to their rooms and walked in further. Quickly, he found Y/n asleep on the couch, tear tracks staining her face.

Concern immediately rose in Steve, Y/n wasn't a crier, something was wrong. Stepping closer, he saw the heating pad on her stomach, the light blinking to indicate it had been on too long. There was a box of chocolate truffles next to her too.

"Crap."

He quickly put together that it was that time of the month. He always liked to be there for Y/n, her cycle was rough on her. And if he couldn't be there, he at least liked to warn her.

Gently, he picked her up and settled back down. In her sleep, Y/n nestled closer to him, the warmth comforting. Settling his hand on her lower stomach, Steve allowed sleep to overtake him too.

Waking up, you felt much better. You were warm, and your cramps weren't nearly as bad as they had been that morning.

Blinking your eyes as you adjusted to the brightness of the sun streaming in, you realized you were on Steve.

You shifted a bit, looking at his face where you had seen the blood earlier. Now, there was barely a scratch, his healing abilities at work. Content with Steve back with you, you closed your eyes again and allowed a much more calm sleep to overtake you.