#Pointer Pen

[rockytye79]

@mari-lair I just realized I always draw Teru awestruck while Aka is just being his pretty self shksksks

Anyway, another TeruAka from Your Clock Is Ticking!!

[moullyy]

30 second Delirious doodle

[cauldron-burn-and-fire-bubble]

godzilla and mothra photocards but i made everything myself except for the frames which are reused pieces of those envelopes with the windows that i received enclosing various mail

[lisamorganart]

Today's #DailyDog is an English Pointer. Her name is Lottie, owned by Jackie Onions. Done in brush and ink.

[bamgamronpa]

Sup gang Hermespie here, that one kiibouma fic writer

I'm back after centuries and all because I want to write more kiibouma fic and idk what kindd

And who is the most suitable to ask than the kiibouma shipper themselves?

ANY SUGGESTIONS?

oh wow is has been over a Full year that is crazy to me…. welcome back 🎉🎉

but hmm…. im personally always biased to some angst on either side. unfortunately i havent been thinking of them as much as usual (i got consumed by object shows. oops!!) but i do still love them very much :3

i did have these two very vague things written down buut ..

- smth abt kiibo having such a bad panic and using terms like “blood run cold” and “heart racing” despite not even having blood nor a heart

- a bodyswap thing where kokichi is constantly watching over kiibo in his own body cuz kiibo gets too close to seeing his body and kokichis like “ohh haha u dont need to see thatt aahahaa :3” aka i refuse to believe he isnt covered in injuries (healed and recent) and doesnt want kiibo worrying about him

any1 else … drop ur suggestions :3

[psilliguykai]

Sneak peak of the very professional cover art for ohnnCy saJh’s new hit song, Take Don’t Personally It !!!

[Started attending an arts course at my school. The first thing we did was a 1-line contour hand drawing and all I could think about was DTiP- I think I’ve fully succumbed to the Jash brain at this point :((]

[newdejavuu]

I'm often here for the plot! if there is smut it's an alright-to-neutral addition, hell i sometimes skip over a fic if it seems like it's going to be porn without plot (but in the sense of taking into consideration that smut can be part of the plot or the character exploration/development, it's just that some don't do that either).

that is to say no, i do not skip over fics because they don't have smut.

I do notice that overall bandom (dcd2 extended cinematic universe/emo trinity-quartet-quintet/pop punk scenemo bandom) skews towards there being smut, so that may speak for overall preferences, past or present or coming from writers or readers or if it's just because that's how the vibes evolved and we've kept them like that, i cannot say. Though i can say i have seen plenty of successful fics with no smut or where there's a fade to black and it's only implied.

I don't mean to dismiss the validity of getting bummed out by getting less attention/interaction, shit's real and it stings for real but ultimately I would say write what you want to write, and if that's something that you don't feel like/need/want to add smut to, that's good too. Count me as at least 1 person who doesn't skip over a lack of nsfw.

oh wow! thank you so much for the detailed response. i really, really do appreciate it!

i'm having a bit of a pity-party kind of week, so the negativity will go under the cut :)

i think honestly, im just terrified of posting this fic. full stop, it has me scared.

not that i think anyone will be mean or shit on it or anything (bc cmon yall are soooo unbelievably nice) but i am very very scared that i will post the first chapter of this fic (which will probably be 10k words of very plot heavy angst) and getting like...two hits.

i'm terrified that i built this fic up & i, as a writer, won't be able to live up to my own expectations. im terrified someone will think i am a bad writer.

obviously, as you said, i should write what i want to write - but it would be a lie to say im not at least a little bit motivated by external validation. i haven't written anything creatively in years, and i finally feel like i have an idea worth dedicating my time to....idk my life has been so dedicated to academics for years, i guess i forgot how terrifying it is to be an artist.

[22degreehalo]

Sometimes wonder how my life would've gone if I'd like. asked for a drawing tablet or something when I was 14.

[suksatoru]

satoru gojo has quite the staring problem when it comes to you.

he knew well that his eyes were his greatest asset—wide, bright, electric blue, and undoubtedly aiming to be the center of your world with how he looks at you. but you don't even spare him a glance—ignoring satoru entirely and trying to focus on the paper in front of you instead. unfortunately, the words begin to blur together, and no matter how many times you re-read the same passage over and over again, you fail to absorb a single word.

you wonder if satoru knows how much he's distracting you.

your boyfriend doesn't seem happy by the fact that you're not giving him any attention. and satoru, someone who was all for the theatrics, makes a show of yawning obnoxiously loud as he stretches and conveniently knocks his foot against yours. you send him a threatening glare, but he just sends you a knowing smile in return.

you hate how your heart flutters at the sight.

biting your tongue to keep yourself from saying anything, your eyes revert back to the paper in front of you. after all, you were in the middle of an exam. a check-in to examine you and your classmates' basic level of knowledge of your most recent lesson. satoru seems to have forgotten completely about the test and is instead busy ripping the corner of his paper gently, writing something on it with his pen before he carefully folds it up and places it on your desk.

you glance up to confirm your teacher, yaga, hadn't seen satoru passing you the note. thankfully, he's far too engrossed in the book he's reading at his desk. you eye the note, preparing to flick it off your desk until satoru makes a wild motion with his hands, shaking his head vehemently with his eyes widening comically.

please don't, he mouths with a pout. sassily, you grab the folded sheet of paper and let out a quiet exhale when you read the words sprawled messily across the top.

do you like me?

satoru is grinning cheekily, one cheek smushed against his fist as he watches you fight back a smile. there's a little yes and no imprinted at the bottom, waiting to be circled by yours truly. and as casual as satoru tries to appear as he quickly busies himself with scribbling nonsense all over his test, you can see the pink flush dusting his delicate cheekbones.

you circle no before adding a little note underneath saying you love him instead.

see, the thing was that you hadn't outwardly said the L word yet. while your boyfriend was quite adamant and proud of his love for you, you were a bit more... reserved. satoru was your first boyfriend, and while you loved him dearly, you had a hard time voicing something you'd never said to someone before.

you pass back the note shyly, avoiding his gaze as you immediately turn back towards your desk once he takes the paper from your hands. curious thanks to your odd behavior, you hear the paper rustle quietly as satoru unfolds it. you curl a hand over your forehead, effectively blocking your eyes from satoru's so you couldn't see his reaction—was it wrong to feel nervous about how he'd react? maybe he wouldn't be happy since you didn't actually say you loved him out loud. or maybe he wouldn't even care about your little note—you're not sure what to expect for a moment.

there's a sudden screeeeech! that comes from beside you as satoru suddenly lunges out of his chair—standing to his full height, fist pumped into the air with your note pinched between his pointer finger and thumb. he smiles so wide that your lips part in both mortification and awe.

"satoru! do you want me to hit you in the head with a textbook again? you're asking for it now!" yaga's voice booms across the classroom, looking up irritably from his book as satoru eyes shine, turning towards you with a grin. he sits back down slowly as he mouths later.

he goes through the next hour working on the test with a smile on his face.

satoru knew you cared for him, and he would never push you to say something you weren't ready to. maybe it was the way he looked at you when he passed the note, blue eyes twinkling like the sea during a sunset, that encouraged you to tell him how you felt—or maybe it was the way his cheeks became extra round whenever he smiled or said something funny to make you laugh. you weren't sure what prompted the sudden surge of love you felt for him; all you knew was that once class was over, you were going to kiss satoru stupid.

in honor of the new hidden inventory art of gojo that dropped <3 tagging @tryingtofeelbetteraboutmywriting for some fluff! :D <3

[luveline]

hi lovely, was wondering if you would be able to write any hotch x bombshell!reader ? maybe before they got together or any scenario/prompt you feel like!

take care of yourself and have a great day!!💝💝

The problem with Aaron Hotchner is that he’s too lovely for his own good. He might not think of himself that way. Not many, if any, of the office would agree. Morgan thinks Hotch is a hard-ass and Elle likes him in her way, but she rolls her eyes when he gets snippy, and Spencer… well, you think you and Spencer are probably on the same page. 

Hotch is kind, and a good man, and if he looks handsome when he’s frustrated that’s just how nature intended it to be. 

“Stop it.” 

“No.” 

“Stop.” Hotch levels you with a look over his computer. You’re surprised he knows how to use it, considering the semi-permanent callus on the pointer finger of his right hand. You must’ve watched him pen a thousand case files, consults and forms in a love letter to the old ways. 

He types slowly, but you’ve decided to keep your comment about it to yourself. “You’re looking at me like you know something I don’t,” he says. 

“Maybe I do.” 

“I’m sure you do. Stop bragging.” 

You lean on your elbow on the desk. He’s got a file open in front of him he’s transcribing for the sake of security. It details a case from a few months ago, and each line of the investigation is printed in Hotch’s neat script, lilting to the left over time. He frowns as he turns a page and realises it’s practically margin to margin with detail.

You want to offer to do it for him, but he’ll say no. You want to slide your foot up the leg of his slacks to see if he’ll blush as he did last Friday when you’d done the same thing, Gideon in the doorway none the wiser and somehow disapproving regardless. 

And Hotch, he’d laughed like a kid when the door closed, not turned on in the slightest but endeared by the guts it took you to try. Then he’d sort of enticed you around the desk somehow —you don’t remember the before of it, only slinking to his side with your heels tumbled on their sides under the desk still, his palms wide and open as you settled on a wooden corner. 

“I’m pretty good on the computer.” 

“I know,” Hotch says. “I authorised your computing and communications technology seminar myself.” 

“I was good at it before the mandatory company training garbage,” you say without heat, wondering how you might entice him over your side of the desk. Flirting aloud doesn’t work. Neither does footsie, and besides, what fun is that for you? But he’d looked at you in this strange way, none of his commanding sternness about him. A smile lingered on his lips; he can’t have known he was smiling at all, or it wouldn’t have shown. He’d left something honest there for you to see. 

Maybe it’s in your best interest to let down your own walls for a minute, too. 

“I could help,” you say. “Perhaps not from the same file, but I can get the laptop and start on the Maryland stuff. If you like.”

He looks at you steadily over the computer. His eyes seem lighter, the suspicious set to his mouth oddly close to smiling. “What do you want?” he teased quietly. 

“Nothing. Just figured it would make your life easier.”

“When have you ever made my life easier?” 

Your smile slips before you can stop it. Immediately, Hotch isn’t smiling either. The, “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, honey,” almost doesn’t reach you, over that sharp second of hurt. 

“It’s fine.” You plaster on a smile again to save him the trouble. “I know you didn’t.” 

“No, really. I didn’t mean that.”

“Hotch,” you say, thumbing over his name slowly, “I know. We were teasing.” 

“Flirting,” he corrects. 

Your smile is real, then. “Flirting?” you ask. “That’s rather forward. Flirting might imply we like one another enough to, oh, I don’t know, help each other with our overflowing workloads?” 

He looks at you, all dark and him, steady, strong, all the stupid things that draw you in. You’re not just in it for his arms, however tightly corded they might seem when he’s pulling off his tie after a long day. “You do more than enough for me just sitting there,” he says, holding your gaze with a careful casualness that has your heart tripping in your chest. “Can you do that for me?” 

“Do what? Just sit here looking pretty?” 

His shoe touches your ankle. “Exactly,” he says quietly. “Just sit there exactly as you are. I promise I don’t need anything else from you.” 

Warmed from the inside out, you sit back in your chair. Grinning like a fool. “Why didn’t you just say that?” you ask. Any chance at sounding casual is lost when your voice comes out gossamer thin. 

He looks you over appraisingly. “See?” he says, turning back to his case file. “Thank you, honey. You’re a big help.” 

You swing one leg over the other to get comfortable, crossing your arms over your stomach smugly. “I know.” 

[pomegranatelifethis]

Naughty fur ball

Bruce Wayne

As the father figure, Bruce’s first instinct would be to protect his youngest, even in cat form. He’d be on high alert, imagining every corner of the Batcave as a potential hazard for a tiny kitten. "Stay off the ledge—Alfred, where’s Zatanna’s ETA?" he’d bark, already mentally cataloging every spell he knows to reverse this. But your naughty streak would unravel him. You’d scamper up his leg, claws digging into his suit, and perch on his shoulder, swatting at his cowl’s ears. When he tries to gently pluck you off, you’d leap onto his workbench, knocking over a tray of meticulously organized Batarangs—one lands on his foot, another triggers a smoke pellet, filling the cave with haze. He’d cough, glaring through the fog as you dart away, leaving paw prints on his case files. Later, he’d find you napping in his utility belt pouch, and despite the chaos—shredded reports, a scratched Batmobile hood—he’d soften, muttering, "You’re still grounded when you’re human again," while stroking your tiny head.

Dick Grayson

Dick, the doting big brother, would melt at the sight of his baby sibling as a kitten. "Look at you, the tiniest acrobat!" he’d coo, scooping you up and spinning you around like you’re still human. But your naughtiness would turn his joy into a frantic chase. You’d wriggle free, clawing his favorite blue-and-black suit as you escape, leaving tiny tears in the fabric. He’d laugh it off—until you pounce on his escrima sticks, batting them across the room. One rolls under the Batcomputer, and Dick’s on his knees, pleading, "Come on, little gremlin, give it back!" You’d respond by climbing the curtains, shredding them as you go, and when he tries to grab you, you leap onto his head, tangling his hair with your claws. By the end, he’s sprawled on the floor, panting, with you smugly licking your paws on his chest, and he’d groan, "You’re worse than Damian’s pets."

Jason Todd

Jason would see your kitten form as a chance to tease the baby of the family mercilessly. "Aw, the little brat’s finally bite-sized," he’d snicker, dangling a piece of string just out of reach. But you’d turn the tables—swatting the string, then lunging at his hand, leaving a scratch that makes him yelp. "You tiny demon!" he’d growl, chasing you as you dart under the couch. You’d emerge with his favorite lighter in your mouth, dropping it into a glass of water with a smug flick of your tail. Furious, he’d rig a trap with a cardboard box and a burger—only for you to knock the burger onto his boots, then climb his bookshelf and send his entire collection of paperbacks crashing down. He’d stand in the wreckage, shouting, "I’m trading you for a goldfish!"—but when you curl up in his helmet to nap, he’d grumble, pick it up gently, and let you sleep, muttering about "damn cute menaces."

Tim Drake

Tim, the sleep-deprived genius, would be equal parts fascinated and frazzled by his youngest sibling as a kitten. "Okay, let’s analyze this—magic, tech, or toxin?" he’d muse, scribbling notes while you bat at his pen. He’d try to keep you contained, setting you on his desk with a toy—big mistake. You’d knock over his coffee mug, soaking his keyboard, and when he lunges to save it, you’d leap onto his conspiracy board, claws tearing strings and photos loose. "No, no, no, that took weeks!" he’d wail, chasing you as you scamper off with a pushpin in your mouth. He’d rig a high-tech laser pointer to distract you, but you’d outsmart it, climbing his shelves to knock over his energy drink stash—cans rolling, spraying everywhere. By the time he’s mopping up, hair wild and eyes twitching, you’d be napping on his ruined laptop, and he’d collapse in a chair, muttering, "I need a vacation… or a tranq gun."

Damian Wayne

Damian, the self-appointed protector of all animals (and his baby sibling), would take your kitten form as a personal mission. "You are small, but fierce. I will train you," he’d declare, setting out a tiny obstacle course. But your naughtiness would derail his plans—you’d ignore the course, pouncing instead on Titus’s tail, sparking a barking chase that ends with a toppled lamp. Damian would scoop you up, scolding, "You must respect the pack!"—only for you to wriggle free and climb his katana display, knocking blades to the floor with a clatter. He’d dive to save them, shouting, "This is anarchy!" When you team up with Alfred the Cat to shred his sketchbook, he’d stand amid the chaos, torn between admiration and fury, finally sitting cross-legged with you in his lap, muttering, "You are a worthy adversary… for now."

Barbara Gordon

Babs would adore her baby sibling as a kitten, cooing over the comms, "You’re too cute to be legal." She’d hack the manor cams to track you, chuckling as you wreak havoc—until you find her tech stash. You’d chew through a spare headset cable, and she’d roll in, shouting, "Not the gear!" You’d dart off, knocking over a stack of external drives, and when she corners you, you’d leap onto her chair, claws snagging her sweater. She’d try to bribe you with a laser pointer, but you’d ignore it, climbing her monitor and accidentally hitting the “mute all” button during a team call—leaving the Batfamily yelling into silence. Exasperated but amused, she’d scoop you up, muttering, "You’re lucky you’re adorable," as you purr against her neck.

Stephanie Brown

Steph would be your chaos co-conspirator, thrilled to see the baby of the family as a naughty kitten. "We’re gonna rule this place!" she’d cheer, tossing you a toy to bat at Tim’s head. She’d egg you on—dangling treats to lure you onto Jason’s bike, where you’d claw the seat, or encouraging you to shred Dick’s laundry. But when you turn on her, clawing her favorite purple cape, she’d gasp, "Betrayal!" and chase you with a squirt bottle—only for you to knock over her smoothie, splattering it across the kitchen. The two of you would end up in a standoff, her armed with a pillow, you hissing from atop the fridge, until Bruce walks in and sighs at the mess. She’d grin, scoop you up, and say, "Worth it," even as you swat her nose.

Cassandra Cain

Cass, the quiet observer, would find your kitten antics both endearing and exhausting. She’d watch you with a small smile, reading your every twitch—until you strike. You’d claw her favorite scarf, and she’d blink, surprised, before gently nudging you away. But you’d escalate, climbing her leg to perch on her shoulder, then leaping onto a shelf to knock over her meditation candles. She’d chase you silently, dodging as you bat at her hair, and when you finally tire out, she’d sit cross-legged, letting you nap in her lap. Later, she’d find her stealth suit with tiny claw marks and just shake her head, murmuring, "Little trouble," with a rare grin—knowing she’d helped you prank Jason earlier by leaving his gloves out.

Alfred Pennyworth

Alfred, ever the patient guardian, would treat you like royalty at first—setting out a tiny dish of water and a cushion. "Even as a feline, you are family, young master," he’d say. But your naughtiness would test even his saintly calm. You’d knock over his silver tray, scattering biscuits, then climb the pantry shelves, sending flour and sugar crashing down. He’d pursue you with a broom, muttering, "This is undignified," as you dart off with a stolen tea bag. The final straw would be you clawing the dining room drapes into ribbons—he’d freeze, sigh deeply, and say, "I shall require a raise, Master Bruce." Yet when you curl up purring in his apron pocket, he’d stroke your fur, resigned but fond, and start cleaning the wreckage.

The Chaos

The Batcave and manor would be a disaster zone. Bruce trips over scattered Batarangs while chasing you off the Batcomputer, where you’ve activated the siren. Dick’s wrestling with shredded curtains, Jason’s buried under his toppled books, and Tim’s sobbing over a coffee-soaked motherboard. Damian’s swinging from the rafters after you knock over his sword rack, Steph’s cackling as you claw her smoothie-sticky fridge perch, and Babs is locked in with a malfunctioning system you triggered. Cass watches silently as you nap post-rampage, and Alfred’s sweeping up flour with a martyred air. When Zatanna arrives, the family’s begging, "Fix the kid!"—not because they don’t love you, but because their sanity’s hanging by a thread.

@jscrawls @Welpthisisboring @lilyalone @itsberrydreemurstuff

English is not my native language

[writersdrug]

My brain is open to your bartender Ghost thoughts

Give me them all 🙏

Lordy this au isn't even an hour old and I have so many thoughts

He doesn't really know what to expect when you come in the morning after the interview. At eight am sharp, he watches as you trudge inside, wearing ripped tights, shorts, knock off combat boots, and a baggy shirt that's messily tucked into your waistline. It looks like you had put on eye liner last night and gone to bed, black lines smudged in a perfect "bedhead" look.

"Really?" He asks, arms folded and muscles buddging. "Come t' the interview in a skirt 'n dress shirt, n' show up t' the first shift lookin' like a wannabe biker chick?"

You scoff, pulling your hair up into a bun. "Didn't realize I'd be walking into the asscrack of "The Devil Wears Prada"..."

He huffs and shakes his head. You hve tough skin - good.

He had Soap come in early that day - poor man usually worked between 4 pm 'til whenever Ghost decided to close. He's still rubbing his eyes and yawning when a pen and spiral notepad are shoved into your hands, Simon pushing you towards towards the cook's table with a hand on your back.

"Hey, welcome to the 141." You say, no attempt at politeness in your tone. Ghost huffs fondly, appreciating how you cut through the bullshit. "Any appetizers today?"

"None o' that keech," Soap says, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching his brow. "Canna have a rusty nail 'n th' smash grunded, wel doon 'n with the bun scud - cannae stand th' aoli. Chips oan the side."

You stare at him, eyes wide in disbelief, before turning to Ghost. "Do they all sound like that?"

He grunts. "If they're drunk."

"Are you drunk?" You ask Soap.

"Feck if I know, tryin' tae figure it oot myself." He groans.

Ghost helps you decipher the words Soap had vomited out. You successfully punch it into the POS, only needing a few pointers from the giant over your shoulder. For the rest of the morning amd afternoon, he taeaches you which button on the soda gun was which, the difference between tonic water and club soda, how to run the industrial sanitizer - with a "ye best make sure that shite is rinsed 'fore ye stick em in there" from Soap - where the new kegs go when Gaz brings them in, where to find napkins and condiments in the walkin, how to cut fruit for the bar, and lastly, how to split your tips.

"But why do I have to pay you?" You ask Ghost, sitting at a table with your calculator app on your phone and a basket of fries between the two of you. "You make loads of tips just pouring liquor."

He chuckles, watching you pop a fry into your mouth. "'N you get a cut of sales from the kitchen, since you're part of it."

You perk up at that. "I do?"

"Seven percent." He confirms. "A decent payout on weekends."

"And Soap doesn't get tips."

"Johnny boy gets paid by th' hour."

"I don't?"

"If ya do well enough, ya won't have to." He says, resting his meaty forearms on the table. "You'll be walkin' out with hundreds."

You chew your lip nervously; Simon's eyes linger on the movement, shifting his weight - the polyester seat creaks beneath him as he observes you fretting silently, the silence only broken by the sound of Soap prepping in the kitchen. "Don' worry too much 'bout it. You're young - jus' keep a smile on 'n you'll be fine. Soap 'n I got your back tonight, but I'm not pickin' up your slack after the week passes."

The fry you're steering towards your mouth falls to the table as Simon stands up. "Tonight?!" You exclaim, shimmying out of the booth.

"Yep. Sixteen hundred."

You glance at your phone. "That's in an hour!" There are kegs stacked by the front door, unpolished and enrolled silverware on the bar top, and half of the chairs are still stacked on the countertops.

"Best get to work then, hmm?" Ghost says, grabbing a container of lemons and moving behind the bar.

[ghcstao3]

ghost who has a pet tarantula. absolutely loves her to bits. he knows she feels no affection toward him the way any conventional pet might, but he doesn’t care. ghost likes to think they’re alike—introverted, not huge on people or touch. they just exist, together.

his favourite moments are when he’s going through paperwork in his office, and she sits in her portable enclosure that he is most certainly not supposed to have on base, let alone the bigger, stationary one in his room. sometimes he’ll leave the lid off and let her climb out, and sometimes she’s interested in the movement of his pen or in climbing up his arm, and that’s all ghost needs in a pet, he thinks. cohabitation. a general understanding of one another’s being.

(soap is initially not a fan, to say the least. it’s not that he’s afraid of spiders, it’s just… a tarantula is of a considerable size for a bug, and when her tank is looming in the corner while he and ghost are cuddling… it takes some getting used to.

slowly but surely, though, soap learns to accept it. he begins to view the spider through ghost’s perspective, and honestly? he finds it kind of cute how much the lieutenant cares for her. how such a small, simple creature can make ghost happy. maybe soap could get a few pointers from the tarantula.)

[natsaffection]

Redline. (Bonus 2) | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha × Younger Racing!Driver!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), Fluff, Fluff, Fluff, 18+! MINORS DNI! Thigh riding, begging, multiple orgasm, oral (N and R receiving)

Word count: 8,1k

A/N: Here we are again!! Here, we focused more on Natasha. This isn’t everything I have in mind because it would probably explode Tumblr’s word limit. And once again, this is filled with a lot of requests! Thank you all for keeping the series alive. <3

The rumble of engines thrummed against Natasha’s chest like a comforting rhythm. Outside the control room, your car carved through the track, tires biting into the asphalt with a grace Natasha could only describe as beautiful. It was pure instinct fused with practice, the kind of skill that couldn’t be taught, only sharpened.

“Uh, boss. She’s…She’s got her music on again. Radio’s not gonna work.” Someone said cautiously, not quite meeting her gaze.

Natasha’s fingers paused over the radio switch, a smirk pulling at her lips. She didn’t snap or scold him for pointing out something she was already well aware of. “I know.” Her voice was calm, the words deliberate.

She’d tried before, many times, to convince you to ditch the habit. Music while driving? A distraction, a dangerous one, especially on her track. But then Natasha saw how you moved when the music was on. Saw how your shoulders relaxed, how your steering smoothed out. How your eyes gleamed with that familiar spark of determination mixed with reckless joy.

It was frustrating at first. Maybe even a little insulting that you ignored her safety advice for something so…unprofessional. But Natasha had come to understand it. More than that, she respected it. Even if she’d never outright say it.

Her pen scratched softly against the notepad, notes forming in neat, clinical handwriting. Adjust braking patterns. Smoother transition into turn eight. Minor correction on corner five. And yet, her eyes kept drifting to the live feed of your car. The way it sliced through the track like it was a natural extension of your body. Wild. Precise. Almost hypnotic.

The music had become part of your ritual. Natasha didn’t know what song was blasting in your ears, but she’d caught glimpses of your playlists before. Everything from classic rock to synthwave. The music wasn’t just noise. It was your heartbeat. Your pulse. So, Natasha had stopped fighting it. She’d even found herself curious, more often than not, about what you were listening to. What melody accompanied your fierce concentration and artful control.

Even now, Natasha’s hand hovered over the radio, a pointless gesture. Habit, more than anything. It made her feel like she was still part of the process. Even if you couldn’t hear her, Natasha’s gaze followed your every move, eyes narrowing whenever she detected the slightest flaw. She wrote down pointers, things to work on. But nothing about the music. Never about the music. Not anymore.

You guided the car into the garage. Your adrenaline was still high, heartbeat synced to the last few beats of your music. You let out a satisfied breath, fingers loosening around the steering wheel. The moment you unbuckled and started to climb out, a hand reached around you and plucked one of the earbuds from your ear.

“Still distracting yourself, I see.” Natasha’s voice was low, even, but there was a hint of exasperation underneath. You startled, not expecting Natasha to be there, your face a mix of amusement and irritation. “Nat! You scared the crap out of me!”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, ignoring the flustered tone. “I’ve told you before. The music is a distraction. You could miss something critical. A sound, a warning. And then what?”

You chuckled, rubbing the back of your neck. “You know me. It helps me focus. Just…makes the world feel smaller when I’m out there. Nothing but me and the car.”

“I know.” Natasha admitted, her gaze softening despite her words. “But it’s still a bad habit. One that could get you hurt.”

You tilted your head, your lips curving into that playful smile Natasha couldn’t stay mad at. “And yet, you’re not exactly telling me to stop.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened for a moment before she sighed. “Because you’re good at what you do. But just because it works now doesn’t mean it’s perfect. And I can’t always be around to make sure you’re okay.”

There. That hint of worry she tried so hard to hide under professionalism. Your gaze softened. “But you’re here now. And I’ll be fine.”

Natasha’s lips twitched. “Let’s go over your run. And next time, maybe consider turning the music down just a little?”

“Maybe..” you replied, your grin returning. “If you ask nicely.”

You leaned in, pressing your lips against Natasha’s, feeling the warmth and tension melt away for just a second, until Natasha pulled back, scrunching her nose with exaggerated disgust. “You stink.”

You blinked, a little stunned. “What?”

“Like sweat, motor oil, and whatever bad decision you made for lunch.” Natasha folded her arms, smirking. “Go shower before you try that again.”

You chuckled, your eyes gleaming with amusement. “You could always join me, you know?”

“Tempting.” Natasha admitted, her voice dropping slightly, “But some of us actually have work to do.”

You pouted but found yourself smiling at the genuine warmth that slipped through Natasha’s cool professionalism. “Fine, fine. But don’t miss me too much, okay?”

“Just go, before I change my mind and lock you out of the track.”

The hot shower did wonders for your sore muscles, washing away sweat, grime, and the lingering adrenaline from the track. After drying off, you slipped into a clean shirt and some comfortable sweatpants. Fresh, relaxed, and still grinning from your earlier exchange with Natasha, you made your way to Natasha’s office.

Just outside the door, Natasha’s secretary, Emma, looked up from her computer and frowned. “Y/n, I wouldn’t! She’s…well, she’s in one of her moods.”

You chuckled, unbothered. “When isn’t she?”

“I’m serious.” Emma pressed, her gaze worried. “She’s been on a call for some minutes. Some contract negotiations fell through, and she’s been ripping people apart..”

“Thanks for the warning, but…” You gave her a reassuring wink. “I know the drill.”

Before Emma could protest, you slipped through the door. Natasha was pacing behind her desk, phone pressed to her ear, eyes blazing with frustration. Her words were sharp, precise, the kind of tone that could make anyone on the other end of the call shrink in terror.

But when Natasha’s gaze landed on you, the smallest flicker of relief washed over her features. Her shoulders eased, but her expression remained tense as she continued her conversation, barely acknowledging your presence.

You leaned against the wall, waiting patiently. You’d learned by now that there was no point trying to speak when Natasha was in business mode. Instead, you just studied her. Noticed the tiredness etched into her features, the stiffness in her posture.

The call finally ended with Natasha’s usual clipped goodbye, her phone clattering against the desk as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Idiots. The lot of them.” Natasha muttered.

“Hey..” you said softly, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around Natasha’s shoulders from behind. Your warmth pressed against Natasha’s back, “You’re working yourself into the ground again.”

Natasha sighed, her head tilting slightly toward your touch, but she didn’t pull away. “It’s called doing my job.” she replied, the snap in her voice dulled by exhaustion.

“And you’re doing too much. Way too much.” Your voice was a soothing murmur. “You need to take care of yourself. The world won’t fall apart if you take a break, you know.”

Natasha huffed, her fingers grazing your arm as if trying to keep you there. “Feels like it might.”

“Yeah, well, that’s just because you’re so used to fixing everyone’s messes. But even you need a breather.”

Natasha closed her eyes, leaning back into your warmth. She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just let herself exist in the quiet, inhaling the faint scent of shampoo still clinging to your skin.

“I’m serious, Nat. You’ve got me here, okay? Let me take care of you for once.”

Another beat of silence. Then, finally, Natasha’s shoulders relaxed. “You know, if you keep talking to me like that, I might start getting used to it.”

“Good. Because I’m not planning to sto-”

The shrill ring of Natasha’s phone cut through the calm like a knife. Natasha groaned, her hand twitching towards the receiver, her fingers already itching to strangle whoever dared to interrupt her moment of peace. But before she could react, you reached over and snatched the phone from its cradle, pressing it to your ear with a casualness that bordered on infuriating.

“What the hell are you doing?” Natasha’s voice was sharp, but you just shot her a smug grin.

“Hello, Natasha Romanoff’s office. She’s currently unavailable and very much not interested in whatever business disaster you’re trying to dump on her right now. Thanks. Byee.”

And just like that, you hung up, your thumb slamming down on the button with finality. Natasha’s jaw dropped, her eyes narrowing as she stared at you, torn between amusement and disbelief. “Did you seriously just-”

“Yep.” You placed the phone down like it was nothing, then made your way around the desk. “Because you need a break, remember? And honestly, I don’t think you care all that much about whoever was on the other end.”

“Whether I care or not is irrelevant. You just…took my call.” Natasha’s eyes glinted with something unreadable. “You’re either really brave or really stupid.”

“Or maybe I’m just good at prioritizing your sanity over unnecessary stress.”

Before Natasha could argue further, you slipped into her lap, straddling her thighs and cupping her face. Natasha’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before narrowing in mock irritation.

“You’re impossible.” Natasha murmured, but her hands instinctively found their way to your waist.

“And yet, you still love me.” you replied, leaning in to press your lips against Natasha’s, slow and gentle.

Natasha’s resolve crumbled, her fingers tightening around your hips as she melted into the kiss. The stress, the frustration, the endless noise of business and responsibility…all of it faded under the warmth of your touch.

“Alright, fine..” Natasha whispered against your lips, voice laced with reluctant amusement. “You win. But only this once.”

“Oh, I plan to win way more than just once.” you quipped before kissing her again. The kiss deepened, Natasha’s grip tightening, her mouth moving against yours in a way that made your entire body feel like it was humming. But then..

The door swung open, and both of you froze. “Well, this is an interesting way to spend a workday.” Melina’s voice cut through the charged air like a whip.

Natasha jerked back, her eyes wide, cheeks flushed. You had never seen your girlfriend look so caught off guard. The always-calm, always-composed Natasha Romanoff looked like she’d just been doused with ice water.

“Mother. I- What are you doing here?” Natasha’s voice was tight, her posture suddenly ramrod straight.

“I thought I’d drop by. Business meeting in town.” Melina’s eyes flicked to you, still very much perched on Natasha’s lap. “But clearly, you two are…occupied.”

“Can you give us a minute?” Natasha said, her tone clipped but her gaze pleading.

“Of course, darling.” Melina’s smile was almost too innocent. “But don’t take too long. I would hate to miss out on the rest of the show.”

And with that, she strolled out, shutting the door with a little too much force to be accidental. You burst out laughing, your forehead dropping to Natasha’s shoulder. “God, I think my soul just left my body.”

Natasha’s hands were still resting on your hips, her fingers gripping just enough to betray the lingering frustration. “That woman…” Natasha muttered, eyes fixed on the door like she could will her mother to disappear. “Of course, she’d show up unannounced.”

“Maybe she missed you?” you offered with a grin, fingers tracing along Natasha’s shoulder, the warmth of your earlier kiss still lingering between you.

“More like she wants something.” Natasha sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “She’s been pestering me about dinner since last week. I told her I was busy.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And now she’s here. Guess she’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Clearly.” Natasha’s hands slipped from your hips to rest on your thighs, her touch still gentle despite the tension in her jaw. “I should’ve known. She’s been talking about how I’ve been ‘hiding you away’ from her ever since she figured out we were together.”

You glanced back at the door, then down at Natasha, your fingers brushing against Natasha’s jawline. “You’re really worked up about this, huh?”

“I just…” Natasha’s lips tightened before her shoulders slumped a little. “I wanted it to be perfect. Introducing you as, you know. Not just my racer. But it’s Melina. She’s like a bloodhound when she wants something.”

“Hey.” you murmured, tilting Natasha’s chin up to meet your gaze. “It’s okay. I’m not expecting perfection. I’ve already survived her first impression when I joined your team, remember? If anything, I think this time will be easier.”

“Maybe.” Natasha’s voice was quieter, but the tension in her expression was slowly melting.

“Definitely.” You kissed her again, just a gentle press of lips meant to calm. “Now, what do you say we go out there and deal with your mother before she barges in here again?”

Natasha groaned. “She would, too.”

“Exactly. So, let’s face the music.” You slid off Natasha’s lap but kept a firm hold on her hand, coaxing her to stand.

“Alright. But I swear, if she starts making comments about us..” Natasha shook her head, but there was a hint of affection beneath her grumbling.

You laughed. “She’s definitely going to. And you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

Natasha’s lips twitched, fighting back a smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still holding my hand.” you teased, swinging your entwined fingers lightly.

“I guess I am.” Natasha’s voice softened, the warmth returning to her eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”

You walked through the track, the cooling evening air swirling around you. Natasha’s hand was still clasped tightly in yours, but the nerves buzzing under your skin were becoming harder to ignore.

“If you had joined me in the shower earlier, you wouldn’t be heading out like this..” you said with a crooked smile, trying to lighten your own mood.

Natasha’s lips twitched, amusement briefly crossing her features. “You know I was tempted. But I had a call and…well, here we are.”

“Yeah. Here we are..” you mumbled, your gaze dropping for a moment as your nerves caught up to you. Natasha noticed instantly, her thumb rubbing slow circles against your hand. “You okay?”

“I mean, sure, if you count being a little terrified as ‘okay.’” you admitted, your voice light but your smile faltering. “It’s just…this feels different. Melina knowing we’re together. Officially.”

“She already likes you. You know that.” Natasha’s voice was steady, the cool confidence that always drew you in. “This dinner thing is just…her being her.”

“Yeah, but what if she doesn’t like me like this?” You said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “As…your girlfriend?”

Natasha’s expression softened, the tension from earlier easing into something far gentler. “I wouldn’t be with you if I thought she’d be a problem. And besides, you can handle her.”

You exhaled slowly, nodding. “Alright. If you say so.”

The sound of a car door opening snapped your attention forward. Melina stood beside her sleek, black Mercedes, arms folded and an amused smile already on her lips. “Get in, both of you.”

You swallowed and climbed into the backseat, your nerves flaring as Melina’s attention lingered just a moment too long. Natasha slid in beside you, her presence reassuring but still carrying that undercurrent of tension.

The car ride was quiet at first, Melina’s gaze occasionally flicking to the rearview mirror, catching your eyes before turning her attention back to the road. You could feel your heart racing, your hands fidgeting with the fabric of your pants. This felt different. More important. Because you weren’t just a driver on Natasha’s team now. You were the woman dating Natasha Romanoff. And Melina’s approval felt like a much bigger challenge to earn.

“Relax.” Natasha whispered, her hand finding your knee, her touch warm and grounding. “You’ve already won her over. Just be you.”

You managed a small, grateful smile. “Easier said than done.”

“Trust me.” Natasha replied, her voice low and sincere. “You’ve got this.”

The restaurant Melina had picked was cozy but sophisticated, with low lighting and quiet jazz humming in the background. A place that screamed exclusivity without trying too hard. Natasha was clearly unimpressed, her jaw tight as they were led to their table. You couldn’t tell if it was the ambiance or her mother’s intrusion earlier that had her in a mood. Maybe both.

The table was already set, the polished silverware gleaming under the soft, amber glow of overhead lights. Three elegant flutes of champagne stood waiting, the bubbles rising lazily in each glass.

“Seems the restaurant knows us well.” Melina commented smoothly as she took her seat, her eyes flicking between Natasha and you with that same, all-knowing smile. You reached for one of the glasses, the chill of the glass refreshing against your slightly clammy palm. But before you could even lift it to your lips, Natasha’s hand shot out and gently plucked the glass away.

“No. That’s only for the podium.” Natasha said with a smirk, her voice carrying the kind of playfulness you were slowly getting used to. The kind of protectiveness that masked itself as nonchalance.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile. “You’re seriously gatekeeping champagne from me now?”

“Tradition is tradition.” Natasha replied, settling the glass out of your reach with an irritatingly smug look. Melina chuckled, her amusement only adding to your embarrassment. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m sure the waiter can bring you something more to your taste.”

True to her word, Melina flagged down a server and ordered you a glass of the restaurant’s finest Wine. The smooth, amber liquid arrived quickly, poured over ice that clinked gently against the glass.

“Now..” Melina began, leaning forward with her eyes focused keenly on you. “Congratulations are in order. I heard you clinched the championship. Well-deserved, I’d say.”

“Thanks..!” you replied, a flush creeping up your neck at the praise. “Couldn’t have done it without your daughter kicking my ass in training every day.”

“An understatement.” Natasha muttered, sipping her wine with a sly smile.

“And the two of you…” Melina’s gaze darted between you. “How exactly did this happen?”

Your eyes darted to Natasha, silently pleading for her to start. But Natasha only tilted her head and lifted her glass of wine, gesturing for you to begin. Of course, she would make you do the talking.

“Well, um…” you started, your fingers tightening around your glass. The whiskey suddenly felt like liquid courage, warming you from the inside out. “I guess it was…a slow thing. I didn’t even realize it at first.”

Natasha’s eyebrow arched, amused. “That so?”

You let your thoughts drift back, the memory unfurling like an old photograph. “It was after the championship photoshoot. The one where the whole team was crammed into that little studio. And you…” You looked at Natasha, your eyes turning soft. “You looked so…powerful. All eyes on you, telling the photographer what to do, how to make the shots perfect. It was like you controlled the whole damn room. And when you finally stepped in front of the camera, there was this… ease. Like it was effortless.”

Natasha’s gaze remained on you, a flicker of surprise breaking through her cool exterior.

“And I remember just…staring. At you. At how confident and unbothered you were. And thinking..I’m done for.”

Melina’s lips quirked upward in obvious satisfaction, but she stayed quiet, watching the two of you with a curiosity that seemed to border on approval.

“But you weren’t exactly subtle either.” Natasha cut in, a glimmer of amusement coloring her voice. “I remember you practically vibrating with nerves when we had to take those team photos. Couldn’t even stand still without fidgeting.”

You flushed, the embarrassment made worse by the knowing smirk on Natasha’s face. “Okay, yeah. Because the photographer made me stand beside you. And I could barely think straight, let alone smile for the damn camera.”

“That bad, huh?” Natasha teased, but there was warmth in her tone, her eyes softening as she took in your embarrassed expression.

“Pretty bad..” you admitted with a chuckle. “But somehow, you made me feel like it was okay to be nervous. And then I figured out why.”

“So you’ve been harboring this little crush since then?” Natasha mused, leaning back in her chair with her fingers delicately circling the rim of her wine glass.

You shrugged, but your smile was honest. “Pretty much. And you’ve been dealing with me ever since.”

“More like tormenting me.” Natasha corrected, but there was something impossibly fond in her expression.

Melina, who had been watching with quiet amusement, spoke up. “Well, I have to say…the way you two interact is rather delightful. I’m almost impressed.”

“Almost?” you joked, trying to mask your nerves.

Melina’s smile was genuine. “You’ve survived my daughter’s training, her schedule, and apparently her mood swings. And yet, you’re sitting here like you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

“Can’t imagine being anywhere else.” you said, your voice a little quieter but no less certain. Melina’s eyes flickered with approval, the smile now softer. “Good. Now, may I see this infamous photo?”

You blinked. “What photo?”

“The one where Natasha apparently looked so powerful that it made you fall for her.”

“Oh.” You bit your lip, suddenly feeling stupid. “Uh, yeah. I actually have it..” You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone, scrolling quickly through your gallery before finding the image.

You handed the phone over, the photo showing Natasha standing with that impossible confidence, arms folded, eyes locked on the camera like she owned the world. It was a little blurry, but the intensity of her expression was all that mattered.

Natasha’s eyes widened as she glanced at the screen. “You…kept that?”

You shrugged, feeling your cheeks heat up. “It’s kind of my good luck charm. I look at it when I need to feel, I don’t know…inspired.”

Melina chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with something approving and almost fond. “Well, Natasha. Looks like you’ve managed to find someone who actually sees you. All of you.”

Natasha’s expression softened, her eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah. I guess I have.”

Dinner continued with Melina throwing occasional questions your way, her eyes keen and voice deceptively casual. But it was clear she was interested. Genuinely so. She even offered you advice on handling certain sponsors, advice Natasha tried to cut off with a sharp glare but didn’t entirely disagree with.

The teasing, the conversations, the occasional moments where Natasha’s hand found yours under the table…It all felt surprisingly warm. Comfortable. Like maybe, this whole ‘meeting the parents’ thing wasn’t so terrifying after all.

Eventually, Melina’s phone buzzed and she checked her messages with a grimace. “I hate to cut this short, but I have a meeting I can’t miss. Duty calls.”

“That’s alright!” you said, your smile a little shy but genuine. “I’m just glad we got to catch up.”

“Likewise, darling.” Melina replied, her smile too genuine to be anything but sincere. Her gaze flicked to Natasha. “Take care of her, Natasha. She’s too good for you.”

Natasha’s jaw clenched for a second before she relaxed. “Yeah. I know.”

Melina gave you one last approving look before gathering her things and heading out, leaving the two of you alone in the dimly-lit restaurant.

“She likes you.” Natasha murmured, a little stunned herself by how well the evening had gone.

“Seems like it.” you said, grinning. “She was practically rooting for us by the end of it.”

“She has an interesting way of showing approval.”

You shared a look, both of you breaking into quiet laughter. But as the laughter faded, a sense of calm settled over you. The night had gone better than either of you expected.

Natasha had already booked an Uber for your way back, her arm draped loosely over your shoulder as you walked out to the curb. The ride was quiet, the city lights flashing past the windows like lazy streaks of color. It wasn’t until you were both comfortably settled in the backseat, the hum of the car providing a soothing backdrop, that you spoke.

“So…” you began, your tone hesitant but curious. “You know how I told you about when I first fell for you. The whole photoshoot thing.”

“Yeah?” Natasha’s voice was soft, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your knee.

“I was just…wondering. When did you fall for me?”

Natasha went still for a moment, her hand pausing before resuming its slow, gentle tracing. Her gaze stayed forward, eyes unfocused as if the memory played just beyond the darkened streets.

“You were so damn stubborn.” Natasha started, her lips curving slightly. “Always talking back, always challenging me on the track. You drove me insane most days.”

“Sounds about right.” you chuckled. “But that’s not when you fell for me, is it?”

“No. It’s not.” Natasha’s eyes flicked toward you, the usual sharpness dulled by something softer. “That night after Training. You were exhausted, barely keeping your eyes open, but you were still so damn determined to get better.”

“I remember that.” You smiled, your voice lowering as the memory floated back. “I fell asleep on the couch in the break room.”

“You did. And I found you there at like…three in the morning. You were dead to the world, curled up with your phone still playing some playlist you must have put on to stay awake.”

“Sounds like me.”

“But then I saw it. Your phone screen.” Natasha’s gaze softened, the memory clearly etched into her mind. “It was a photo of me. Smiling. And you were just…holding onto it like it meant something.”

Your cheeks flushed. “You never mentioned that.”

“Because I wasn’t sure if I was ready to admit what it meant. That someone was willing to see me, care about me, in a way that had nothing to do with the racing world. You weren’t just in it for the glory. You wanted…me.”

“Natasha…” your voice was barely above a whisper. Natasha’s hand slipped from your knee to your hand, fingers lacing together. “That’s when I realized I was falling for you. And I’ve been falling ever since.”

You squeezed her hand, your chest tightening in the best possible way. “You know, you’re not so bad at this whole feelings thing.”

Natasha smiled, genuine and free. “Only for you.”

Natasha’s phone vibrated, the screen lighting up with yet another email notification. She groaned, clearly considering ignoring it before finally checking the message. You watched her, expecting Natasha to launch into work mode at any second.

Instead, Natasha’s gaze softened as she scrolled through her phone. Then, she leaned forward, her voice calm but firm as she addressed the driver. “Change of plans. Take us to my place.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Nat, you’ve got work tomorrow. Meetings, training sessions, all that important stuff.”

Natasha’s gaze shifted to you, her expression somehow both determined and gentle. “It’s just business. Nothing that can’t be pushed a day or two.”

You blinked, your mouth opening and closing for a second. “Are you serious?”

“Completely.” Natasha replied, her lips curving into a fond smile. “I’ve spent all day trying to juggle business, family, and…us. And I’d rather spend the rest of the night and tomorrow with you. Away from everything else. Just us.”

The words settled between you, soft and sincere. You felt your heart do a little flip in your chest, your hand squeezing Natasha’s just a bit tighter.

“You’re really throwing work away for me?” you asked, your voice disbelieving but warm.

“Not throwing it away.” Natasha corrected. “Just..prioritizing better. And right now, you’re my priority.”

Your cheeks flushed with happiness, your grin breaking free and unstoppable. “You’re way too good to me..”

Natasha shook her head, her eyes never leaving yours. “If anything, I’m still making up for lost time.”

The rest of the drive was silent, but it was a warm, comfortable silence. Your hands stayed clasped, and every now and then, Natasha’s thumb would trace gentle circles against your skin. It was perfect.

Days later, the garage was bustling with the usual chaos, engineers running between workstations, mechanics barking orders, and the occasional clang of metal meeting metal. But somehow, it all seemed to hush when Natasha walked in. Her presence demanded attention, her sharp gaze enough to make everyone double-check their work.

You trailed beside her, clearly enjoying the view of everyone’s attempts to impress the Boss. The engineers were quick to gather their notes, practically tripping over each other as they prepared to present the latest upgrades to your car.

“Alright, what have you got for me?” Natasha’s voice was firm, steady, her eyes fixed on the nervous-looking group.

Alex, an engineer cleared his throat, his hands shaking slightly as he adjusted his notes. “So, uh, based on your feedback, Y/n, we adjusted the weight distribution and refined the suspension. Should give you better control during high-speed cornering. Also, we reinforced the front wing for more stability.”

Natasha nodded, her gaze sharp and analyzing. “And the braking system?”

“We upgraded the hydraulic system, boosted response time by about twenty percent.” Alex continued, his voice growing steadier under Natasha’s relentless focus. “It should shave a few milliseconds off the braking reaction.”

Natasha’s nod of approval was almost imperceptible. “Good. Schedule a test run. I want telemetry by the end of the day.”

Your fingers began their playful dance along Natasha’s forearm. Soft, barely-there touches, your fingertips tracing delicate lines over Natasha’s skin. It was subtle enough that no one would notice. No one except Natasha.

Natasha’s jaw tightened for a split second, her eyes flickering downward before snapping back to the papers. “What about the suspension?” she repeated, her voice crisp, though there was a noticeable edge to it.

“Yes.” Alex continued, oblivious to the silent war happening right beside him. “We recalibrated the system to better absorb the pressure during sudden braking. The responsiveness has increased by approximately fifteen percent.”

“Good.” Natasha managed, her voice steady, though your touch was starting to feel anything but innocent. “But I want you to run simulations for all weather conditions. No point boosting control if it’s only effective on dry tracks.”

“Understood.” Alex nodded quickly, making a note on his clipboard. “We also adjusted the front wing. Reinforced it to improve stability during high-speed turns.”

While Alex spoke, your fingers slid down Natasha’s wrist and circled her knuckles, your touch light and almost soothing. Then your thumb brushed the sensitive skin just above Natasha’s pulse point, applying gentle, rhythmic pressure. Natasha’s entire body stiffened for half a second, her eyes narrowing as she fought to keep her focus. “And the braking system?”

“Hydraulic system’s been boosted. Should improve response time by twenty percent,” Alex replied, nodding along like he had no idea his boss was currently fighting a losing battle against distraction.

“Mm-hmm..” Natasha hummed, her eyes shifting to you just long enough to shoot you a pointed look. The kind of look that said, Stop it. Now. But you just smiled sweetly, your fingers now lightly squeezing Natasha’s hand before continuing their playful dance over her knuckles.

Natasha’s hand twitched, her nails pressing briefly into her palm before she forced herself to relax. “Good. Make sure to get me the telemetry results before the end of the day. I want a full comparison between the old setup and the new adjustments.”

Far away, a group are discussing the work, “Yeah, the new adjustments should give her better control on those sharper turns..” one of them, was saying. “But if you ask me, it’s all about the driver’s guts. Not the specs.”

“Maybe so..” another engineer laughed, “But you know who’s gonna have the final say. If the Boss likes it, it stays. If not…”

Someone snorted. “The Boss, huh? I think she’s mellowed out a bit. You saw her the other day with Y/n, right? Almost sweet. Which is wild, considering it’s Romanoff.”

“Guess love does that to people.”

“Yeah, makes me think maybe she’s not so terrifying after all.” The group laughed, clearly feeling safe enough to crack jokes now that Natasha wasn’t breathing down their necks. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at their bravado, even if a tiny part of you was relieved that they were easing up around Natasha.

At least, until Natasha’s voice cut through the air like a knife. “If you’re all done gossiping about my personal life, perhaps you could focus on actually doing your jobs?”

The group went dead silent, the laughter dissolving into a collective tension so thick it felt like the temperature had dropped ten degrees. Natasha’s eyes were hard, her arms folded across her chest as she stared down the group with the kind of intensity that made even the most confident man feel like a scolded child.

“Or did you all forget that I’m the one who signs your paychecks?” Natasha continued, her voice like ice. “Because if you think being friendly with her gives you a free pass to slack off, I can assure you, it doesn’t.”

“No, Boss. Sorry, Boss.” They stumbled over their words, their face pale. “We were just…talking.”

“Talking, sure.” Natasha’s gaze swept over the group with chilling precision. “But if I hear one more word about me ‘softening up’ because of my relationship, you’ll all be reassigned to parts inventory. Understood?”

A chorus of hurried “Yes, Boss” and “Absolutely” followed, everyone looking properly terrified. They scattered like ants, heads down and energy now fully directed at their work.

You couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, shaking your head as you walked over to Natasha, whose expression still held that cold, steely edge.

“And you! What the hell was that?” Natasha asked, her voice low and almost dangerous.

“What?” you replied innocently, though your grin was anything but. “I was just…keeping you focused.”

“Focused?” Natasha scoffed, but her lips were twitching. “More like you were trying to completely derail me in the middle of a meeting.”

“And did I succeed?” You tilted your head, your smile growing wider.

“Barely.” Natasha’s hand shot out, catching your wrist with a grip that was both firm and possessive. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

The track tests later were underway. You had already done a few laps, the new upgrades working smoothly. But as always, Natasha wanted more data. More details. More everything. And you were more than willing to keep providing…just not always in the way Natasha intended. Whenever you were talking strategy, you would lean too close. Whisper suggestions in her ear with a voice just low enough to be suggestive. When Natasha handed you a water bottle, your fingers brushed her hand just a little too deliberately.

“Your focus is slipping, Romanoff..” you teased when Natasha’s fingers trembled slightly under your touch.

“Enough teasing, detka. You know what will happen if you continue pushing my buttons.” Natasha threatened, though the slight blush on her cheeks betrayed her usual control. You just laughed, your playful energy never dimming.

By the end of the day, the team was packing up. Natasha’s office was quiet, the soft hum of the building’s power the only background noise as Natasha finished her reports. But you were there, leaning against her desk, fingers tracing over Natasha’s arm in those infuriatingly light patterns you’d been taunting her with all day.

Natasha’s hand finally slammed down on her desk, her eyes blazing as they met yours. “You’ve been driving me insane all day, detka.”

“That was the plan..” you replied, your smile triumphant. “Is it working?”

“Oh, it’s working.” Natasha’s voice was low, dangerous, but laced with amusement. “You think you can keep pushing my buttons without consequences?”

“Maybe I want the consequences..” you whispered, your fingers trailing along Natasha’s jaw now, your touch still gentle but clearly challenging.

Natasha’s hand caught your wrist, her grip firm but not harsh. “Well, in that case…I think it’s time I give you the attention you’ve been begging for.”

You were straddling her lap, knees pressing into the cushioned leather chair, hands cupping her jaw, your lips fused to hers. Her fingers gripped your hips, her tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that left you breathless, needy, desperate.

And fuck, you loved this. Being pressed so close to her, feeling the way her muscles tensed and relaxed beneath you. Feeling the way she made you feel like the only thing that mattered.

But then..She pulled back. And you whined, the sound breaking embarrassingly from your throat.

“Nat-”

“As much as I enjoy having you in my lap, sweetheart..” she murmured, her smirk both adoring and smug. “I actually have work to do.”

You blinked, momentarily dazed, your head spinning from the kiss. “Then why’d you let me get this close?” you muttered, trying to regain some of your dignity.

Natasha’s fingers traced slow circles against your hips. “Because I needed a little motivation to get through the rest of the evening.”

She shifted slightly, her thigh pressing up against you, the friction igniting a spark of heat. Your breath hitched. And Natasha noticed. Of course, she did.

“Now..” Natasha continued, her eyes flickering back to her laptop, her fingers still firmly on your waist. “I need you to be a good girl and get off by yourself.”

Your eyes widened. “W-What?”

Natasha didn’t look away from her screen, fingers already clicking through files, typing like nothing was out of the ordinary. “You heard me.” she murmured. “I have work to do. So, go ahead. Make yourself come on my thigh.”

Your entire body went rigid. “Nat-”

“You wanted to be here, didn’t you?” she continued, her voice so infuriatingly calm. “So needy. So desperate for my attention.”

Her thigh shifted beneath you, pressing up against your core, making you shiver. “Go on.” Natasha urged, her eyes flicking up to meet yours for just a second. “Be a good girl for me.”

You stared at her, your chest rising and falling too quickly, your mind struggling to process her words. But her hands were on your hips, guiding you, encouraging you. And fuck, the way she was looking at you, with challenge, with possession, with something that made your stomach twist into knots.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

You bit your lip, your cheeks burning. “I-I don’t usually…”

“Oh, baby..” Natasha cooed, her hands sliding down to your hips, pressing you firmly against her thigh. “You can do it. I’ve got you.”

You shuddered as she kissed you again, her mouth warm, her tongue coaxing yours, her lips moving with a confidence that made your head spin. Her fingers gripped your waist, guiding you, making you move. And you did.

Slow, hesitant rolls of your hips, the pressure building where you needed it most, the heat coiling low in your stomach. But Natasha kept kissing you, her voice a low purr between your lips.

“That’s it.” she whispered. “Just like that. You’re doing so good.”

Your breath was already ragged, your body already craving more. Natasha’s lips trailed down your jaw, your neck, pressing kisses that made you shiver.

“Feel good, baby?” she murmured, her breath warm against your ear.

“Mhm..yeah-” you gasped, your fingers digging into her shoulders.

“Then don’t stop.”

After a moment, Natasha’s hands slid away from your hips, her gaze burning into yours. “Keep moving for me, sweetheart.” she urged, her voice turning into a low, encouraging hum. “Show me how much you want it.”

Your hips kept moving, desperate, needy, rubbing against her thigh, but.. It wasn’t enough. It was like chasing something just out of reach. You tried to keep going, your breath hitching, your thighs shaking. But it was useless.

Natasha watched you, her expression knowing, her smirk growing with every passing second.

“What’s wrong?” she taunted, her tone still laced with that infuriating gentleness. “You can’t get off like that, can you?”

You whimpered, your forehead dropping against her shoulder. “Natasha, please..”

“Please, what?”

“I-I can’t-“

“Can’t what, baby?” she teased, her hands finding your thighs again, fingers digging in just enough to make you squirm. “Can’t come all by yourself?”

Your breath shuddered, your body practically vibrating with frustration. “You need me to help you, don’t you?”

“Yes-fuck..please-”

Natasha sighed, a low, mocking sound of pity and amusement. “Guess I’ll have to help you, then.” she murmured, her fingers sliding up your thighs.

The next thing you knew, your back hit the cool surface of her desk, your legs parting automatically as she lowered herself between them. Your eyes widened, your body already shaking from anticipation.

Natasha’s gaze was dark, hungry, completely locked on you. “You’re so fucking desperate, baby.” she groaned, her hands gripping your thighs, her lips pressing kisses along the inside of your thigh, teasing, devouring.

“You couldn’t even do it yourself, could you?”

Your chest heaved, your fingers grasping at nothing, your body already losing control.

“Natasha, please..”

“Pathetic little thing.” she continued, her breath hot against your skin. “Can’t even get off without me.”

Her mouth finally reached your core, her tongue pressing against you with slow, devastating precision. You cried out, your body jerking, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto.

But there was nothing. Just the smooth, cool surface of her desk, nothing to ground you, nothing to keep you steady. And fuck, the sensation of having nothing to cling to made you fall apart even faster.

Natasha groaned, the sound vibrating through you, her tongue working you over with a relentless, sinful hunger. Your thighs trembled, your body arching off the desk, your hands still clawing uselessly at the air.

“Fuck- Nat, p-please!!”

“Come for me.” she commanded, her voice low and demanding, her tongue circling your clit with deadly precision.

And then..You shattered. Your body convulsed, pleasure crashing over you with violent intensity, your voice breaking into a wrecked, helpless cry.

Natasha’s mouth stayed on you, drawing every last bit of pleasure from your body, refusing to let you come down. Your fingers clawed at the air, your body completely hers.

And the way you broke apart for her, the way you looked so wrecked and helpless and beautiful..Made Natasha’s own arousal surge.

She couldn’t stop herself. Seeing you so vulnerable, so desperate, so completely hers..It made her fucking feral. Her own arousal was pounding through her veins, her breath coming out in ragged gasps, her body burning with a need she could no longer ignore.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” she growled, her fingers tightening on your thighs, her eyes dark with hunger. “You’re so fucking beautiful. So fucking perfect.”

Her mouth never left you, her tongue continuing to lick and suck and devour, even as your body twitched from the overstimulation.

“N-Nata-..!” you whimpered, your hands still searching for something to cling to, still finding nothing. The sight of you reaching for her, so helpless, so needy, It made Natasha’s own arousal skyrocket.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Natasha taunted, her voice breathless, wrecked, completely lost in you. “You can’t handle it? You can’t even keep your hands still, can you?”

Her lips curled into a dark smirk, her fingers trailing down your inner thighs, her eyes locked onto yours. “Maybe I should just keep you here.” she continued, her voice rough with desire. “Tied to this desk, begging for me. Completely fucking mine.”

Your eyes widened, your body already responding to her words, your thighs clenching instinctively. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Natasha purred, her hands still holding you down, refusing to let you pull away.

“Would you like me to make you come over and over until you can’t even speak? Until you’re just a desperate, helpless little thing?”

Her tongue is circling your clit with deadly precision again, till you shattered. Your body convulsed, pleasure crashing over you with violent intensity, your voice breaking into a wrecked, helpless cry.

You lay sprawled out on Natasha’s desk, your chest heaving, your legs trembling, your skin slick with sweat. Every nerve in your body felt like it had been set on fire, burning under Natasha’s relentless, brutal touch.

And fuck, she looked so damn smug. Natasha slowly rose to her feet, her lips slick, her breathing just as ragged as yours, but her eyes.. God, her eyes were still dark.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her chest rising and falling in steady, slow breaths. “You’re incredible, Y/n..” she murmured, her voice wrecked, but smooth. “Completely fucking beautiful when you fall apart like that.”

You tried to form a sentence, but it came out as a shaky, breathless whimper. Natasha smirked, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh, her fingers brushing over your trembling skin.

“I think you need a moment to catch your breath.” she teased, her gaze locking onto yours. But as she started to pull away, you moved. Your legs still felt weak, your body still trembling, but there was a determination building inside you.

You pushed yourself up on shaky arms, your eyes not leaving Natasha’s as you slid off the desk. Natasha’s eyebrows rose, her smirk deepening. “What do you think you’re doing?”

But you didn’t answer. Instead, your hands found her waist, fingers fumbling with the buckle of her belt, your breath still coming out in uneven gasps.

Natasha’s eyes darkened instantly. “Oh?” she purred, her voice still heavy with arousal. “You want to return the favor, huh?”

You nodded, your fingers finally getting her belt undone, tugging it from the loops with desperation you couldn’t hide. “Fuck, baby.” Natasha groaned, her voice dropping even lower, her hands gripping the edge of the desk for balance.

But you weren’t done. You pushed her back, making her fall heavily into her office chair. “Now, it’s my turn.”

Her legs spread slightly, her chest heaving, her gaze completely locked onto you. “You sure you’re up for this?” Natasha taunted, her voice filled with mocking affection. “You’re still shaking, sweetheart.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to steady myself.” You whispered, your hands already working to pull down her pants. Natasha let out a low, shaky breath, her smirk slipping as her eyes grew darker.

Your knees hit the cold floor, the chill biting against your skin, but you didn’t care. You were too focused. Too lost in the way Natasha’s eyes had darkened the moment you pushed her into her chair, the way her lips parted with a mix of surprise and raw hunger.

Your mouth pressed against her, your tongue licking a broad, slow stripe that made Natasha’s head drop back against the chair. “Oh, fuck-”

Her voice was wrecked, strained, the sound of her falling apart already making your thighs clench. You swirled your tongue again, your lips closing around her clit, sucking just hard enough to draw a deep, shuddering moan from her chest.

“Fuck, just like that, Y-Y/n..” she groaned, her fingers twitching against the armrests. You could feel her muscles tensing, her breathing already turning ragged. But you weren’t going to let her get away so easily.

Your tongue continued its relentless pace, your lips kissing, sucking, devouring her, determined to make her come completely undone. And Natasha?

She was already crumbling. “You’re so good at this..!” she panted, her voice shaking, her body already struggling to stay steady.

You smirked against her, the vibration making Natasha’s hips twitch, her breath hitching in her throat. “Fuck- Oh, God, yes!”

Your hands gripped her thighs, your fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, your mouth working her over like you couldn’t get enough.

But then, Natasha’s fingers sank into your hair. Her grip was rough, desperate, her head tossed back as a wrecked gasp tore from her throat.

“Fuck, baby! Just like that!!”

The sudden pull on your hair sent pain radiating down your scalp, but it only made you more determined. You groaned against her, the sound deep, wrecked, raw. The vibration made Natasha’s hips jerk violently, her entire body tightening under your touch.

“Fuck, o-oh fuc-” Her fingers tangled deeper into your hair, her nails digging into your scalp as she held you against her.

Your tongue flicked over her clit, your mouth sucking with ruthless precision, driving her closer and closer to the edge. Natasha’s legs trembled, her chest heaving, her face contorting in pure, raw pleasure.

And then..She came. Her body arched, her head snapping back, her mouth dropping open in a silent scream as her orgasm tore through her.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she chanted, her fingers pulling at your hair, her body shaking violently.

You didn’t stop. You kept licking, sucking, devouring her, determined to drag her through every last second of pleasure.

Natasha’s thighs clenched around your head, her breathing coming out in ragged, desperate gasps.

Her fingers tightened in your hair and she yanked you away.

“N-Nuh uh.” Natasha rasped, her voice still shaking, her chest still heaving. Your eyes widened, the sudden pain of her grip making you shudder.

“But-”

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” Natasha murmured, her gaze heavy, her eyes dark and gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place.

You swallowed, your breathing uneven, your lips still slick from her release. “I was just-”

“Trying to overstimulate me?” she interrupted, her fingers still tangled in your hair, her voice dripping with amusement and challenge.

You stared at her, unsure of what to say. Because yes, you had been trying to wreck her. You had been trying to make her feel as desperate, as ruined, as completely destroyed as she’d made you feel.

But now? Now you were the one feeling completely undone. Natasha smirked, her fingers tightening their grip, pulling you up so you were kneeling between her legs.

“Nice try, sweetheart.” she taunted, her voice low, breathless, but still so completely in control.

“But you don’t get to win this one.”

You tried to fight back, tried to push yourself forward, to resume what you had been doing. But Natasha’s grip was iron-strong, relentless, unyielding.

“Natasha-”

“No.” she whispered, her voice turning into something darker, something that made your stomach twist in both fear and excitement.

Her hand cupped your cheek, her thumb tracing over your lips, her smirk turning almost cruel. “You did good, baby. Real good.”

Her other hand slid down your neck, her touch gentle but possessive. “But now?”

She leaned forward, her lips brushing against yours, her breath warm, her eyes completely locked onto yours. “Now, you’re done.”

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening, your entire body burning with frustration and need. But the way she was looking at you, the way her fingers traced over your skin, the way her smirk never faltered- You couldn’t fight back. You were completely at her mercy.

-

-

-

-

[cosmos-kitty]

Do you have any tips for painting with gouache? like how do you get it to stay a nice solid color over a large swath of paper? and how do you blend it so seamlessly?

Of course, here's a few pointers off the top of my head:

1. I've used gouache for this in the past so it's possible, but the flat backdrop on my latest WIP is actually acrylic! A nifty thing I've found about putting a layer of acrylic down, is that it creates a barrier once dried and essentially makes the paper waterproof. This means you can work in gouache on top without it mixing with the background, and you can wet a section and completely wipe it clean with a cloth/tissue and it won't disturb the acrylic layer underneath. It also makes the paper more resilient, and you don't get as much pilling/tearing from the moisture

To get an even wash it's mostly getting the right consistency, I add just a little water - enough that the paint is less "tacky" as you drag your brush along paper, but not so much that it's runny or translucent. It takes a couple of attempts sometimes!

2. Also for the current WIP that I posted earlier, like the vast majority of my traditional pieces, keep in mind that it's mixed media. So I assume you're referring to the blue-green gradient on the bird and wondering how I got the gouache to blend like that - it's actually colouring pencils! I'll often switch between dry and wet media, even layer them back and forth, whatever makes the most sense to get the effect I want 😁

3. On that note, when you're working with paint, or any medium really, I can't recommend enough having a "test" sheet that you do both before and during a traditional piece. It allows you try out different medium combos, see what shade your gouache will dry into, and catch any issues before it ends up on your artwork. I often see artists being encouraged to just Bob Ross their way through a piece, the idea being that you'll just have happy little accidents that you'll naturally work into the piece - maybe, but you'll also possibly irreversibly wreck your hard work and have to start again. I don't know, I'm just a methodical person I guess, but seeing someone just directly apply something to the page when they're not sure what it's going to do makes me wince - no two art supplies are the same! All of those paints and pens have different chemical makeups, there's an unlimited number of ways what you're using could interact, good or bad.

Since it's already there, I usually reuse one of the leftover failsons from the process of making the wash background, then test everything on top of that. That way you can see exactly what shade the paint will dry on top of whatever colour the background is:

Doesn't need to look good, nobody sees it (usually) and you can also test the thickness of your brushstrokes while you're at it.

Anyway, I hope this helps!

[taurusdesign]

School Playhouse

Hi eveyone!

The new theme of the playhouse set is "School". Isn't it cute for our little ones to play in different themed playhouses? And @noideabutsims and I have great ideas and plans for this. So stay tuned. 

In addition to the playhouse, decors and items such as the activity table (my favorite item), and the craft table, which you can use functionally with "PandaSama's Toddler Creativity Pack", are also included in the set.

You can check and download PandaSama's Toddler Creativity Pack from down below! (It is required for "Crafting Items" .

You can place the crafting items to the activity table and your kids and toddlers can create their arts together! The items included in the set are listed below.

Activity Table

Deco Cell Phone Eraser

Deco Chalkboard

Crafting Items (PandaSama's Toddler Creativity Pack required. You need to download "Pandasama_toddler_crafting_station.package" from here!)

Deco Hand Pointer (2 versions)

Deco Pens

Playhouse ("Dream Home Decorator Game Pack" required)

Playhouse (Deco Version)

Old School Desk

You can find everything included the set by typing "PHSchool" in the search box.

Special thanks to @noideabutsims for great ideas and @pandasamacc for amazing mods! 

I hope you'll like it! 

See you soon!

DOWNLOAD FOR FREE! (Patreon)

❤️❤️❤️