#but there’s also something weird & different about them

[gothgoblinbabe]

Belt Buckle

Logan Howelett x afab reader

A/N: okay, so this. Uh. Hear me out - I can’t be the only one who’s thought about this. It’s exactly what you think it is. Also it’s not very long just cause I’m still working on requests but it’s been collecting dust in google docs

Warnings: NSFW 18+, she/her pronouns

Word count: 4K

divider credit

You couldn’t quite place where the fascination began.

Maybe it was because it sat right above the bulge in his jeans or because you were always yanking the stupid thing out of the way to get his pants down his thighs, but your eyes were always on the buckle of Logan’s belt lately. He had a couple different ones - all obnoxiously big - and of course you teased him, calling him a cowboy or a show off.

Lately, though, you’d been struggling to keep your mouth shut. Every time he’d stand in front of you now, you couldn’t tear your eyes from whatever chunky adornment was attached to the front of his belt.

“What are you lookin’ at, sweetheart?”

Your eyes flickered back up to his and you shrugged.

“Nothin’.”

He titled his head, “really?”

“Mhm.”

“Why’re you starin’ like that, then?”

Shit.

You swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. You’d been together plenty of times, admitted almost everything to each other, but you still found yourself too embarrassed to admit what it was that had you staring so much.

You finally had to tell Logan while sitting on his lap in bed, his hands kneading your hips to pull you back and forth over his hard cock beneath his jeans. With his eyes closed, lost in the feeling of your tongue in his mouth, he dragged your hips forward a little farther than intended, inadvertently dragging your thinly clad pussy right over his belt buckle. Usually he’d pick up on the little things like that - how loud you whined when he pulled you forward - but you tried not to make the noise again, embarrassed.

He did, anyway.

He pulled your lips from his with his hold on your face, his thumb and fingers gripping your cheeks to the point that your lips were squished into a pout.

“You got somethin’ you wanna tell me, pretty girl?”

You knew you could tell him anything, but this felt far too humiliating - as if you were positive he’d scoff at the idea and tell you that you were gross for even thinking it.

You tried to shake your head, but he knew you far too well.

He grabbed you by your hips and lifted you off his lap.

“Spit it out, princess.”

You sharply inhaled, eyes dropping to his belt.

“I…um, I was thinking…” you tried to say something, anything to even hint at what you wanted, but it seemed stuck in your throat.

Logan clicked his tongue, “Baby. If you want somethin’ you gotta say it.”

You hated that he was right. You had to just get it out, say it all at once like ripping off a bandaid. 

“I wanna ride your belt buckle. It’s big, I think it’d feel good.”

Your words hung in the air, met with deafening silence. 

You watched his parted lips curl up into a smug grin, his eyebrows raised in mild disbelief.

“Jesus, that’s filthy. You really think about that?”

Your face burned. You opened your lips to speak but nothing came out. He was definitely going to call you weird, tell you that’s gross and get up from the bed.

Instead, he wordlessly leaned forward and hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties to pull them down your legs. He threw them to the floor and leaned back with his hands behind his head, leaving you sitting in front of him in only one of his t-shirts with nothing underneath. You looked at him curiously, eyes flickering between his face and his lap.

“C’mon, you want it or what?”

You hastily climbed back onto his lap, positioning yourself so that his erection was behind you and your bare pussy was against the cold metal of his belt buckle. You weren’t sure exactly what to do at first. He usually held your hips when you were in his lap, helping you grind down onto him. Now, though, they were locked behind his head as his eyes bore into yours.

“You asked for it so you gotta do the work, baby.”

You huffed, placing your hands on his chest so you could lean forward and roll your hips. You slid your swollen pussy across the ridges of the cool metal of the buckle, your slick already coating the front of it and the top of his jeans.

You looked up to see Logan’s stare glued to his lap, watching hungrily with his bottom lip caught between his teeth as you rocked yourself back and forth.

“Feels good?” He asked, already breathing heavily from the way your ass grazed the tip of his cock when you dragged your hips back.

You nodded, nearly slack jawed with your eyes closed.

“Use your words,” he demanded, eyebrows furrowing.

You groaned in annoyance at the familiar phrase, one he loved to use when you were too turned on to speak.

“Yeah, feels good - fuck,” you cursed when he lifted his hips a little, pushing against you as you continued to grind yourself down. 

“So you guessed right, then, huh?” 

A/N: short and sweet but ya idk I couldn't get it out of my head <3

[romugh]

SUDDENLY, THE STAR I STUDIED WAS YOU- NR

pairing- prof!natasha romanoff x gp!student!reader

cw- 18+!!; top!reader, bottom!natasha, legal age gap (23, 29), oral (n & r rcv), handie (r rcv), blowie (r rcv), slight lactation kink (if you squint), slight exhibitionism (?), slight praise kink, unprotected sex, soft & rough emotional sex, i think that's all?

wc- 12k??? smut (6k worldbuilding - angsty (?), 6k smut)

a/n- requested! this is my first request ever, so sorry if it's a bit weird, i tried to find a balance between everything while still following the request. have fun reading :p quite a few gip requests, but non-gip fics coming out soon, too! also, apologies for my nerdy physics side coming out, i promise not all metaphors will always be stars and the universe in my upcoming fics!

request- natasha and the reader meet at a bar, where an instant connection is formed. the next day, the reader realizes she’s late for class, only to find that natasha is a part-time professor filling in for the regular instructor on maternity leave. despite their complicated dynamic, feelings begin to develop, neither of them able to forget or ignore the connection that seems to have been written in the stars.

synopsis- what began as a fleeting connection at a bar turns into something deeper when you, a dedicated astrophysics student, find yourself caught between the stars you study and the one standing before you—your brilliant redheaded physics professor.

taglist?- @lost-mortemanghel - comment or dm if you want to be added x

The bar hummed with the usual Sunday night energy—laughter, clinking glasses, and music filling the air. You sat with your friends, playing the role of the designated sober one, one you were used to taking on during nights like these. The thought of Monday morning classes didn’t bother you much; you always managed to balance things out. Your attention wandered, eyes scanning the room as you sipped on your soda.

Across the room, Natasha Romanoff sat at the bar counter, her attention drifting as she absently traced the rim of her half-empty vodka glass. Her fingers, adorned with sleek silver rings, caught the changing light, glinting like electrons shifting between energy levels—an occasional shimmer with each delicate movement. Her gaze remained fixed on the woman who had entered the bar a few minutes prior, the small group of friends around her seeming to create a cosy bubble. Natasha had felt it the instant you walked in—an inexplicable pull that she couldn’t quite ignore.

Your eyes locked for the first time, and something clicked, like a cosmic event neither of you fully understood. The noise of the bar seemed to dull for a second. Her green eyes traced your face, your presence in the crowd creating a strange gravity she couldn’t quite explain, tugging her focus toward you as if you were the singularity at the centre of a black hole.

For you, it was no different. The world blurred at the edges, leaving only her. You couldn’t shake the sensation, that nagging curiosity about why you felt so drawn to this woman. The pull was strong, but there was no rational reason for it. You didn’t even know her, yet your gaze found hers again and again, as if pulled into her orbit.

Between the bustle of people, the two of you kept making fleeting eye contact. Each time, it lingered just a little longer, an electric charge building with every glance. It was subtle, like the gravitational waves rippling through space, just beneath the surface—something powerful yet invisible, drawing the two of you together.

Just when you felt like the next moment would finally break the tension, someone bumped into you, breaking your line of sight. You shifted, trying to find the woman again through the crowd, but she was obscured as someone passed in front of her, momentarily blocking her view of you. The connection, broken for a brief second, left both of you with an unexplainable ache, a yearning for something you didn’t quite understand.

The noise of the bar faded into the background, but the weight of that momentary connection lingered in the air between you and Natasha, tugging at something deep inside, an invisible force drawing you together. Even though the crowd shifted and swayed, people passing, glasses clinking, laughter echoing in the air, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being pulled toward her.

Your friends were immersed in the night’s fun, pulling you in with their conversations, but your thoughts kept drifting back to her. Across the room, Natasha sat at the bar, staring into her glass, though her mind wasn’t on the drink. She felt it too—the strange, almost gravitational pull that tugged at her every time her eyes found you. She couldn't help but scan the crowd, hoping for another glimpse.

But as the minutes ticked by, it became harder to focus on anything else. Both of you were caught in a loop, searching, finding, and then losing sight of one another in a pattern that felt more like orbiting than anything else. Natasha’s heart thumped in her chest, harder than she wanted to admit. She couldn’t place why her breath hitched every time she thought she saw you again, why it felt like the space between you was shrinking, collapsing like the event horizon of a black hole.

Finally, around 11, your friends started gathering their things, calling it a night. You followed them outside, laughter and banter still buzzing around you, but your mind wasn’t there. While you stood outside waiting for the Uber, Natasha remained inside, scanning the dancefloor for your face. Her heart seemed to beat louder, faster, like a photon travelling through space, seeking light but finding none. The momentary loss, the lack of your presence in the crowded room, tugged at her.

Feeling the need for fresh air, Natasha slid off her barstool, the cool night air rushing over her as she stepped outside. As soon as her foot hit the pavement, her mood lifted again—a soft, inexplicable flutter in her chest—because there you were.

You turned around just as she stepped outside. The world felt smaller, the space between you thinner. For a split second, everything else disappeared—the traffic noise, the hum of your friends talking, the bar chatter behind her. It was just you, standing there under the night sky, your eyes finding hers as if by some unspoken command.

And there it was again, that tension, pulling taut between you two like a force field. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips, and you nodded toward the bar. “Hey, want a drink?”

Natasha blinked, caught off guard, but she didn’t let it show. The warmth of your smile did something to her, something unexpected and unfamiliar. For a moment, her cheeks heated, and she cursed herself for reacting this way. But when she returned your smile, it was genuine, and her eyes twinkled like the stars above your heads, a silent reflection of the celestial wonder she often looked toward for answers.

“Sure,” she replied, her voice smooth, though inside she felt like she was standing too close to the sun, her resolve melting, but she wasn’t about to let it show.

⋅˚.⋆☾⁺₊ ‧

As the night wore on, the bar became a backdrop to a deeper connection that unfolded between you and Natasha. Time seemed to stretch and compress, bending to the rhythm of your conversation. Each word exchanged felt like a discovery, peeling back layers and revealing more of the universe within both of you.

For you, Natasha’s presence was mesmerising. Her gaze, intense and thoughtful, drew you in like the gravitational pull of a distant star. Her words were a melody of intellect and curiosity, and as she spoke, it was as if she was unravelling the mysteries of the universe right before your eyes. Her laughter, when it came, was like the twinkling of stars, bright and infectious, adding to the enchantment of the evening.

As the conversation deepened, the world around you seemed to fade into the background. The music played on, but it was a mere hum compared to the symphony of thoughts and emotions you shared. The chemistry between you was palpable, though it remained unspoken, hanging like a silent promise between your exchanged smiles and knowing looks.

The minutes turned into hours, and by the time the clock edged closer to 1 a.m., the atmosphere in the bar had shifted. The music, once a mere background noise, began to pulse with a vibrant energy. The crowd's energy surged, and the dancefloor started to beckon with an irresistible pull.

You felt it too—the undeniable urge to move, to lose yourself in the rhythm, to let the music carry you. You looked at Natasha, who was still absorbed in your conversation, her eyes reflecting the same sense of anticipation.

With a smile that spoke of unspoken desires, you stood up, extending your hand toward her. “Come on,” you said, your voice inviting. “Let’s dance.”

Natasha looked up, her eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, there was a spark—a shared excitement and curiosity. She hesitated only for a second before placing her hand in yours. As you led her to the dancefloor, the sensation of her hand in yours was electric, like a surge of energy connecting two celestial bodies. The transition from the intimate conversation to the dancefloor felt like a natural progression, a step closer to the unknown yet thrilling.

The music's tempo picked up, the beats more insistent, and the dancefloor pulsed with life. You and Natasha moved together, bodies swaying to the rhythm, each step a dance of discovery and connection. The surrounding world faded, and it was just the two of you, lost in the music and each other’s presence.

As you danced, the cosmos seemed to align around you, the energy between you building, charged with the unspoken understanding that this night was far from ordinary. The stars outside might have been the same, but within the bar, under the pulsating lights, the universe had shifted, drawing you and Natasha closer in a celestial dance of your own.

On the dancefloor, the lights cast fleeting shadows and highlights across the crowd, creating an otherworldly ambiance that perfectly matched the charged atmosphere between you and Natasha. The music's rhythm was a heartbeat echoing through the space, a constant pulse that synced with the mounting tension between you.

As you moved together, your bodies swayed in time with the music, and the space between you was filled with an almost tangible electric charge. Natasha’s proximity was intoxicating; her body moved with a grace that made every gesture seem deliberate, every touch a whisper of something deeper. The heat from her body radiated toward you, a warmth that contrasted with the cool air around you. It was as if the space between you was charged with a magnetic force, drawing you closer with each beat.

Your breaths were synchronised, each inhale and exhale creating a shared rhythm that made the air between you thick with anticipation. The warmth of Natasha's breath brushed against your skin, a tantalising hint of the intimacy that was just out of reach. Every time she exhaled, her breath mingled with yours, creating a delicate, almost imperceptible mist that hung between you, a prelude to something more.

The way you moved together felt like a cosmic dance, a choreography written by the stars themselves. Your faces were close enough that you could feel the soft, fluttering rush of Natasha's breath against your cheek, a feather-light sensation that made your heart race. Her scent—a subtle blend of something earthy and sweet—filled your senses, adding another layer to the growing tension. The scent of her perfume lingered around you, a promise of what might come if only you took that final step.

As the music swelled, so did the space between you, narrowing with each synchronised movement. Your hands brushed against each other, not quite touching but close enough to feel the warmth and electricity of the almost-contact. The tips of your fingers grazed Natasha’s arms, each brush of skin a delicate dance that sent shivers up your spine.

As you danced, Natasha became acutely aware of the press of your bodies against each other. She could feel the firm outline of your body pressing into hers, the subtle, undeniable evidence of your physical arousal becoming more apparent with each move. Her mind, however, was consumed by the emotional pull she felt towards you. The realisation of your physical presence was there, but it was the depth of the connection and the intensity of the moment that held her attention, making her heart race and her thoughts scatter, consumed by the unexpected bond forming between you.

Every step, every turn brought you closer, the space between you shrinking to a mere whisper. The world outside faded into insignificance; it was just the two of you, locked in this electrifying dance of proximity and tension. The music, the lights, the crowd—all were background to the magnetic force pulling you toward each other, a force that felt as inevitable as the gravitational pull of a star.

The longer you remained in each other’s orbit, the more the tension skyrocketed, reaching a crescendo that left you both breathless and yearning. It was as if the universe itself was holding its breath, waiting for the moment when the pull between you would finally break free and the last inch of space would vanish.

Every inch you moved toward each other was charged with potential, the slightest shift in your posture bringing you ever closer. Natasha's lips were soft and inviting, just a whisper away from yours. You could feel the heat of her breath mingling with yours, a tantalising promise of what was almost within reach. The world around you seemed to blur into the background, leaving only the two of you in this charged, suspended moment.

Just as your lips were on the verge of touching, a sudden, jarring push came from the crowd. Someone bumped into Natasha, jostling her slightly and causing your lips to make the barest of contact. The touch was fleeting, barely a brush, but it was electrifying. The moment your lips connected, a spark seemed to leap between you, sending a jolt of sensation through both of you.

Natasha’s eyes widened slightly, her breath catching in her throat as she absorbed the unexpected charge. You could feel the lingering warmth of her lips, the fleeting connection leaving you both breathless and yearning for more.

The crowd’s movement had broken the spell, and Natasha stepped back slightly, her cheeks flushed and her gaze still locked onto yours. The touch had been a mere fraction of a second, but it had set off a cascade of emotions, leaving both of you craving the closeness that had just been so tantalisingly close.

As you steadied yourselves, the magnetic pull between you remained a constant, irresistible force drawing you together. The music played on, its rhythm now a mere backdrop to the heightened anticipation that filled the space between you. Though the moment had passed, its electric charge lingered, leaving both of you with an unspoken promise and a shared yearning for what might come next.

The crowd around you swirled and ebbed with the rhythm of the night, but the tension between you and Natasha remained palpable, a hum of anticipation. As the music continued its relentless beat, you both found yourselves gravitating back to the bar. Natasha’s hand rested gently on your back, her touch warm and soft, a comforting presence amidst the pulsating energy of the club.

When you glanced at your phone, you were surprised to find it was already 3. The hour had crept up on you both with gentle inevitability. With a soft sigh, you decided it was time to head home, the night having stretched far beyond your expectations. You exchanged warm, lingering looks, the unspoken promise of what could be hanging between you like a delicate thread.

The brief connection you shared at the bar was intense, but neither of you had exchanged contact details, only names. Lost in the whirlwind of the night and the unexpected bond, you both had an unspoken understanding that you'd see each other again soon. Yet, neither of you anticipated how quickly fate would intertwine your paths once more. In reality, 'soon' would turn out to be just a few hours away, as destiny was ready to bring you together again in the most unexpected way.

⋅˚.⋆☾⁺₊ ‧

You woke up gently, still wrapped in the warmth of your duvet. A content sigh escaped your lips as you snuggled deeper into the covers. But as you lazily pried one eye open, your heart leaped at the sight of the digital clock flashing 8:20 a.m.

The realisation struck you with a jolt; you were already twenty minutes late for class. Panic surged through you as you scrambled out of bed, your mind racing with a mix of frustration and urgency.

You threw on clothes in a flurry, silently cursing yourself for oversleeping and hoping that, somehow, the stars would align in your favour. You clung to a faint hope that Professor Rambeau would understand—it was Monday morning after all, and you were usually always punctual.

As you hurriedly gathered your things and dashed out the door, a lingering thought crossed your mind: being late to class felt like a small price to pay for the pure connection you’d experienced the night before. A smile tugged at your lips, a fleeting reminder of that moment. But as you jogged towards campus, the smile quickly faded into a frown as you hoped, more than anything, that you wouldn’t be the only one arriving late.

As you rounded the corner of the campus building, you spotted Maria and Leighton walking briskly toward the lecture hall, their animated conversation making its way through the crisp morning air. Both were clearly running late as well, their hurried pace matching yours.

Maria Hill, with her signature no-nonsense demeanour, was in the middle of an animated tirade about Leighton's habit of hitting the snooze button too many times. Her voice, though frustrated, had a familiar warmth that felt oddly comforting. Leighton Murray, on the other hand, seemed to be giving as good as she got, her own sharp retorts mingling with laughter as she tried to defend her morning routine.

You couldn't help but let out a small chuckle as you approached them. Their bickering, filled with playful jabs and half-serious complaints, brought a smile to your lips and a sense of relief to your otherwise frazzled morning. As you caught up with them, you felt your heart steady, thankful that you were not the only one scrambling to make it to class on time.

"Hey, you two!" you called out, falling into step beside them. "Glad to see I'm not the only one who's fashionably late."

Maria glanced at you, her expression softening from irritation to mild amusement. "Looks like we're all in the same boat. Where’s your usual punctuality?"

Leighton grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Yeah, you’re usually the first one here. What happened—sleep in for the first time ever?"

You shrugged, the earlier stress melting away with their presence. "You could say I had a bit of an unexpected night. But hey, at least I’m not alone in this."

As you approached the lecture hall, the three of you exchanged knowing glances and shared a collective breath, ready to face whatever Professor Rambeau had in store for the day. The laughter and camaraderie of your friends had turned a stressful start into a reminder that sometimes, the universe has a way of aligning things perfectly—even if it's just for a shared moment of imperfect punctuality.

As you and your friends entered the classroom, a sudden hush fell over the room. The usual chatter about equations and coursework abruptly ceased, replaced by a palpable tension. Your eyes scanned the room, and to your shock, the figure at the front was none other than the redhead from last night.

Natasha stood at the front, her face composed and inscrutable. Her emerald eyes flicked towards you, registering a brief flicker of surprise, followed by an emotionless coldness that was hard to ignore. She then quickly shifted her gaze to the other two girls standing beside you, Maria and Leighton, who she realised were not at the bar a few hours ago.

Leighton, always quick with a quip, broke the silence with her usual bravado. "Uh, excuse me, but who the hell are you, and where’s Professor Rambeau?"

Natasha’s voice, sharp and devoid of warmth, cut through the air. “If you had been on time, like every other student here, you would know that I am replacing Professor Rambeau, who is on maternity leave. Unless you want to start off on an even worse foot with me, I suggest you sit down and get to work.”

The depth of Natasha’s rasp was familiar, but her tone was starkly different from the warmth you’d experienced the night before. It was all business now, a far cry from the easy connection you’d shared earlier.

With no other choice, and feeling the weight of Natasha’s authoritative gaze, you exchanged uneasy glances with Maria and Leighton before finding your seats. As you sat down, the reality of the situation set in. Natasha—your enigmatic redhead from the bar—was now your professor, and the unspoken promise of the previous night suddenly felt very unattainable in the light of this new dynamic.

As the classroom chatter resumed, Natasha wrestled with her swirling thoughts. The vibrant connection she had felt with you the night before now seemed almost unreal in the sterile academic environment.

Despite her efforts to focus on the lecture, her gaze kept drifting toward you. You were absorbed in your work, but Natasha couldn’t shake the pull she felt towards you. The ease and connection from last night clashed sharply with the formalities of the classroom, making her feel disoriented.

As students whispered and worked, Natasha’s thoughts remained centred on you. Each glance in your direction stirred up a mixture of confusion and longing. The promise of what had been a potential connection now seemed distant and unattainable, buried under the weight of her professional responsibilities and the unexpected emotions she was struggling to manage.

As the clock struck noon, signalling the end of class, the room buzzed with the sound of shuffling papers and the clatter of backpacks being packed away. You took your time, even though you knew you should move on from the fleeting connection you had felt the night before. It had been nothing more than an intense moment, pure and untouched, but still, it lingered in your mind.

Leighton and Maria were quick to escape, their footsteps echoing down the hallway as they left, eager to distance themselves from the professor who had, in their eyes, bruised their egos. Natasha, meanwhile, remained seated at her desk, her attention apparently fixed on her papers, though she was acutely aware of your presence lingering in the classroom.

The room had quickly emptied, but you were still there. You moved at a deliberate pace, your footsteps quiet and measured. As you made your way toward the door at the front of the class, bringing you closer to Natasha's desk, the tension between you seemed to build again, palpable and almost tangible.

When you paused to turn and look back, Natasha's gaze met yours. Her emerald eyes were now swirling with emotions—confusion, surprise, sadness, and a sharp pang of guilt. Despite the undercurrent of it, the tension remained, the unspoken bond between you still crackling in the air. It was as if the connection you had shared was waiting to be acknowledged, hanging heavily in the space between you, and drawing both of you into a magnetic, unresolved pull.

The room fell into an enveloping silence, both of you locked in a quiet standoff of unspoken emotions. Natasha’s gaze was steady, but her expression betrayed a swirl of confusion and yearning. You, unable to resist the growing tension, finally broke the silence.

With a small, rueful smile, you shook your head gently and murmured, “You don’t look a day older than 25, I’m sorry.” The words, meant to ease the tension, had the opposite effect. Natasha’s cheeks flushed a soft pink, her eyes wide as they searched yours. The warmth in her gaze was now unmistakable, reflecting a mix of surprise and a lingering pull towards you.

Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, a sad smile tugging at her lips as she absorbed your words. The soft blush on her cheeks spoke volumes, a silent testament to the attraction and connection that still simmered beneath the surface.

“I didn’t think a student would be out on a Sunday night,” Natasha replied quietly, her voice carrying a hint of regret. “I’m sorry too.”

The tension in the room remained palpable, as if the air itself was charged with the unresolved feelings between you. You were just as sweet, gentle, and caring as you had been the night before, and Natasha found herself just as drawn to you, the pull between you undeniable.

You sighed softly, closing your eyes for a moment to gather your thoughts. When you opened them again, the warmth and sincerity in your gaze were unmistakable. The room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of the unspoken connection hanging between you both.

Natasha stood up slowly, her movements deliberate as she turned her attention to the pile of papers on her desk. She gathered them with careful precision, placing them into her bag. The act was a physical attempt to distance herself from you, a bid to bury the connection that lingered so insistently.

She had to do this. She had to let the connection remain in the past. But how could she, when you had managed to break down the walls she had meticulously built? Walls that protected her independence, her self-reliance, and her belief that she needed no one. How was she supposed to simply walk away from someone who had managed to penetrate her defences so effortlessly, and so fast? This wasn’t like her, and she tried to convince herself that losing her job over a woman she had met less than 24 hours prior to this moment wasn’t worth it.

As Natasha turned, you immediately noticed the shift in her demeanour. She was retreating, attempting to leave behind the connection that had seemed so potent only hours earlier.

Maybe you were just imagining things—after all, you didn’t know her well enough to decipher the myriad feelings that flickered across her gaze. What were you even thinking, clinging to this fleeting connection?

“Make sure not to be late next time, Y/N. This is your first and last warning,” Natasha said, her voice striving for a cold, impersonal tone. But even as she spoke, you could sense the struggle behind her words, the battle between her professional facade and the personal turmoil she was trying so hard to hide.

You remained silent, trying to understand her position, even though it was difficult to fully grasp. After all, you didn’t know her well enough to be this affected. You reminded yourself to act like an adult—leave it behind, forget about the few hours you shared, and move on. You had to let go of the memory of her gaze, the way she danced with you, and the tender, reserved softness she had shown you just hours earlier.

With a heavy heart, you turned and walked out of the classroom. Natasha's face fell slightly as she watched you go, her emotions a mix of regret and resignation. She quickly masked her feelings, lifting her shoulders and straightening her back, running a hand through her hair as if to shake off the lingering weight of the moment.

⋅˚.⋆☾⁺₊ ‧

The weeks passed like drifting stardust, each day adding to the tangled web of emotions between Natasha and you. What had once felt like a fleeting connection was now a persistent gravitational force, pulling you both in a direction neither of you wanted to acknowledge. Yet, rather than embrace that pull, both of you built walls around it—resorting to coldness, even biting words, whenever the tension grew too close to the surface.

In the classroom, Natasha’s cold demeanour became a carefully constructed barrier. Her words were sharp, professional, and devoid of the warmth you had felt in her gaze that first night. But even through her frosty demeanour, you caught glimpses of the lingering emotions she was trying so desperately to hide. Her eyes would flicker toward you, a little too long, before snapping away—like someone dodging a question they don’t want to answer.

Outside the classroom, in the hallways and the cafeteria, your interactions were no better. When you crossed paths, there was an almost tangible electricity between you, but both of you chose to hide behind icy exchanges or curt nods. Every sarcastic remark from Natasha seemed to cut deeper than it should, but you responded in kind, unwilling to show any vulnerability in return. The magnetic pull between you, undeniable as it was, became something you both tried to sever with words and avoidance.

Yet, despite the coldness, there was still something underneath it all, a yearning that you both refused to admit to yourselves. As the days stretched into weeks, the tension only grew more unbearable. The brief glances, the curt exchanges, the moments of accidental contact—all of it felt like a star burning too brightly before it inevitably collapses.

You found yourself thinking about her at the oddest moments—late at night or when the classroom was quiet, the memory of her eyes and her presence refusing to leave your mind. Despite her sharp words, you couldn’t help but notice the way her voice softened when she thought no one was listening. Natasha, on the other hand, cursed herself every time her gaze drifted toward you or when her thoughts lingered on the conversations you used to have. Every insult, every cold word, was her way of trying to smother the fire that had started to burn too brightly.

In the spaces between, the two of you danced around the connection you once felt, pretending that the hostility was all that remained. But deep down, beneath the sharp words and cold exteriors, you both knew the pull was still there, simmering just out of reach—waiting for a moment when everything else would finally fall away.

⋅˚.⋆☾⁺₊ ‧

Natasha had always been good at compartmentalising—keeping her personal life in one box and her professional life in another, sealed tightly. But with you, it was different. The more she tried to put distance between the two of you, the more it gnawed at her. The pull between you two was magnetic, no matter how cold she tried to be, how many walls she threw up. Each glance in your direction became a betrayal of her own willpower. She cursed herself for feeling the way she did, but the flutter in her chest wouldn’t stop. And despite her best efforts to be distant, there was always a spark in her eyes when she looked at you, one she couldn’t quite extinguish.

You felt it too, the constant undercurrent of tension. Every time you looked at her, you saw something flicker behind those green eyes—emotions she refused to let rise to the surface. The way she treated you, cold and distant in class, felt forced, as if she were fighting herself as much as you. But you had grown frustrated with the pretence, with the tension that never seemed to resolve. Every shared glance in the hallways, every encounter in the cafeteria only

added fuel to the fire burning between you two. There was an undeniable pull, a gravitational force pulling you closer, but every time you neared, she pushed you away.

Natasha, on the other hand, was getting more conflicted with each passing day. It was becoming harder for her to hide the warmth that surged every time she saw you. Yet she kept up the act, treating you like any other student. But it wasn’t working. Not anymore. The barrier she had built was crumbling piece by piece, and she knew it.

For you, the frustration was mounting. She acted like the connection you had felt was nothing, as if she could pretend it didn’t exist. And yet, you knew it was there, simmering beneath every interaction. You could see it in the way her eyes lingered on you, the quick glances that conveyed so much more than she wanted to admit. It was only a matter of time before it all came to a head.

Both of you were falling—falling deeper into something neither of you could admit to yourselves, let alone each other.

⋅˚.⋆☾⁺₊ ‧

It started small—barely noticeable—but Natasha had picked up on it during the last few classes. You were acting differently. Smiling more at other people, laughing with Leighton and Maria, even flirting a bit with someone in the row behind you. The attention you gave others didn’t go unnoticed, and Natasha, from the front of the class, felt an unfamiliar tightness in her chest.

She wasn’t supposed to care. You were her student. You weren’t supposed to affect her this way, but every laugh you shared with someone else, every time you leaned in just a little too close to another person, that tightness grew. She gritted her teeth, her words sharper as she gave out the day’s assignment, trying to keep her tone professional. But you could tell—Natasha was fuming.

And that only made you push it more.

Over the next few days, you noticed her reactions becoming more pronounced. The way her eyes lingered on you longer when you talked to someone else. How her expression hardened when you didn’t give her your full attention. There was a cold jealousy simmering under the surface of her strict professionalism, and you knew it. You had felt the tension for weeks, and maybe it was the frustration of never addressing it that made you push her buttons now.

Today, you arrived late again, strolling in with an air of indifference, knowing it would irritate her. Her eyes followed you as you made your way to your seat, deliberately not apologizing, instead flashing a smile at someone next to you. You felt Natasha’s gaze burning into you from the front of the room, her hands gripping the edge of her desk just a little too tightly.

By the time class ended, the weight of her stare had become unbearable. She hadn’t said anything to you, but the tension between the two of you was thick enough to cut through. You

could feel her irritation from across the room, and part of you enjoyed it—enjoyed pushing her, seeing how far you could take it before she snapped.

As the rest of the class filtered out, you stayed behind. Natasha was still seated at her desk, papers spread out before her, but she wasn’t looking at them. Her gaze was fixed on you, cold and steely, the perfect picture of control—except for the way her jaw clenched every time you flashed a smile at someone else.

When the room finally emptied, leaving the two of you alone, Natasha didn’t wait.

"You were late again," she said, her voice dangerously low, each word clipped and precise. She pushed down the guilt she knew would follow, deciding that for your own good, this needed to stop. "Care to explain yourself this time, or are you really willing to throw away your degree over someone you spoke to for just a few hours at a bar?"

You raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against a desk, that familiar smirk playing at your lips, though you couldn’t help but feel your heart twitch slightly at her words. "I didn’t think you cared so much. Not like anyone else seemed to mind my late arrival."

Natasha shot you a piercing look, her annoyance barely masking a hint of something softer. "Of course I care. It’s part of my job to ensure you don’t waste your potential."

You leaned in slightly, a teasing grin on your face. "You know, I think I can sense how you feel. It’s hard not to, especially when the connection between us is so intense."

Natasha’s heart stammered in her chest as she fought to maintain her composure, the anger bubbling up faster than gravity could pull her down. Her eyes narrowed, the restraint she’d held onto for weeks fraying at the edges. "Don’t act like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing."

You crossed your arms, feigning innocence. "What am I doing, exactly, Professor Romanoff?"

Natasha stood, the chair scraping against the floor as she moved toward you, closing the distance with each deliberate step. "You’ve been testing me. Pushing me. I don’t have time for whatever game you think this is. Move on. Stop trying. This never started, yet we both know it’s over."

You scoffed, meeting her fiery gaze head-on. "Maybe if you’d stop acting so jealous whenever you see me ‘moving on,’ as you put it, I’d have more success at that. But see, Professor," you emphasised her title with a teasing smirk, "I think you’re a bit jealous. Maybe you should move on too, or stop acting like a scared deer and confront your feelings head-on."

Her breath hitched, hands curling into fists as she struggled to maintain her composure. The emotions in her eyes were clear—unknown to her, you could practically read her like an open book. The slight anger flickering in her gaze didn’t escape your notice; her jealousy was merely a glass wall, transparent yet impenetrable.

"You're right, Natasha," you continued, straightening up and taking a step toward her. "Something has changed. We’ve been pretending for weeks, and I’m done with it. You can push me away all you want, but we both know this doesn’t just disappear."

Natasha’s gaze flickered, her usual mask slipping as anger and desire clashed behind her eyes. She took another step forward, her voice low and trembling with the effort to contain her emotions. "You need to stop."

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. The tension had reached a breaking point, and the space between you crackled with everything left unsaid. "Why? Because you can’t handle it?"

That did it. Natasha’s control snapped, her hand shooting out to grab your wrist, pulling you closer until your faces were mere inches apart. Her voice was a harsh whisper. "You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t feel it? Every time I look at you, I—"

She cut herself off, her breath shaky as she tried to rein it in, but you saw the raw emotion in her eyes, the way her chest rose and fell with the effort of keeping it all inside.

"You don’t have to hold it in anymore," you murmured, leaning in closer, your breath mingling with hers. "Just let go."

For a moment, it felt like time stopped. Neither of you moved, both breathing hard, the weight of everything you had been holding back pressing down on the small space between you. Then, as if something in you shifted, you slowly turned towards the door. Natasha’s grip on your wrist tightened for a second, her eyes flaring in sudden panic as you reached for the handle.

Natasha’s chest was tight, each breath a struggle against the storm of emotions rising inside her. She’d kept her walls up for so long, hidden behind the cold professionalism that had been her refuge, but now, alone with you in the classroom, the weight of it all crashed over her. Her heart raced as you locked the door and closed the blinds, her pulse thrumming in her ears. 

"Leaving already?" she asked, her words cutting through the quiet, sharp and defensive, like a last-ditch attempt to hold onto some semblance of control. But the truth was laid bare in the way her voice wavered, betraying her. 

When you turned back, your eyes dark with intention, Natasha felt a shiver run through her. There was no going back now. No retreat. The late hour, the locked door, the quiet hallway—it all felt like you had stepped into another world, one where she didn’t have to hide anymore.

You stepped forward, your presence commanding, and the distance between you seemed to evaporate. Natasha’s breath hitched as you loomed closer, her fists tightening at her sides in a desperate attempt to hold on to the crumbling control she had left.

“We both know you don’t want me to go,” you said, your voice low, carrying a certainty that made her heart pound harder. You weren’t asking; you knew. The truth hung between you like a blade, sharp and undeniable.

She opened her mouth to argue, to push you away, but no words came out. Instead, her body betrayed her, leaning toward you as if it had been waiting for this—waiting for you—to close the gap.

“Why don’t you admit it?” you continued, stepping even closer, your presence overwhelming her senses. Your breath ghosted over her skin, your words digging into the rawness she had kept hidden for so long. “Why don’t you just say what you’ve been dying to say all this time?”

Her jaw clenched, the anger flaring up in her chest like a defence mechanism. "You’re so... infuriating," she bit out, her voice tight with the effort of holding it all in. But you could see it—the vulnerability she was trying to hide, the way her hands trembled slightly at her sides, as if she was on the edge of losing herself completely.

"I know," you whispered, your voice soft, yet heavy with intent as you reached out, your fingers cupping her chin, forcing her to meet your gaze. "But you love it."

And there it was. The truth she had been denying, the one she had tried so hard to bury beneath layers of professionalism and restraint. The truth that scared her, not because of what it was, but because of how deeply it ran. How much she wanted you. How much it terrified her to let herself feel it.

For a second, Natasha’s resolve wavered, her breath catching in her throat as the weight of your words settled between you. Her heart raced, her mind spinning with everything she had fought to suppress, but then your lips crashed against hers, and the last of her defences shattered.

The kiss was fierce, raw, and filled with everything that had built up between you for weeks. Natasha’s hands fisted in your shirt, pulling you closer, desperate and needy, as if the space between you was unbearable. Your lips moved against hers with an intensity that left her dizzy, her mind clouded with the sensation of you—your taste, your warmth, the way your body felt pressed against hers.

She moaned into the kiss, her body arching toward yours, her fingers digging into your chest as if she needed to anchor herself, to keep from drowning in the torrent of emotions flooding her. But then you pulled back, your gaze burning into hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to still.

"Sit on the desk," you commanded, your voice rough, thick with both desire and authority.

Natasha hesitated, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. Her mind screamed at her to stop, to pull back before she lost herself completely, but the fire in your gaze, the undeniable pull between you, left her powerless to resist. Slowly, she stepped back, her legs trembling as she hoisted herself onto the edge of the desk. Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, and in that moment, she wasn’t the composed professor anymore. She was just a woman, vulnerable and exposed, her walls finally down.

You moved between her legs, your hands sliding up her thighs, rough and insistent, and Natasha let out a soft gasp, her body responding to your touch without hesitation. Her head tilted back slightly, her lips parting as a shudder ran through her, and in that moment, it wasn’t just about desire—it was about everything that had been left unsaid between you.

The tension, the frustration, the fear—it all came crashing down, and with it, a deep, overwhelming need to let go. To stop fighting. To feel.

As your hands moved over her body, your touch was firm, unrelenting, yet there was something else beneath it. Something raw and emotional, something that made Natasha’s chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with the fact that this wasn’t just some fleeting moment. This was real. You were real. And that scared her more than anything.

Natasha’s breath hitched, her hands gripping the edges of the desk as if she was holding on for dear life. "You have no idea what you do to me," she whispered, her voice shaky, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and desire as she met your gaze.

You paused, your hands resting on her thighs, your expression softening as you leaned in closer, your forehead resting against hers. "I think I do," you murmured, your voice low, intimate, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. "And I’m not going anywhere, Natasha. Not until you let me in."

Her eyes fluttered shut, a shaky breath escaping her lips, and for the first time, she let herself believe it. Believe that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to keep running from this. From you.

"I’m scared," she admitted softly, her voice barely audible, as if the words themselves were too fragile to speak aloud.

"I know," you whispered, your thumb brushing gently over her cheek. "But you don’t have to be."

And in that moment, with the weight of everything hanging between you, Natasha finally let herself fall.

The room was suffused with a quiet tension, the world outside forgotten as you pressed your forehead gently against hers, the warmth of your breath mingling in the air between you. Natasha’s legs had wrapped around your waist almost instinctively, pulling you closer, holding you to her as if letting go meant facing the storm of emotions she had finally let herself feel.

Your hands cupped her face, your touch tender despite the desire simmering just below the surface. You kissed her softly at first, teasingly, your lips brushing against hers with the kind of control that let a shiver run down Natasha’s spine. Her hands, once clenched in anger and frustration, now rested against your soft chest, fingers splayed as if she needed to feel every inch of you, every beat of your heart.

Her breath hitched when you deepened the kiss, your lips parting hers as your tongue slid against hers in slow, deliberate movements. The kiss wasn’t hurried—it was filled with the kind

of longing that had been building for weeks. You poured every unsaid word, every moment of frustration, every bit of want into the way you kissed her, and Natasha responded with a soft moan that she barely managed to keep from escaping. Her thighs tightened around your waist, pulling you even closer.

The kiss grew more fervent, the emotional weight of it intertwining with a heat that neither of you could ignore any longer. Natasha arched toward you, her body pressed against yours, and as your lips moved against hers with growing intensity, you felt her start to lose the composure she had clung to for so long.

You couldn’t help but feel the way her body responded to you—the way her breath hitched in her throat, the way her fingers curled against your chest, desperate for more, yet still trying to maintain control. But the control wasn’t hers anymore, not really. You held it, though gently, almost reverently, as if you knew exactly what Natasha needed and how fragile this moment was.

But then you felt it—her legs tightening around you, pulling you in as your erection pressed against her through the fabric of your clothes. Natasha let out a quiet gasp, her grip on you tightening. Her lips parted against yours, the kiss turning rougher, more desperate, as the heat between you built to a fever pitch. Every kiss, every touch was charged with the intensity of everything that had been bottled up for too long.

Natasha tried to keep herself composed, tried to stifle the soft noises that threatened to spill from her lips, but you could feel her restraint faltering. Her legs squeezed tighter around you, her hips shifting ever so slightly, and you knew she was pushing herself closer to you, needing the friction, needing the closeness.

Your hands slid down from her face, trailing over her neck, her shoulders, until they settled on her waist, pulling her even closer, pressing her against the desk. She let out a shaky breath, her head falling back for a moment as your lips moved to her neck, trailing soft kisses that made her shudder.

Her fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you back up to her lips, and the kiss that followed was anything but soft. It was hungry, needy, filled with a desire that neither of you could hold back anymore. Natasha’s body pressed against yours, her legs keeping you firmly in place as her lips moved with a desperation that matched your own.

The heat between you grew with each second, the tension thick in the air as your hands roamed over her body, tracing the curves of her hips, her waist, as if you were memorising every part of her. The more you touched her, the more she responded, her body arching into your hands, her breath coming in ragged gasps that she struggled to keep quiet.

She bit her lip, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as she felt your erection press harder against her. The sensation sent a wave of heat through her, and despite the risk of someone walking past, she couldn’t bring herself to care. All she wanted in that moment was you—your touch, your kiss, the feeling of you so close, yet still not close enough.

"Someone could..." she started, her voice barely a whisper, her lips brushing against yours as she tried to find her breath. But the words trailed off, unfinished, as you kissed her again, harder this time, swallowing whatever protest she might have made.

Her body betrayed her, hips pushing up against you, and you felt her legs tighten, pulling you even closer until there was almost no space left between you. The feeling of your erection pressing against her sent a thrill through her body, and despite the slim chance that someone could walk past, she didn’t care anymore. The risk only made it more intoxicating.

Your hands slid to her thighs, gripping them as you pressed her harder against the desk, your kisses growing more frantic, more heated with each second. Natasha’s breath came in shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried—and failed—to keep herself quiet. Her fingers gripped the edges of the desk, her body trembling under your touch, and you could feel how much she needed this, needed you.

Every kiss, every touch was electric, the tension between you finally breaking free, and the feeling of her pulling you closer, the way her body responded to yours, left you both on the edge of something you couldn’t quite control.

"Natasha," you murmured against her lips, your voice thick with emotion, with need, and she responded with a low moan, her body arching into yours, her fingers digging into your back as if she couldn’t bear to let you go.

Her lips parted, her breath hot against your skin as she whispered your name, her voice trembling with the weight of everything she had been holding back. The sound of it—the vulnerability, the need—was enough to undo you, and you kissed her again, deeper this time, pouring everything into that one moment.

As the kiss deepened, the air between you became thick with desire, the heat of the moment pressing against every corner of the small, dimly lit classroom. Natasha was still trembling under your touch, her legs locked around your waist, her chest heaving with shallow breaths as she struggled to keep the rising sounds inside her throat.

You pulled back slowly, the kiss breaking with an audible gasp from Natasha’s lips, her eyes half-lidded with need and confusion as she looked at you. Her grip on your shirt slackened for just a moment, but the fire in her gaze told you she was still desperate, still on edge. But you weren't rushing. Not now.

Without a word, you stood back, your hands lingering on her thighs for just a second longer before you let go completely. Natasha watched you, her breath still unsteady, her brow furrowing as you took a small step away from her. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her body aching from the absence of your touch, but you didn’t rush to fill that space.

Instead, you took your time, letting your gaze travel over her—taking in the way her legs dangled off the edge of the desk, how her skin flushed pink in the soft glow of the classroom’s lights. Natasha was still, frozen almost, waiting for your next move, her body tense with the anticipation of it. Her lips parted, as if to ask why you’d stopped, but the words never came. She didn’t have to say anything. You could see it in her eyes, the way she was balancing on the edge of need, barely holding on.

Slowly, you reached for the hem of your shirt, your fingers slipping under the fabric. Natasha’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes followed your movements, her pulse quickening as you started to undress, the anticipation building between you like a crackling charge.

You didn’t pull the shirt off in one quick motion. Instead, you dragged it over your body slowly, teasingly, lifting it inch by inch, revealing the skin beneath in a sensual, deliberate way that made Natasha’s gaze darken. Her hands gripped the desk behind her, her knuckles white as she watched you. The soft rustle of the fabric was the only sound in the room, aside from the erratic rhythm of her breathing.

As you pulled the shirt over your head, you tossed it aside, letting it fall to the floor without a second thought. Natasha’s eyes followed it for just a moment before flicking back to you, her gaze roaming over the newly exposed skin, drinking in every detail. The controlled, measured way you undressed was a stark contrast to the fire that had been between you just moments before—a slow, sensual display that had Natasha captivated, her body humming with a new kind of tension.

You held her gaze as your hands moved to the waistband of your pants, your fingers slipping just beneath the fabric, teasing at the idea of what was coming next. Natasha’s breath hitched, her eyes locking onto your hands, and you could see the way her body shifted, as if every part of her was straining to get closer to you again. Her legs tightened around the desk, her lips parted as she fought to keep the soft sounds that threatened to escape locked behind her teeth.

With agonising slowness, you began to slide your pants down, revealing the skin beneath inch by inch. Natasha’s chest rose and fell in rapid succession, her eyes tracing every movement of your body. The smooth way you undressed, the control you still held in this moment, was a direct contrast to the way her body had been shaking, the way she had surrendered to the moment so completely. You could see the effect it had on her—the way her breath faltered, the way her fingers flexed against the wood of the desk.

Once your pants pooled around your ankles, you stepped out of them, your movements deliberate, your gaze never leaving hers. Natasha’s eyes were locked on you, her lips trembling with the effort to stay silent, to keep control over herself, even as her body betrayed her, every inch of her skin tingling with the awareness of you standing before her.

You stood there for a moment, letting her take you in, letting her eyes wander over your now half-bare form. The weight of her gaze sent a thrill down your spine, but you didn’t rush. You wanted her to feel this, to burn with the same desire that had been building between the two of you for almost three months.

Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips, and her eyes flicked up to meet yours, filled with a quiet plea. She wanted you—needed you—but you weren’t going to give in just yet. You were in control, and the power of that sent a rush of heat through your veins.

You stepped back toward her, standing between her legs once more, your hands finding her thighs again. Natasha let out a shaky breath as your fingers skimmed the sensitive skin just below the hem of her dress, teasing her without giving her what she wanted. Her body leaned into you, but you held her back, just slightly, enough to keep her wanting.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, your voice soft but heavy with intent. Natasha’s breath caught, her eyes flickering with something vulnerable, something raw.

She tried to respond, but you silenced her with another kiss, your lips moving against hers with the same measured control you’d used to undress. It wasn’t a rough kiss—this time, it was slow, deliberate, your hands sliding up her thighs as your tongue slipped into her mouth, tasting the need she could no longer keep hidden.

Natasha moaned softly, her legs tightening around you again, and you could feel her body trembling under your hands. The kiss grew deeper, more passionate with every second, but you maintained the control, teasing her just enough to keep her on edge, to keep her aching for more.

She could feel your erection pressing against her again, harder now, and the sensation sent a ripple of heat through her body. Her hands moved to your back, nails digging in as she tried to pull you closer, but you resisted, keeping just enough distance to drive her mad. The slow, sensual way you were kissing her contrasted so sharply with the intensity of her need that it left her gasping for air, her body trembling with the effort to hold back.

You broke the kiss, your lips trailing down to her neck, leaving a path of soft, deliberate kisses that made Natasha shudder beneath you. Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as you worked your way lower, your hands slipping under her dress, your fingers tracing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, teasing, exploring, but never quite giving her what she craved.

“Tell me what you want,” you murmured against her skin, your lips brushing against her ear, your voice soft and controlled. Natasha let out a quiet whimper, her body arching into you, but you held her back, just enough to keep her from getting what she wanted.

“I… I want you,” she breathed, her voice trembling, her body desperate for more.

But you didn’t give in yet. You wanted her to beg for it, wanted her to show you how much she wanted you.

You tutted softly, feigning disappointment as you gave Natasha a fake pout, shaking your head ever so slightly. “Be more specific, Natasha,” you murmured, your voice laced with teasing command. But beneath your words, there was a tenderness, a patience that had her wavering on the edge.

Natasha’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, her eyes flitting down to avoid your intense gaze. She was struggling, and you could see it—could feel it in the way her body shifted under your touch. No matter how much she wanted this, no matter how desperately she ached for you, she had never been stripped bare of her defences like this. You had torn through her walls, peeling back the layers of control she clung to so tightly. She felt vulnerable, exposed, naked in ways that went far beyond the clothes still clinging to her body.

You could sense it—her hesitation, her fear. And even though she sat before you, legs wrapped around your waist, desire burning in her eyes, you didn’t push her. You didn’t rush her to undress, didn’t demand anything more from her than she was ready to give.

You stood there, your body half-bare, clad in nothing but your bra and boxers. The air between you was charged, the intimacy of the moment so thick it was almost suffocating. Natasha’s eyes flickered over you, taking in your form, her breath catching in her throat. But you didn’t push. You waited.

“I know,” you said softly, your voice breaking the silence but carrying no judgement, only understanding. “I know you’re scared—for your job, for me…” You paused, letting the weight of your words hang between you. You knew her fears, knew the weight of the responsibilities she carried, the precarious line she was walking. But there was something deeper in her fear—something more intimate, more personal. She was scared for you too. Not just of losing you, but of letting you in.

But you knew, even as she struggled to speak, that if it ever came down to it, if she had to choose between you and her job, she would choose you. In a heartbeat. And as you stood there, the tension wrapping tighter around the two of you, the silent communication between your eyes and hers told you something else. Something just as important.

She realised you would choose her too.

For a long moment, the two of you stood in that quiet space, everything unspoken swirling between you, heavy and electric. And then, something in Natasha shifted. Her gaze softened, the fear still there but no longer consuming her. She let go—of her walls, of her control, of the weight she had carried for so long.

Slowly, her hands reached for yours. Her touch was tentative, trembling, but it was real. She pulled you closer, drawing you back into the space between her legs. But this time, there was something different in her movements—something raw and vulnerable, something that took your breath away. She was letting herself go in a way you had never seen her before. No more pretence. No more games.

“Please…” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion, her breath trembling as she spoke. Her words were soft, but the need in them was palpable, heavy with everything she had been holding back. She was incredibly vulnerable in this moment, but so incredibly needy too. And goddamn, she was in love. You could see it in the way her eyes brimmed with tears, in the way her lips quivered as she struggled to keep her composure.

“Please,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, but every word hit you like a wave. “Please… make me feel good. I just want you to be mine,” Natasha’s voice trembled, her hands tightening around yours, as if she feared you might pull away. “Please, I want to be yours.”

Her eyes, wet with unshed tears, searched yours, her vulnerability laid bare, her heart exposed. She had never let anyone in like this, had never given someone this much power over her. But she didn’t care. She just wanted you.

Natasha’s breath was ragged, her eyes glistening with a mixture of desire and vulnerability as she looked up at you. She took a deep, shuddering breath, then reached for your hands with a determined yet trembling grip. Without a word, she guided your hands beneath her white shirt, her movements urgent, as if afraid that if she hesitated for even a moment, the spell between you might break.

Her touch was electric, sending shivers across your skin as she pushed your hands higher. You could feel her body heat through the thin fabric of her shirt, the intensity of her need almost overwhelming. Her fingers skimmed over your chest, her touch both tender and insistent.

As your hands slid up, Natasha’s eyes fluttered closed, a soft moan escaping her lips as she pressed delicate kisses all over your chest. Each kiss was a gentle caress, an exploration of the very essence of you. Her lips traced over your skin with reverence, as if she were discovering a hidden galaxy, a universe of sensations that she had longed to experience.

Her hands cradled your breasts with an almost worshipful tenderness, as if they were celestial treasures—each touch a silent declaration of her adoration. She took her time, savouring every moment, her fingertips dancing over you with a care that spoke volumes about her feelings. It was as if she were tracing constellations across your skin, mapping out a universe that was uniquely hers and yours.

The contrast between her reverent touch and the raw urgency of the moment made the scene even more intense. She pulled back slightly to look at you, her eyes filled with an earnest plea. Her breath was warm against your skin, her gaze pleading as she waited for you to continue.

With a deep breath, you let your hands explore her body with the same reverence she had shown you. You carefully lifted the dress higher, revealing the soft curve of her skin, the blush of her cheeks, the way her breath hitched with every movement. Natasha's kisses became more fervent, her hands clutching you as if you were the only anchor in a vast sea of emotion.

In that intimate space, it was just the two of you—an entire universe wrapped up in the simple act of undressing. The room, the world outside, all faded away, leaving only the connection between your bodies and the boundless emotions that swirled between you.

Natasha’s fingers curled into your hair, a sharp tug that made your breath catch. Her lips hovered near your ear, her voice barely holding steady. “Please,” she whispered, her words shaky, pleading. “Please, make me feel good. I need this. I need you.”

This wasn’t like her. Natasha, your composed and meticulous physics professor, who always had control of her classroom, now looked so vulnerable. She wasn’t supposed to be this undone. Everything about her, the way she carried herself—polished, thoughtful, deliberate—was now unravelling. And yet, once again, she didn’t care.

Her forehead pressed against yours, her grip tightening in your hair. Her breathing was laboured, and the words that escaped her lips were soaked in desperation. “I just… I want to be enough for you,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I want you to want me, to be proud of me.”

This wasn’t the confident professor you’d come to know. Natasha, so careful and in control of everything in her life, was now asking, begging for reassurance. It wasn’t just about desire—it was about being wanted, being worth the risk. She was scared, terrified even, that you wouldn’t see her the same way she saw you. That maybe this was something fleeting for you, something you could walk away from while she’d lose everything.

Her grip on you tightened. The way she repeated “please” over and over made your heart ache. She was so scared of not being enough, of not measuring up to whatever pedestal she thought you had put her on. And deep down, you knew she didn’t need to worry. You would choose her over anything.

Gently, you cupped her face in your hands, your thumbs brushing away the tear that slipped from her eye. “You’re already more than enough, Natasha. I would risk everything for you. You know that.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned into your touch, her breathing hitching. It was as though your words had unlocked something fragile inside her, something she had been holding onto for far too long. For the first time, you could see the weight of the fear and uncertainty she’d carried, the fear that she wasn’t worthy of this.

“Please,” she whispered again, this time softer, her voice trembling. “Please, make me yours. I need to feel like I’m enough for you.”

Her hands slid down your back, her touch tentative, hesitant, like she was unsure whether she deserved this moment. But she did. She deserved it more than anyone else.

In that instant, you could feel the depth of her need, her longing not just for physical connection but for the reassurance that she was enough, that she didn’t have to be perfect or in control to be loved by you. She wanted to let go, to give herself fully, and she needed you to guide her there.

Her vulnerability was raw and real, and in this moment, she was yours completely—stripped bare emotionally, more open than she had ever been. You knew then that you had her trust, her heart.

Natasha should have been nervous about where she was, the risks it posed to both of you, but instead, she felt enveloped in a warmth that only you could give her. The building was empty, but even if it wasn’t, she didn’t care.

Guided by Natasha’s hands, you slowly sank to your knees, the weight of the moment thick in the air between you. Your eyes stayed locked on hers, searching for any sign that she might want to stop, that this was too much, too fast. But all you saw was trust—raw, vulnerable trust, like she was giving you a part of herself no one else had ever seen.

The vulnerability in her eyes only heightened your need to make sure she felt safe, to reaffirm that she had control even as she was letting go. Your hands reached for the hem of her dress—the sleek, black number she had worn that night in class, the same one she wore when she looked untouchable, unshakable. You hiked it up slowly, deliberately, the fabric slipping through your fingers like silk, revealing more of her bare skin.

Natasha’s breath hitched as you ran your hands up her thighs, feeling the heat radiating from her body. You could feel the tension in her muscles, the way her legs trembled slightly under your touch, not just from desire but from the emotional weight of what was happening between you. She wanted this, but more than that, she needed this—to be seen, to be wanted, to be adored, stripped of all the defences she’d spent so long building up.

You pressed a soft kiss against her thigh, your fingers tracing patterns up and down her skin, feeling her shudder beneath you. With each touch, each kiss, you could feel her letting go a little more, surrendering herself to the moment, to you. Her hands threaded through your hair again, but this time the tug wasn’t urgent—it was grounding, a silent request for reassurance, for connection.

Looking up at her, you whispered, "Are you okay with this, Natasha?" The question lingered in the air, but it was necessary, and you wouldn’t move forward without hearing her answer.

Her gaze met yours, her eyes softened by the vulnerability she was allowing herself to feel. She nodded, her lips parting as she whispered back, "Yes. I’m okay. I want this... I want you."

Your heart swelled at her words, at the trust she was placing in you.

You pressed gentle kisses against Natasha’s thighs, each one slower, more deliberate than the last. Her skin was warm under your lips, and the slight tremor in her legs didn’t go unnoticed. You were attuned to every detail—her breathing, the way her fingers tightened and loosened in your hair, the soft, barely audible sounds that escaped her lips as you kissed your way higher.

Despite the growing ache between your own legs, a steady pulse of need that had been building from the moment you had locked eyes, you focused on her. This wasn’t just about desire. It was about trust, about showing her that this—what was happening between you—wasn't just a fleeting moment. You wanted her to feel worthy, to feel adored and cared for, not like she was some fleeting impulse or a fantasy you would walk away from once it was over.

You wanted her to know that you weren’t going anywhere.

Your lips moved higher, brushing just above her knees, and then along the sensitive skin at the top of her thighs. You could hear her breath hitch as you got closer to her core, the anticipation tightening in the air. You paused, pressing a soft kiss just above her panties, teasing but gentle, taking your time to savour the moment, making sure Natasha knew you were fully present for her.

Your hands slid around to the back of her thighs, gripping softly as you kissed her through the delicate fabric of her panties. The sound she made—half a sigh, half a moan—tugged at your heart, and you pressed harder, letting your tongue trace the dampness growing against the lace.

Natasha’s fingers gripped your hair more firmly, a silent plea for more, but you stayed steady, slow, ensuring that every touch was careful, deliberate. She needed to feel safe, to feel cherished, before you let your own needs take over. You wanted to show her that this wasn’t just physical—it was so much more.

As your hands gently tugged the waistband of her panties down, Natasha's breath came in shallow bursts. You kissed her hips, then her pelvis, before finally brushing your lips against her core. She gasped, and her legs instinctively parted wider to give you more room. The heat between her legs was intoxicating, but you didn’t rush.

With a slow, careful movement, you licked her, softly at first, feeling her body react to the touch. Her hips shifted, seeking more, but you kept your pace tender and intentional. Your tongue explored her slowly, taking in the taste of her, feeling the way her body responded to you—her quiet gasps, the way her fingers tightened their hold in your hair, her thighs trembling slightly under your hands.

Despite your own body screaming for release, you didn’t let that overpower the moment. This was for Natasha. You wanted her to feel good, to feel everything she hadn’t allowed herself to feel for so long. You wanted her to understand that she could trust you with this—trust you with herself.

You focused on every sound she made, adjusting your movements based on the way her body responded. When her breath hitched, you applied more pressure, your tongue flicking against her more insistently, but still not rushing. You could feel her unravelling beneath you, the tension in her body slowly giving way to pleasure.

Her legs wrapped tighter around your head, pulling you closer, and you didn’t resist. The sensation of her pressed against your mouth, her need so palpable, only fueled your determination to make her feel good. Her breaths were becoming more erratic, the moans she was trying to suppress growing louder.

"Please," she whispered, her voice trembling, barely audible above the sound of her own gasps. "Please… don’t stop."

You didn’t. You let yourself go deeper, licking and sucking at her, increasing the intensity as her hips began to move in rhythm with you. Her fingers were tugging harder at your hair now, a frantic edge to her movements, but you didn’t let go of the tenderness. Even as the intensity built, you wanted her to feel how much this meant—to both of you. That you weren’t going to turn away or leave her.

Natasha’s breathing was ragged now, her body tightening with the approach of her climax, and you could feel her surrendering fully to the moment, to you. And that—knowing she trusted you enough to let go completely—was more satisfying than anything else.

With one last flick of your tongue, Natasha’s body tensed, and she cried out softly, her thighs trembling as waves of pleasure washed over her. You didn’t pull away immediately, continuing to kiss and soothe her through her release, letting her ride out every last tremor.

When her body finally relaxed, her breathing still uneven, you pressed a gentle kiss against her thigh before looking up at her. Natasha’s eyes were glazed, her expression softened by exhaustion and satisfaction. You reached up, taking her hands in yours again, squeezing them gently to remind her—this was real, and you were still here.

"You okay?" you whispered, your voice soft, filled with the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Natasha nodded, her lips curving into a small, tired smile, her fingers still tangled in your hair. "Yeah," she whispered back, her voice shaky but content. "I’m more than okay."

She glanced down at you, still kneeling before her, and her face flushed red. Her heart raced, not from fear, but from a sense of vulnerability she’d never allowed herself to feel before. Her eyes roamed over your body, lingering on the curve of your jaw, the softness in your gaze. That contrast—the way you held all the control yet treated her with such care—it was intoxicating. She bit her lip, her chest swelling with emotions she didn’t quite know how to express. For the first time, she felt seen, cherished, and safe, even in a situation that should have felt anything but.

A small smirk tugged at her lips as she gently pressed her palm against the bulge in your boxers. Your reaction was immediate—your body tensed slightly, a soft groan escaping your lips as the wet patch of precum dampened her hand. She rubbed you a little harder, enjoying the way your breath hitched with each motion. The control was shifting, and she revelled in it, taking her time as she palmed you through the thin fabric.

Your hips bucked slightly in response, the pleasure building quickly, but just as you felt yourself nearing the edge, Natasha pulled her hand away. A quiet, frustrated groan left your throat, but there was no impatience in your eyes. You stayed gentle, your hand reaching up to tangle in her hair, tugging softly as you guided her downward.

Natasha’s body complied, and she sank to her knees, her eyes flickering up to meet yours as she settled between your legs. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of your boxers, pulling them down with a slow, deliberate motion, exposing your hardened length. Her hand wrapped

around you, the warmth of her touch sending a shiver down your spine. She started slow, her strokes gentle but firm, building up the tension with a skilled precision that made your knees weak.

Each pump of her hand was designed to drive you higher, her touch alternating between feather-light and tight enough to have you gasping. You could see the small smirk still lingering on her lips, the way her cheeks flushed with a deep crimson, and it only fueled the fire inside you.

Her hand moved faster, and you gritted your teeth, trying to hold back the inevitable release, but it was too much. Natasha had you right where she wanted you, and she knew it. The pressure built inside you like a dam about to break, and just as the wave crested, you tugged her hair a little harder, pulling her face closer to your body as you came.

Your release spilled over her face, thick and hot, streaking her cheeks and lips like stars spreading across a midnight sky. It was a mess, but in the mess, there was beauty—something raw, visceral. The universe had always been a chaotic, unpredictable expanse, but in that moment, Natasha wore it on her skin. She was your universe, painted in a way that symbolised everything wild and untamed that existed between you.

Her breaths were heavy, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt the warmth of you settle on her skin. There was a softness in her expression, even as she wiped the edge of her mouth with the back of her hand. And you…you stood there, still panting, gazing down at her with a reverence that went beyond the physical. She had laid herself bare, given herself fully to you, and in return, you had shared something far deeper than lust.

Natasha’s eyes fluttered open, locking onto yours. She smiled, a mixture of mischief and something tender playing across her lips as she wiped a bit more from her cheek, still blushing. There was no awkwardness, no hesitation in her gaze—just the raw, undeniable connection between you both, as unshakable as the stars scattered across a vast sky.

Natasha's hand wrapped around your still half-erect shaft, her touch soft but purposeful as she began to pump you once again. The sensation shot through you, making you groan, the sound deep and raw in your throat. Your fingers, which had been gripping her hair tightly, loosened their hold, trailing down to softly cradle her cheeks. Her skin was warm beneath your palms, her flushed face a stark contrast to the cool air in the room.

She looked up at you, a playful, mischievous glint in her eyes, as if daring you to see how much further she could take you. With your hands still holding her face, her lips parted, and she opened her mouth, slowly taking you in. The sensation of her mouth wrapping around you, warm and wet, was like being pulled into the gravity of a star, the intensity almost overwhelming.

Natasha’s mouth moved with deliberate slowness, her tongue pressing flat against you as she took more of you in, inch by inch. You could feel every flicker of her tongue, every slight shift in pressure as her mouth tightened around you, pulling you deeper into her orbit. Her hands gripped your thighs, steadying herself as she hollowed her cheeks, the heat of her breath seeping into your skin, warming you from the inside out.

It was like being caught between two worlds—one of gentleness, where her every touch was soft and careful, and another of fire, where the raw need she had for you crackled with intensity. You felt it in the way she moved, in the way her lips wrapped around you with precision, and in the quiet hunger that radiated from her. It wasn’t just about lust anymore—it was about trust, about the connection that had been building between the two of you for so long, and now, like the universe itself, it was expanding, becoming something deeper, something untouchable.

Each slow, purposeful motion of her mouth sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. You couldn’t help but groan again, your breath hitching as you felt the pressure building once more. Her eyes stayed locked on yours, the heat in them undeniable, as if she was silently communicating her own need to make you feel just as exposed, just as vulnerable as she had felt moments before.

The room around you seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you, suspended in this moment—her mouth on you, your hands gently holding her face, and the sensation that seemed to stretch out into eternity.

Natasha began to take you deeper, her movements growing more deliberate and intense as her mouth slid down your length. The wet warmth of her lips surrounded you, and you couldn’t hold back the deep, guttural groan that escaped from your chest. Each time she lowered her head, the sensation grew sharper, her tongue flicking and teasing, heightening your arousal with every motion.

As she pushed herself further down, a sudden gag escaped her, the tightness around you momentarily breaking your control. Instinctively, your hands gripped her head, your hips bucking forward, pressing her down harder onto your cock. Natasha’s eyes fluttered shut, her throat constricting as she tried to adjust to your deeper thrusts, her own need and willingness written on her expression. The way she surrendered to your touch, her hands clutching your thighs, sent a jolt of raw desire through you, and you couldn’t stop your hips from moving on their own.

You released inside her mouth with a powerful groan, your body shuddering as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Natasha stayed still, her mouth still wrapped around you, catching every drop. Your mind swam in the aftermath, the weight of the moment heavy around you, pulling you back to reality. As your eyes finally cleared, you saw the tears streaming down her cheeks, her lips still wrapped around your sensitive cock as she continued to suck, more tenderly now.

For a moment, worry flared in your chest, but she hummed softly around you, her hands gently caressing your legs, letting you know she was okay. It wasn’t pain—it was something else entirely. Her soft, rhythmic movements, the gentle suction, and the sound of her contentment vibrated through you. The tears weren't ones of discomfort, but something deeper—relief, happiness, a kind of release that matched the intensity of what you both had shared.

You ran your fingers through her hair, murmuring softly to her, "Are you okay? You're safe, Natasha." She hummed again, reassuring you with the vibrations from her throat, her lips curving ever so slightly against your skin, a sign of her quiet joy.

But then, you felt it again—that mischievous glint flashing in her eyes as she gave one more sharp suck, her tongue swirling expertly around your sensitive tip, pushing you to the brink of overstimulation. The sudden intensity made you gasp, and before you could recover, she pulled back, a thin string of saliva and your release still connecting her lips to your cock. The playful smirk tugged at her lips as she wiped her face with the back of her hand, her breath heavy, her eyes dancing with both satisfaction and hunger.

Then, with a delicate, almost bashful movement, Natasha turned around, leaning forward over the desk. Her dress clung to her curves, the hem still hiked up, and she bent over just enough to leave no question about what she wanted. She looked over her shoulder at you, her expression shifting from tentative sweetness to something more daring, though still tinged with a vulnerability that tugged at your heart. Her eyes, though, betrayed her—the sheer need burning there, her desire clear as day.

With a small smile that could only be described as cute, she spoke without words, her body doing the asking. There was an unspoken invitation in her posture, and despite the vulnerability she showed, there was also a trust between you now that felt unbreakable.

You couldn’t help but smile as you approached Natasha, your hands sliding over her soft backside before trailing up her back, fingers ghosting over the fabric of her dress. The way she trembled beneath your touch, her body so attuned to your movements, made your heart race. As you moved closer, your hand brushed over the slick coating her inner thighs, and it told you everything you needed to know—she was ready, aching for you.

With slow, deliberate care, you guided yourself to her entrance, gently pushing inside. Natasha let out a sharp gasp, her body welcoming you with almost no resistance, her slick warmth enveloping you. Her walls fluttered and clenched around you, adjusting to your length and girth, pulling you in deeper with every inch. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect balance of tightness and softness, and you could feel her heartbeat in sync with yours, every pulse of her body crying out for more.

As you buried yourself inside her, Natasha’s moans grew louder, unrestrained, filling the quiet classroom with sounds that felt like music to your ears. Her usual control had vanished, leaving her raw and exposed, her voice trembling with need as she called out your name. Each thrust, slow but firm, drew a new sound from her lips, her body arching beneath you as she struggled to hold onto the desk for support.

The way she moaned for you now, louder, uninhibited, sent shivers down your spine. It wasn’t just the pleasure that drove her—it was the trust, the connection, the vulnerability she had offered you in this moment. You leaned down, your breath hot against her ear as you whispered softly, "You sound so beautiful, Natasha."

Her only response was a broken, desperate moan, her head dropping forward as you moved within her. The walls of the room seemed to close in, making the world smaller, more intimate, as if it was only the two of you and the sensation that swirled between you. Each thrust seemed to melt away another layer of resistance, and Natasha met you with every movement, her hips rocking back to match your rhythm, her moans growing more frenzied as the intensity built.

Her body was a symphony of sensations, her sounds, her movements, the way she clenched around you driving you to the brink of your own control. Still, you remained gentle, each motion filled with purpose, ensuring she felt every bit of the love, trust, and pleasure you wanted to give her.

“Harder, please… more,” Natasha’s voice came out in a breathless plea, her desperation cutting through the heavy air. The need in her tone left no doubt in your mind; she wanted you to let go, to give her everything. You smiled softly, your slow and deliberate thrusts transitioning into something rougher, more intense.

Each movement brought a new sound from her lips—a mix of moans, gasps, and whimpers that drove you to the edge of control. You could feel her body tightening around you, the slick warmth of her drawing you deeper, her hips pressing back in perfect rhythm with each thrust. Her hands gripped the desk hard enough to turn her knuckles white, as if she needed to hold onto something solid amidst the storm of pleasure crashing through her.

You gave her what she wanted, your pace picking up, the gentle strokes turning into something rougher. Each thrust was harder, your hips slamming into hers as the intensity between you mounted. The sounds coming from between your bodies—skin meeting skin, the wetness of her arousal—filled the room, combining with her increasingly frantic moans. Every whimper, every desperate noise that fell from her lips only pushed you to move faster, harder, deeper.

Natasha’s voice was growing ragged, her pleas becoming a chant, “More… harder… please,” her tone dripping with need. You obliged, giving her everything she asked for, pounding into her with abandon. Her walls clenched tighter around you with each thrust, her body trembling as she neared the edge, her moans becoming louder, more frantic.

The sight of her—the way her body surrendered beneath you, the sounds of her pleasure—was driving you wild. You could feel yourself nearing your own breaking point, but this moment wasn’t just about you. It was about her, about making her feel as desired, as safe, and as loved as she deserved.

Natasha’s body bucked against you, her voice rising with each thrust, her moans spilling into the air like a symphony of raw emotion. The intensity of it all, the connection, the overwhelming pleasure, it was almost too much, but you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop.

You didn’t stop even as Natasha’s body quaked beneath you, her release crashing over her like a tidal wave, every nerve ending igniting in pure ecstasy. With a firm grip on her hair, you pulled back gently, a primal instinct guiding your actions. The sharp gasp that escaped her lips sent a thrill coursing through you, an electric reminder of the connection you shared. Tears streamed down her cheeks, reflections of the intensity of her pleasure, and the sight of her vulnerability only stoked the fire deep within you.

“Please… don’t stop,” she breathed, her voice trembling with desperation and longing. “I need you—everything.”

You felt her walls tighten around you, each clench pulling you deeper into the bliss of the moment. Every thrust became more urgent, more fervent, as you moved in perfect sync with her. Her hips met yours in a relentless rhythm, the sounds of your bodies colliding filling the air—a raw symphony of skin against skin, punctuated by her soft cries and your deep, primal grunts.

“Stay inside me,” she gasped, urgency lacing her tone like a sweet poison. “I want to feel you.”

Obeying her plea, you surrendered to the pressure that had built within you, a wave of heat surging as your release burst forth, filling her completely. The sensation was intoxicating, a heady mix of pleasure and possession that pushed Natasha over the edge once more. You felt her body tremble as she milked you dry, every pulse and contraction sending shockwaves through both of you. The warmth of your climax mingled with hers, slick and overwhelming, trickling down to the back of her thighs and pooling against your own.

As your bodies connected in this beautiful aftermath, you slowed your movements, wanting to savour every moment. The world outside ceased to exist; there was only the two of you, entwined in an intimate cocoon of warmth and intimacy. Her breath came in soft, ragged gasps, and you could see the remnants of pleasure flickering in her eyes, a mix of satisfaction and lingering desire.

You shifted your hands from her hair, cradling her waist, grounding her as the waves of pleasure began to recede. With each slow thrust, you relished the way she responded, her body trembling beneath you, as if she was still lost in the echoes of her release. You leaned down, brushing your lips softly against her forehead, whispering sweet reassurances that enveloped her like a gentle embrace.

“Natasha…” you murmured, your voice low and filled with admiration. The corners of her mouth lifted slightly, a shy smile breaking through the haze of bliss.

She looked up at you, her gaze filled with warmth and something deeper, a connection that transcended the physical. “I never knew it could be like this,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, yet it resonated with profound sincerity.

In that moment, you knew that this wasn’t just about desire; it was about trust, intimacy, and a bond that felt unbreakable. You both lay there, intertwined, sharing the warmth of your bodies and the lingering aftermath of your shared ecstasy, each heartbeat echoing the promise of what was still to come.

As the world slowly came back into focus around you, you could feel Natasha’s breath steadying, a calm settling over both of you. You caressed her cheek, wiping away the tears of pleasure, feeling an overwhelming sense of tenderness for the woman before you. With each soft kiss and gentle touch, you knew that this was just the beginning of something beautifully complicated.

a/n- whew, that was a ride. thank you so much for your request, anon, i loved writing it, and although i suppose it isn't exactly what you had in mind, i hope you still liked it! for all of you who keep supporting me as i slowly figure out how to use this platform again, thank you so much. all reblogs and comments are appreciated! the love on my last fic had me overwhelmed x

[redvelvetcupcakes21]

Listen, can we get recognition of the son and father relationship in s8 please.

"Huh." Hens eyes follow the back of Bucks retreating back as Bobby looks on as well. "I thought he would have a bigger reaction than that. He was so desperateto get rid off Gerrad." Hen pondered, looking at Bobby who had stepped in the station now fully back as Captain of the 118.

Everyone had celebrated at the news...

Except Buck, who was subdued at best when Bobby announced he was back at the helm of the station.

"Wonder what that's about." Bobby frowned, his stomach already churning at what was to come.

What came next was nothing.

At least nothing from Buck.

No chats, no hugs, no smiles, and no interest in cooking for the team or even helping Bobby cook.

Buck was fine when it came to communicating during calls. Ever the professional.

Too professional for Bobby's liking.

And it didn't go unnoticed by the team.

He had tried to approach Buck about before the end of the shift during his fourth day back but Buck had rebuffed his efforts to talk.

They hadn't talked since he came back, Buck wasn't even talking during team dinners.

Sure he would talk to Eddie, Hen, Ravi, and Chim- all smiles and laughter with the team.

But it was just silence with Bobby.

Bobby had it by day 7 of his return and vowed to actually confront Buck at home.

(Bobby refused to be upset about not realizing that Buck had moved in with Tommy at some point. How had Buck not told him that? That was a really big life changing decision and milestone)

(Of course Bobby had missed the irony of him being upset at Buck)

He drove the extra 40 minutes from DTLA to Silver Lake, he had thankfully been able to find Tommy's address through some old work emails.

"Bobby? What are you doing here?" Tommy asked once he opened the door.

"Is Buck here?"

Tommy's jaw ticked at that, "He's out for a run, should he back soon." He opened the door wide and stepped aside. "Come in."

Bobby nodded in thanks and came into the house. He had to admit to himself, he and Tommy weren't close. It always felt as though they both were keen on putting a wall between them, that line between being professional and overly friendly. Bobby knew why his own reason for doing so, it just took for Buck and Tommy to be dating for him to put together Tommy's reason for the wall as well.

He didn't know what to expect when stepping into Tommy's house. But it felt warm and lived in, it was neat but there were a few knickknacks here and there, pictures of random sites and people with Tommy (including a lovely framed photo of Tommy and Buck at the awards ceremony), and a lot of plants.

He also noticed a few familiar items that he was sure belonged to Buck.

"Can I get you something to drink? Juice? Tea? Water?" Tommy offered, leading them towards the kitchen.

"Waters fine, thanks." Bobby took a quick look around the kitchen, taking a seat at the kitchen nook table.

"So...any particular reason for the drop in visit?" Tommy asked, sounding blase as got three glasses of water, setting aside one on the kitchen island.

Bobby nodded and gave out a meek thank you as Tommy sat from across him.

"I-uh, I'm not sure." Bobby admitted, he looked up at Tommy quizzically. "Has Buck told you anything? I mean, has he been different recently?"

Tommy arched a brow at that. "Bobby, if you're asking if I know why Buck has been giving you the silent treatment at work, you can just ask outright."

Bobby's eyes widened and he knew his mouth was hanging open as well. "So you know the reason then?" He asked the other man cautiously.

Tommy nodded, twisting the glass between his hands.

"Can you tell me why? I've been trying to figure it out but he won't talk to me." Bobby pleaded, "He's acting weird around me. He doesnt want to talk, doesnt want to help me out with cooking duties. He doeant even call me Cap anymore."

Tommy nodded sagely. "I know."

"Can you tell me why?"

He watched as Tommy looked crestfallen at that and sighed before explaining to Bobby. "No, because it's not my place and Evan knows he can trust me. And as much as I respect you Bobby, I respect my boyfriend more."

Bobby pressed his lips together, mildly annoyed and impressed that Buck had found a partner that had his back like this.

Bobby rubbed his face tiredly, shoulders slumping in defeat as he mumbled. "Yeah."

"Safe to assume he's doing his job, right? Responding to calls and orders." Tommy leaned back in his seat, arms crossed. "He's talking and treating you the way he typically would with another captain. You put on the uniform, respond to calls, take orders, and go home."

That had Bobby sit up straight. He felt a weird sense of deja vu at the words- he was unsure if he had said the words before or if someone else had. It felt familiar and bitter all at once.

Tommy looked at him with an imploring expression.

"Because this is a job and not a family." Bobby finished hollowly....

He had said the same thing to Tommy and the rest of the 118 when he had started as Captain.

He said the same thing a few times to Buck too after Buck had started at the station, but it never stuck.

Buck had wormed his way into Bobby's life and heart. Despite trying for all the years to make sure he had never treated Buck differently, he knew he had a soft spot for him.

Athena knew.

Hen knew.

May even knew.

A part of him knew that Buck was aware of it too.

Which was why Bobby was at his ropes end in trying to figure out how his relationship with Buck was now at the step before first step.

It was though they had pressed the reset button on their relationship it this time, it was Buck making sure that they weren't a family.

"Exactly." Tommy pointed at him knowingly, a sad smile that had Bobby feeling more guilt ridden for their relationship.

"Tommy, I-Im so-"

"Y'know the one thing I admire about Evan? Is that he's selfless and resilient as hell, but he's not gonna force someone to love him and he's not gonna settle either. It's either all or nothing, which I definitely appreciate because I want it all with him." Tommy's smile was fond, "I know Evan cares for a lot for the people he considers to be his family, I just wish that they thought the same for him."

Bobby frowned at that, thinking hack to the times where he and the others had been there for Buck when he was hurt.

He was about to retort back when he heard Buck's voice and foot steps approaching them, "Hey baby, you wouldn't mind if we skip the movies toni-"

Buck froze on the spot, his demeanor switching quickly to something darker and moodier as he asked Tommy "What's the captain doing here?"

Both men stood up but only Tommy went to Buck's side.

"He wanted to talk to you." Tommy explained gently, he rubbed Buck's back in comfort. "I know you're pissed but it might help to talk to him. Even just to get closure." Tommy advised.

Bobby frowned at that, still unsure to what led to Buck essentially giving him the silent treatment.

He watched as Tommy whispered something into Buck's ear and saw how Buck's eyes widened and hardened again. His looked straight at Bobby with a disappointed frown.

"Just talk to him." Tommy pressed, "You might get some answers you've been wanting to get." He kissed Buck on the temple ans squeezed his hand, "I'll be in the living room if you need me, okay?"

Buck nodded, letting their hands linger and trace over their arms as they pulled away. "Okay, yeah."

Buck licked his lips, rubbing his face tiredly with the bottom of his shirt. "You really don't get why I'm so angry at you?" He asked Bobby, his voice heavy with confusion, hurt, and frustration.

"No," Bobby stressed, waving his arms out in frustration. "Honestly Buck? I don't get where any of this is coming from. I figured you of all people would be relieved that I would be coming back."

Buck nodded, not in agreement but just because as he slumped down in the seat that Tommy had vacated.

"Yeah," Buck sighed, "but that doesn't undo what you did, Captain."

It was the Captain that did it.

It was the final straw.

Bobby slammed his hands against the table. "Damn it, Buck. What the hell did I do in the first place? What exactly?!

Buck took a deep breath in, his blue eyes dark and wide but his voice was rough- on the verge of tears as he told Bobby "You were planning on leaving and you didn't even bother to tell me."

For all the bubbling anger that Bobby had felt, it only took Buck's shaky voice to break his demeanor.

"Oh."

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

Are You Sure?! - Episode 8 Observations

10/10 ☆

"If you just watch my trip with Jungkook here, you'll know exactly what I do every day at home."

Jimin - Are You Sure?!, episode 8

Something had shifted that last night in Sapporo. The tongues were looser, the flirting was back in full force, the laughter out of nothing and everything could be heard throughout the house. After two days of activities and always on the move from one place to another, this was now a time to just be. Like they usually are when they hang out together. And it was a peek into how easy it would be for things to escalate. It was like I could finally see how Jungkook could spin Jimin around and then receive a bite/hickey because of it.

A lack of actual objective and purpose cracked the facade that somehow they both tried to maintain and succeded more or less. Especially Jimin. But even in that context, this trip was Jimin and Jungkook stripping away the filters. Add some alcohol in the mix, together with tiredness and soreness and it almost strips them bare. So much so that it leaves enough room to blatantly check the other one up from head to toe while being almost naked. It leaves room to use words like "baby" and "honey" without the other one finding any of it remotely weird.

Going back to that quote from the beginning, despite Jimin referring to how he simply does nothing and lays around the house when he's not out working or on trips around the world, I think it also applies to the cooking session/impromptu show they had that evening. It also takes me back to their second night in Connecticut when Jungkook made pasta and both of them were in sync and knew exactly what to do and how to do it because it was a habit. The difference in Sapporo was that it had the humor twist on top. But even then, it all fell into place immediately. They laugh at the same things and they probably must have put on similar acts in similar situations before. Jungkook is good at making Jimin laugh and how can he not try his best at succeeding that when Jimin is almost falling over because of it?

Which is why the next morning is such a blatant contrast to their good spirits the night before. Reality came crashing down. Impossible to hide. The mood was down, some tears and snifling even before they left the place. Not even shared jokes about puppy Jimin could work anymore. Not even the feast they have each time they go to a resturant. Not even Jungkook opening up all the windows in the car to distract Jimin. And how could it possibly work?

The lack of filter was there that next day, but in very different circumstances. There was no point to put on a brave face and end it with a classic "it was fun, hope we'll do it again, bye". These were the last three days of spending significant time together before 18 months in which most of the closeness probably had to be contained in just being in each other's presence. They didn't hide the sadness. It was not only palpable, but vocalized. Wanting to go back to the first day, feeling down because it's the last one. And ultimately, for someone in his position that has travelled countless times for business and pleasure, the time he spent with Jimin filming this show remains as the most significant for Jungkook. That's a big statetement, but no words were minced.

The memories made during AYS?! will hopefully make their lives easier during their military service. And even though another winter is getting closer and snow is something to be shoveled there, I hope they'll remember running around the streets of Sapporo and only feeling pain in their knees from skiing.

[meo-eiru]

Not sure if you ever answered an ask like this, so if you did please forgive me.

But would having a child with Silas cause him to tone down his mothering tendency, or would it make them worse?

Like would Silas focus his desire to be a parent onto his child, or would it become a weird dynamic where he's acting like a mother to both Y/n and his child?

Actually no, in fact his mothering might just increase because he would think you'd need extra care after having a child.

He just has two people to mother now but that doesn't mean you'll be getting any less attention and care from him.

It was asked before so I'll answer it here as well but I think you'd need to have a long talk to him about how the family dynamics would work. He wants to mother you even after realizing his romantic and sexual attraction to you but you'd need to explain to him how the same dynamic won't work with a literal baby and I think he'd instinctively understand it too to certain degree. Both by viewing how you take care of the baby and the roles you take at taking care of it, and also the roles that falls on him.

Elven family dynamics are quite different than humans. And being a mother is something Silas idolized in his head based on the story books he read, he prefers being a "mom" over being a "dad" because based on the books he read mothers often had a deeper emotional connection with their kids, and they were the ones who took care of the baby's basic needs most of the time. He would take the title of a "dad" for the baby but I think he would still want to be a nurturing parent. Feeding the kid (with actual food), putting it to sleep, reading it stories... Those moments where he gets to form a real connection are what Silas always dreams of, a connection he can't form with elves.

[sulumuns-dootah]

Can I request a headcanon of whb kings reacting to gn mc cracking their bones(?) I genuinely don't know what's it called lol... I don't really know if demons do that but it would be funny if they don't and mc just suddenly did that during a steamy moment..

WHB kings w/ an s/o who cracks their knuckles and joints

⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

A/N: I hc that demons can't do this bc their bodies work a bit different from ours, so to them it just looks like you're breaking them

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

What are you doing?!

Oh, that... Doesn't hurt you?

Satan demands answers and tutorial on how he can do that as well

It looks cool and right up his alley

If your joints pop at random, he'll at first think that you really did break a bone or something

How can your body be so fragile?

Wait, your body does that by itself and just for the fun of it?

Hmmf... Human bodies are so weird...

       ༺☆༻

"Are you okay, master?"

When he hears the cracking sound he's immediatelly by your side, ready to assist you and get you to a doctor

Then he realises you're doing that on purpose and he's flabbergasted

Is breaking their knuckles just a human thing?

Now, during spicy time I can imagine he's just pushing your legs up agains your chest and then he hears the *crack*

His heart stops and he ceases all movent

He just broke your back or worse, didn't he?

It takes full minutes to reassure him that you're okay and that he didn't break anything

       ༺☆༻

Stop that immediatelly

Levi is uncomfortable and won't hesitate to hang you for something so cringe-inducing

Doesn't care that it's normal for humans

He's the king and you will listen to him

Even if your body does is by accident, he'll shoot you death glares

Honestly? His irritation partially comes from him being worried and you doing this will make it harder in the future to distinguish whether you need a doctor

Oh, but Glasyalabolas is very interessted in this feature and wants to know everything

       ༺☆༻

Oho? What just happened?

Prepare to explain why or how you're cracking your knuckles each time bc this bit of information is not staying in his brain

All that matters is that you're safe and sound

You want candy?

Random joint pops usually don't even go noticed during spicy time with Beel, since you're both too preoccupied with each other

Your joints cracking are a good way to destinguish between the real Beel and Bael pretending to be him, though

Bael will freak out and wanna take you to Paradise Lost fro a checkup

       ༺☆༻

Ugh... What is that noise?

'Who tf is snapping twigs in my room?'

When he looks over, he just sees you absentmindedly cracking your knuckles

He's too tired to interrogate you about that, but Beleth does get it as his number one task on his list

If your knees act like they're 400 years old, Belphie will always make a comment about it while you're on top

I kinda want to say that Belphie is an outlier and his joints also crack since he moves so little and when he finally tries to use them they get offended

       ༺☆༻

Luci is aware of some features of human bodies, but even this is kinda surprising to him

Why would you do that to yourself?

Still, he's not worried since as a healer he knows what makes your joints crack and pop

He does wish you'd not do that around him, though

If that happens on accident, he'll ignore it unless you sound off that that particular one was painful

All the demons in Paradise Lost are aware of your joints randomly popping and don't question it

It's even written into your medical file

Somehow, Gamigin missed the memo and freaks out each time and is worried even after your explanation

[galaxygermdraws]

Finally designing the Sonic cast. or. at least. Some of them. There are too many characters in this franchise these are just the ones I think about the most often. So uh. Ya. I will leave any notes under the cut since I have a lot, although not every character will have notes because we haven't explored every character (and share them with @shadesofvermillionvoid)

(reblogs with tags/comments are appreciated. Thankyu)

Sonic

Sonic's earring is Chip's bracelet. I don't think Sonic particularly likes having anything on his wrists, and Sonic Forces made that worse

The regulators are based directly on Sonic Prime, as I love the regulators in that show and think the idea of giving Sonic something similar to Shadow's Inhibitor Rings makes a lot of sense

He got those little markings due to accidentally absorbing some of Chaos' DNA

Tails

Tails has goggles like in Sonic Boom, because I like Boom Tails' design

He still has his robotic bits from Sonic Lost World, he still managed to keep his free will, but what happened was Zavok used his ability to control robots to force Tails to fight Sonic. Since then, Tails has updated his cybernetics so he can filter out any suspicious frequencies that could take his free will.

The cannon arm from Lost World is now basically like the guns from Mario and Rabbids, where you hold it in your hand and it like covers your arm. It's like that

Tails is a skeptic. This is the funniest bit but also thanks to Boom (the bad luck episode) it has some precedence

Knuckles

Knuckles in our lore is deeply spiritual (we are developing Mobian belief systems because we are Insane) , and the first time he saw Sonic he noticed he looked similar to the murals in Hidden Palace. So when Sonic turned out to be good, that made sense to him, as Sonic was common in a lot of prophetic murals around the island.

Knux actually thought Sonic was a god at first. Then he saw him choke on a Chili Dog.

He put beads around his spines after the events of Sonic Forces, since the war was over and he could relax for the first time in months.

Amy

Amy, like Knuckles, actually has a deep connection to her belief systems. We haven't figured out everything exactly, but she and Knuckles quickly bond over this aspect of their lives

I styled her quills differently because I kind of like giving her something that makes it obvious she is a hedgehog

Similarly, I gave her a back spine, and the hedgehog nose, since I had never realized she has the same kind of nose as Tails or Cream

Shadow

Shadow wears eye makeup. He puts it on every morning. For a while he had to have help with it (from both Rouge and Amy), but eventually figured out how to do it himself

He has yellow sclera due to the Black Arms blood. Similarly, he has a longer tail than most Mobian hedgehogs, and he cannot retract his fangs. His blood is green

He has some less favorable urges. Mostly related to the whole "Black Arms feed on living creatures" things, but they don't crop up often

He and Rouge have matching earrings

Rouge

I based her design off of Sonic Prime because I honestly prefer that design more. One because she looks like an actual spy, and two because it's based on her Sonic Heroes design. Similarly, she has Prim's hair tuft

Gave her the bat nose a lot of people do because I like the way it looks

I don't have a lot of thoughts about Rouge as of right now I am so sorry.

She and Shadow have matching earrings

Silver

Silver has a lot more scrapes and burns from his future, even though it's been fixed several times

He is displaced from time. He doesn't feel connected to his current future, especially since in our lore he is one of the few people to remember Sonic 06 (it's because in our lore, Timeline B Silver got his powers from Mephiles, in the sense that those time powers had to go SOMEWHERE after the timeline reset.)

I am going to be designing a weird messed up form for Silver (like Werehog or Doom Morph for Sonic and Shadow) based probably on Mephiles to some extent

Blaze

Like Silver, she has remnants of powers from the previous timeline. She already had fire powers in Timeline A, but she has much stronger ones now, as she still has Iblis inside of her, although the powers are no longer destructive, as they were never provoked

Her dimension is actually a result of Solaris ceasing to exist. That power still existed and had to go somewhere, so it ended up resulting in the Sol Dimension.

[lyraa-kill]

Shapeshifter Simon who’s true form is the Cerberus (new MW3 alone skin), only he hides it nearly all the time. Very few people know his “monster” status, and he’d like to keep it that way. He’d honestly like to stay in his human form for the rest of his life and completely forget about his two other heads.

Until he meets Johnny.

Suddenly, he wants Johnny to know him. He aches and yearns for Johnny to see his true form and still tell him that he loves him, that he thinks he’s handsome, that he wants to be with him. The two other consciousnesses he conceals scream at him inside to be let out, they want to know Johnny too! They want to be kissed and their faces held too! It’s not fair that Simon gets all of Johnny’s affection!

So one day, he calls Johnny into his room. He needs to show him. The nerves and adrenaline are coursing through his body, making him shake and his mouth go dry.

Johnny knocks on the door, then slowly opens it up once Simon says to come in.

“Ye wanted to see me?” Johnny asks, shutting the door behind him and making his way to Simon.

Simon nods. He can’t speak. Fuck, the anxiety is so bad. He feels his heart pounding at his chest like it’s about to break through his ribs.

“What’s wrong? Are ye alrigh’?” Johnny reaches up and gently holds Simon’s face, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs through his mask. Simon’s two other heads cry inside, wanting to know that touch as well.

“I’m- I’m okay.” Simon stammers. “I… I need to show you something.”

Johnny nods and looks at Simon, waiting.

“It’s weird. You’re going to freak out. B-but I need you to know, okay? I… I need to show you who I am. I need… I want to know if you can still love me, once you see the real me.”

Johnny’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Ah don’t understand. Of course I love you. That’s never going to change.”

Simon shakes his head. “Just… please. Johnny. Don’t freak out. Promise me you’ll stay calm.”

Johnny nods, a look of confusion on his face. “I promise.”

Simon lets loose a long sigh. Here goes nothing. Slowly, he lets the transformation start to course through him. He feels his flesh move and mold itself into its proper place, his bones and veins and muscles and arteries rearranging themselves. He feels his two other heads spring from his shoulders, his other arms pushing out of his back.

Johnny watches. His eyes go wide, his heart starts to pound. What the fuck is he witnessing? What is his boyfriend turning into? What is Simon turning into?

When the transformation is complete, Simon (and Ghost and Riley) stand there. Utterly terrified. Ghost and Riley are ecstatic to see Johnny with their own eyes for the first time, but they can also see the look of panic on Johnny’s face. The subtle step back he took. They can hear the pounding of his heart, smell the adrenaline in his blood.

“I’m a shapeshifter,” Simon says. “This… this is what I truly look like.”

Johnny stands there in silence.

“I know you weren’t expecting this and that it seems unbelievable. I know it’s probably terrifying. I’m… I’m sorry. Fuck. God, Johnny- I’m so fucking sorry-“

Simon starts to tear up looking at Johnny’s shocked face. He just ruined this. He ruined the most perfect and beautiful thing in his life. He starts to transform back, cringing when Ghost and Riley start to groan in protest.

Johnny reaches out, putting his hands on his shoulders. “Wait!” He exclaims.

Simon stops the transition. He gulps.

Johnny takes a deep breath in and swallows the rock in his throat. He looks at all three heads. Really looks at them. The middle one is his Simon. His perfect, beautiful, sculpted by the god’s Simon. The one to the left, because of the mask, looks near identical to Simon, but there’s something different in the eyes. The one to the right wears a different mask, and his face looks slightly different, his eyes more rounded and soft.

They’re all beautiful. If this is who Simon really is, if he’s three people in one, Johnny can love him. He can love all three of them. Absolutely.

“I’m not… I’m not scared of ye, Simon. I’m not.” Johnny says. “This is a little shocking and it’s not what I was expecting. I… wasn’t even aware this sort of thing could happen in reality. But I’m not scared. Never of you.”

Simon sighed, tears falling from his eyes. Ghost and Riley join in too.

“They’ve been wanting to meet you,” Simon whispers. “Was jealous I got you all to myself.”

Johnny smiles. “That right?”

The head to the left groans, a few raspy inaudible words leaving its mouth. “That’s ghost.” Simon says. The head to the left groans as well, muttering out a small Johnny. “That’s Riley.”

Johnny smiles. He holds Simon’s face in his hands, then softly kisses him on the forehead. “I love you, Simon.” He says. He turns to the left and grabs that head, saying, “I love you too, Ghost.” He then turns to the last head, softly holding him under the chin and kissing him on the tip of the nose, then says, “I love you as well, Riley.”

All three heads cry from joy. Simon at being accepted, and Ghost and Riley finally being able to feel Johnny’s touch.

[never2tired4u]

Hey!! I hope you're doing well! I just read your post about the dateables reacting to MC back in human form, and I really loved it! Your writing was great and I loved how their personalities were on point!! I saw your asks were open and wanted to ask if you'd like to write a bit of a domestic fluff with the dateables reacting to MC cooking/teaching them how to cook human food! (especially Solomon bc he's the worst at it lol) Thank you and please write more in the future, you're amazing 💗

— 🦇

Note: Thank you so much 🦇 anon! Also I love this idea, unfortunately i actually didn't know what to do with it :( but tried my best and sorry for not replying soon. Been busy with life in general… Came back to NB yesterday only to get a message from Luke saying he was being chased by Devildom tomatoes lol

You are amazing too and I will try to write more in the future <3

OBEY ME! Dateables x Reader

Characters: 《°•[ Solomon , Simeon , Diavolo , Barbatos...]•°》

Summary: 《°•[ Cooking with them!]•°》

Warnings: 《°•[ Fluff, Solomon wanting to cook.]•°》

With Solomon, cooking isn’t easy. He is a free spirit, curious, and itching to try different combinations with a smile on his face, be it potions or spells, or cooking. Thankfully, he is powerful enough to fix those failed experiments and let it be a learning experience for him, except when he is tasked (himself) to cook. He tries, fails, and just accepts it as perfection, never learning his lesson, never improving. You don’t have the heart to tell him to not join you in the kitchen since he seems to genuinely love cooking for people, however, sometimes he really tests your patience.

Like right now, as he tries, once again, to add some sort of weird ingredient to the pot. Something that DEFINITELY doesn't belong in a human dish…Or any realm's dish for that matter.

“Oh, you caught me.”

“Put that down.” you warned him with a stern voice, Solomon just smiled while slowly lowering the thing, “Not in the pot!” you yelled, barely managing to stop him before he added his ‘touch’ to the meal, “Solomon, what did we talk about?”

Solomon frowned, “I know, it just…” sighing as he glanced at the book, reading the instructions again, “The recipe seems so boring.”

“It’s a soup recipe.”

He dramatically sighed again and stepped back, putting the “ingredient” he was going to add back into his pocket, making you wonder what it even was. Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by him wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and resting his cheek on your shoulder, “Sorry, I promise I won't try to add any DemonFlower Eyeball into it.”

“Just don't add anything!”

“Okay okay,” he laughs, “Only human stuff, got it.”

A smile formed on your lips after hearing his voice next to your ear, a gentle and calm tone. Ready to do anything you requested from him. For now.

After all, even though Solomon is a free spirit, his love for you makes him come back down to earth. If it is you who tells him to follow the recipe, then he will. And surprisingly enough, he isn’t a bad cook once he stops his ways of…adding things.

He fetches you some ingredients then stands next to you, waiting for your instructions (since you sadly don't trust him much to do anything on his own). You finished rather quickly and ready the bowls. Both of you sit on the table and Solomon takes his first sip, “And here I thought I was the teacher in our relationship. It seems I have a lot to learn from you too.” he says as a genuine smile graces his lips.

“Hm? Why do you say that?”

“This tastes delicious.”

“It's a simple dish.” you say, a little confused by his low tone, and the far away look in his eyes.

“It's been forever since I've eaten any human world food,” his smile never leaves his face, “It may be a simple dish but that is what makes it so special. Thank you for the food.”

Simeon is someone who enjoys cooking, not as much as Luke perhaps, but he is still okay at it. For him, trying new recipes every now and then, helping Luke around is something of a routine at this point. Cooking in general has always been a job he needed to do, until his view changed quickly when you decided to enter the kitchen with him. The angel then quickly realized that cooking can also be fun and engaging too.

If you are around that is.

Tonight, you had a craving for some human world food. Luke asked to try some too so you decided to get to work and Simeon offered to help.

“So, where do we start?-” he is suddenly stopped by your arms wrapping around him and completely stops moving for a moment, however he gently hugs you back.

“Simeon?” you ask in confusion, “What are you doing?”

Simeon slightly pulls back, only to realize you were just tying the apron around him, “Oh.” he smiles gently, while mentally hitting himself on the head and pulls back, “I thought you wanted a hug.”

“Maybe later, now let's get to work!”

Simeon is out of his usual attire and wearing something more comfortable instead, with an apron tied to his waist thanks to you.

He listens to what you want to make and what he can do. (Un)fortunately he usually finishes his work pretty fast and then tries to take over yours to help which you refuse. Giving him another, much more simple task and while he does that Simeon often starts to ramble.

“...Would it be rude of me to say that I like how human ingredients are so normal?”

“Compared to what?”

“Anything from Devildom really...” Simeon can't help but look guilty, it feels like he is insulting the whole Devildom himself, a place most of his friends consider a home, but he can't help it, “At least these don't try to attack us.”

“Oh, that's true,” you almost let out a chuckle at how nervous Simeon seems as he chops tomatoes, probably imagining them starting a fight, “What about Celestia?”

“Celestia? Well, hm…” his hands pause for a moment as he gets lost in thought, “They are…Okay? Though, some of them are…Too much.”

You aren't really sure what Simeon means by ‘Too much.’ but decide not to ask about it as he seems annoyed. A memory of an energetic cucumber crossed his mind, perhaps?

“I'm glad you like our normal and boring tomatoes then.”

Simeon laughs nervously, “Yeah, I like it, especially since they don't grow legs and run around.” he turns to you with a smile, “So, we can just focus on making the food and enjoy talking like this.”

Even after the food was finished and the three of you sat down to enjoy the food Simeon can't help but ask you to teach him more human world recipes, “Luke enjoyed it.” he says. Hoping you don't notice how he just wants to spend time with you.

“You want me to make a human world dish?”

“No.” you shake your head, “We are going to make it together, Barbatos.”

Barbatos smiles, when people come to him they always have requests. For example, Beelzebub. The young devil always says he wants to eat his cooking, or use the big kitchen at the palace for a new dish. No one ever came to him and asked to cook together since it was usually his job alone to do, he is a butler after all.

“Alright. However, I don't know the dish you want to make, so…” he can't help but chuckle a little as he bows his head, “Please treat me kindly.”

His words are a complete lie though, Barbatos may not know how the recipe goes but he can tell what needs to be added. He is a great cook, and so graceful while he does the work. He is pretty quick too so the food is almost done already.

“Hmm…” after taking a small sip from the pot you can't help but think that something is missing, it tastes good but it could be better you think, so you turn to your helper, as he likes to call himself, “Barbatos, what do you think of this?”

He casually takes the spoon you hold for him and hums, “It's great, but how about adding some bay leaf?”

“...Bay leaf? We have that?”

“I do, I sometimes use it.” he walks up to a random cabinet and pulls out a jar, “It goes well in foods that need to be cooked for a long period of time. You just need to take it out after it's done.”

“Huh. So, you use human world ingredients in your cooking?”

“Only when you are around,” you watch as Barbatos adds two leaves into the pot, “It's amusing to see your reaction when you eat what I cook for you.”

“That's why they taste so familiar!?”

Barbatos innocently smiles at you, “Don't forget to stir, dear. Or would you like me to take over?”

“Barbatos, don't tell me you actually have been making me human food that looks like Devildom food.”

“I thought the familiar taste would make you happy.”

“...That's kind. Thank you.” you smile, but then squint your eyes at him, “You sure there's nothing else…?”

Barbatos doesn't say anything as he starts cleaning around the kitchen, picking up the things you've used and no longer need.

Of course there's another reason why he secretly cooks human dishes for you. It's so you can visit him, compliment him and ask for him. It's a selfish reason. However, for someone like him it's not surprising. He is a demon, and when it comes to your time and attention, he selfishly wants it all.

You are asking the prince, the future ruler of Devildom to cook with you, a human dish? And he agrees with a laugh? If anyone heard this, they would be thinking the Devildom is coming to an end. His butler however, can't help but think Diavolo agreed without hesitation only because it's you and only because it's a way to escape from his duties. Considering the prince has never touched an utensil in his life, it is weird to see that he seems so confident.

His confidence, however, quickly shaders as he accidentally pushes on the tomato too much while trying to chop it and makes a mess. Covering your aprons and walls with tomato seeds and juices.

He turns to you and smiles, “Have I ever told you that you look good in red?”

You scoff but can't help as a smile grows on your face, “Yes, usually when I'm in a red outfit, not when in a red mess.”

“Small details.” he laughs, but a sigh leaves him as he looks down at the chopping board, “I didn't think they would be so soft and delicate.”

“Don't blame the tomatoes.” when he turns his sad eyes towards you, you wave your hands around quickly, a feeling of guilt settling in, “Don't blame yourself either, accidents happen in kitchens! We can still use it.”

“That's great! Then I'll continue with the cutting,” he says, smiling again, “I'll be more careful from now onl.”

Diavolo may not have a lot of experience in the kitchen, no matter which realm the food is from, but he still finds his own failures fun. Laughing when he accidentally drops the salt shaker in the pan or when he almost burns himself. As a prince he never had mishaps in the kitchen before.

It's new, it's entertaining.

“Thank you for helping me.” you can't help but look at the bandages around his fingers, “Even though it was kind of a disaster.”

Diavolo laughs as he searches for the plates,”No no, thank you! This was a lot of fun. And we get to taste the fruit of our labor too!” he finally finds the right cabinet, “And I'm always happy to learn about the things you enjoy, like this dish.”

He might still have a lot of papers to read and sign but every once in a while he goes into the kitchen to cook the recipe he learned from you. He is extra careful while making it if he is making it for you but is more care free if it's only for himself. He also eats it when he misses you when you are unable to visit him, the same human world dish brings comfort to him as he imagines it bringing comfort to you.

Ⓒ2024

[vidavalor]

Hello lovely! I'm wondering if you have any thoughts about Maggie in Final1 5? Isn't it weird that she wants to go back to talk to Az and Crowley while Nina's working? Something about it feels off to me.

Hello right back. 💕 There's chamomile mint tea and shortbread since we're on a Maggie theme, if you'd like some. Maggie's behavior from that scene on is super fucking weird, I agree.

Before the milk run-- when Maggie becomes the only involved character whom we lose track of a bit during The Final 15-- versus how she behaves when she returns is so strange as to be something that I consider maybe additional proof that things are not at all what they seem to be in The Final 15.

On Maggie and Crowley's weird Final 15 behavior, a possible meaning to all the allusions to robbery in S2, and what Maggie and Nina might be able to tell us about what happened at the end of S2.

TW: brief mentions of show's non-consensual possession/rape analogy.

Think for a moment about how truly weird Maggie's request for her and Nina to go back to the bookshop in that moment actually is...

It's only been a matter of minutes since Maggie and Nina were basically hostages in the bookshop who were almost killed by Michael and Saraqael. Crowley saved their lives in getting them out of the shop maybe, what? It's been a minute since I rewatched that bit of it but it couldn't have been more than 15 minutes prior?

The beings in the shop but for Maggie and Nina are supernatural and so left magically without using the door but while we the audience know that these people are no longer in the shop because we were watching it, Maggie and Nina do not know that. When Maggie suggests to Nina that they go talk to Crowley and Aziraphale, they have no way of knowing if the beings that just tried to kill them are still in the shop. They didn't even see Aziraphale leave with Whoever Derek Jacobi Is Playing yet because Nina was all "where's the other one?" to Crowley when they arrived back in the shop.

Maggie is literally like: Nina, I know you opened the business you own late and are the only one working right now and have a line of 20 people waiting for their morning, pre-work coffee but what if-- just hear me out-- we just made them wait an indefinite amount of time to voluntarily go back into the place where we nearly died a matter of minutes ago that could still be full of the people who wanted us dead and we did this for no other purpose than just to tell off my beloved adopted godfather and his partner, who just risked harm to save both our lives? And to maybe then also stick our noses into their love lives in return or something?

I mean... WHAT?!?! lol

Consider, even, how even more weird that is when Maggie, just *prior* to having gone to the mini-mart, had never been more on the same page with Nina and never more understanding?

She sacrificed her own want to go sleep behind the counter of her shop to offer to help Nina. It's a big moment of change in their relationship and shows a lot of growth for Maggie. She's gone from someone who is caring but has a tendency to only think about how things make her feel to seeing things from Nina's perspective. She's matured through the season into being someone more ready to be a partner to Nina. Maggie offering to help Nina with her morning rush-- and Nina accepting the help-- is the sweet, romantic moment showing that these two are heading in a positive direction, both individually and together.

When Maggie gets back with the milk, though? After she's been out of our sight for a few minutes? She's behaving very differently.

During S2, Maggie is shown to be a pretty guileless character. She might have the occasional judgemental moment but she's not deceptive or tricky and she really wouldn't hurt a fly. When Maggie comes back from the milk run, though, her insistence on Nina dropping everything and going with her in that moment is not just weird behavior but manipulative in a way that could not be more out of character for Maggie.

Nina has been in an abusive relationship where she was afraid of displeasing Lindsay. Maggie is aware of this, as it's been the subject of multiple conversations between them throughout the season. So, when Maggie gets so bizarrely insistent on Nina dropping her work-- her livelihood, her purpose, her job-- to meet Maggie's demands in that moment? When this isn't an emergency of any kind and isn't at all time-sensitive and there is no objective reason why Nina should be halting her job to do what Maggie wants in this moment? Maggie is being controlling in a Lindsay-like way. She keeps at it, knowing that Nina will give in and agree to go with her because Nina is used to doing that with her partner.

Nina hesitates and isn't sure whether or not to go with Maggie for a moment and I don't really blame her? This is the complete opposite behavior to Maggie before she left for the mini-mart. Maggie is suddenly acting quite a lot like her polar opposite-- the Lucifer-and-Heaven-paralleling Lindsay.

Maggie is also literally on Nina's shoulder like a devil the whole time in the scene in which she's convincing her to step away from the shop and go across the street with her to the other shop for a chat and...

...listen to what we just said there...

...it's a parallel to the thing that Whoever Derek Jacobi Is Playing is doing with Aziraphale, is it not?

So, what happened on the milk run?

Who did Maggie run into at the mini-mart that we couldn't see in the ending of S2 without it giving the game away? I wouldn't be surprised if, on this mirror-happy show, on the other side of learning in S3 that it was The Devil with the coffee in the bookshop in The Final 15, we also had a scene that showed that, while on her milk run, Maggie had a run-in with Sister Teresa's killer.

Did Hastur possess Maggie as part of Satan's plan? Was the idea to use Maggie and Nina to further trip Crowley and Aziraphale towards disaster to get Aziraphale? If so, it kind of half-worked. I'm not convinced that anything Maggie and Nina said to Crowley really mattered-- I think they weren't telling him anything he didn't already know or feel and that it's largely misdirection for the audience. What was effective, though, was the impression Aziraphale got upon seeing them leave as he was coming in.

Maggie and Nina being back in there at this weird time and then rushing out with smiles and comments like that they were "just leaving" and they were sure Crowley and Aziraphale had "a lot to discuss" seem to have led Aziraphale to assume that Crowley had asked them to come back and to the conclusion that he must have done so to tell them of his intent to ask Aziraphale to marry him. It's Maggie and Nina leaving the shop that reinforce to Aziraphale the idea that, when Crowley stands up afterwards, takes off his glasses, and says he supposes he has "something to say", that Crowley is only trying to communicate a proposal and not a plan.

It's what helps-- big time-- to lead Aziraphale to not listen for a shred of coded language for the entire scene. Neither he nor Crowley are listening for that with one another, which is why neither of them can truly understand what the other is saying, but Aziraphale's part of that is really fucked to Hell by the presence of Maggie and Nina in the shop when he came back. That's all pretty suspicious since Maggie was out of our sight for a few moments and came back fixated on the idea that she and Nina needed to go to the bookshop right that very moment and that it couldn't wait.

The Final 15 is a dark parallel to The Baby Swap plot and Maggie and Nina are full of shadows of Sisters Mary and Teresa to a point that the final shots of both of them in the series are mirror images of the final shots of their S1 characters. Nina looking through glass at Crowley departing is the last shot of Sister Mary both in 2008 and 2019, while Maggie's last shot?

To me, it's one of the most eerie moments in the entire series because of how much it visually resembles Sister Teresa's death.

Basically two minutes after we hear about The Second Coming... in the same season where Maggie and Nina's partial-vavoom gives way to a (possessed?) Gabriel saying: the dead will leave their graves and walk the Earth once more... we are shown Crowley and Aziraphale's apparent adopted goddaughter unresponsive on the counter of her shop.

Is Maggie dead?

Is Maggie asleep, like we were led to believe she wanted to do earlier in the episode? Maybe. Is she comatose/unconscious? Maybe. It's just that, best I can tell, she does not take a breath during the shot which I feel had to be intentional on the part of Maggie Service, and she's in the same position as we last saw Sister Teresa in S1...

Then, there's the robbery theme and how Maggie and Nina foreshadow so much of the end of S2 back in this scene here:

In Good Omens, the shop is the character. Maggie is, symbolically, the records she sells. The show also explains that Maggie's shop used to be a part of the bookshop. Now, there are three characters, not two, who are A.Z. Fell & Co.: Aziraphale, Crowley and Maggie. At the same time, Aziraphale is also The Small Back Room. The shops are intertwined as the characters are, essentially, family in the story. The fate of one is the fate of the other, which makes what Maggie and Nina foreshadow when talking about Maggie's shop while trapped together in Nina's not just the fate of Maggie's shop in S2 but also of the bookshop.

Maggie says that if she can't close the door to her shop, someone could walk in and take records. Maggie is the records she sells so, symbolically, this means someone could take Maggie. We got a bit of a preview of that when Shax appeared to get into her mind during the attack on the bookshop and Maggie also became the one who unintentionally "let the robbers in."

These robbers, Maggie frets... they could empty her till-- take all her money on a literal level... take her mind, or maybe even her life, on another. (Not to mention the now chill-inducing use of money-related words and coins with regards to the paralleling Crowley...) These robbers could take forcible ownership of Maggie's shop-- so, of Maggie. Maggie's shop was born of the bookshop... so, they could take forcible ownership of the bookshop, too.

Not just the physical bookshop, though that, too. The symbolic bookshop. Which is not only Aziraphale but Crowley and Aziraphale.

But, if The Small Back Room was originally part of the bookshop, then the bookshop really isn't just Crowley and Aziraphale-- it's Crowley, Aziraphale and Maggie.

If the robbers come for the bookshop, they've also come for The Small Back Room because it is all born of the same, symbolic shop.

Is that what they did?

Is that why Maggie is last shown to us non-responsive in her shop?

Now, Nina's even more foreshadowing reply:

Nina said that, if she owned a record shop, she'd be more concerned about "someone breaking in and leaving more records behind."

What are records? They're the literal records in the musical and old film sense that Maggie sells, yes, and also Maggie herself. They're also books, like what Aziraphale sells, and Aziraphale himself. But they're also a third thing that's very much of note in S2.

They're also the life's work of a scrivener, like what Muriel does.

Nina foreshadows someone breaking in and leaving "more records behind"... which is exactly what happens in The Final 15.

Elspeth's graverobbing. Bildad stealing Job and Sitis' wine and food. The 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery. Aziraphale having the missing Shakespeare Robin Hood play in the box in 2.06. The robbery-based fantasy Aziraphale was telling Crowley in Lockdown: ...the other night, when a couple of young lads broke into the back and tried to steal the cash(cache)box!

The Final 15 is a robbery.

The last two episodes see the shop attacked during The Meeting Ball and into the next morning. Aziraphale is robbed blind of his entire life. Characters are taken hostage. Signals for help are tried and fail. The cop, it turns out, was a stooge for the robbers. Whoever Derek Jacobi Is Playing broke in through the open door and robbed the place blind, as Maggie foreshadowed. As Nina foreshadowed he would, what did the robber leave behind?

More records. Muriel.

To rob, as we know, is to steal. It's to plunder or strip a place from someone through force and/or violence. That is why it was once, in addition to being descriptive of physical goods stolen from a person, also a word that was used for rape, for which non-consensual possession has been analogous since the show's first episode. That is why some of us think that the music goes insane on the look to Crowley in the scene below. Satan is robbing Crowley-- forcing him to identify him as The Metatron to Aziraphale and the angels and to let Aziraphale go alone with him.

Satan attacked Crowley in front of Aziraphale and, while Aziraphale pretended he didn't see it, he did, which is why he led "The Metatron" straight out the door in an effort to get him away from Crowley. Because, speaking of characters behaving very weirdly... anyone have a better explanation for why guard dog Crowley sat in that chair like he couldn't get out of it and encouraged Aziraphale to go alone with a guy who once tried to kill them? It just doesn't make any sense unless his words are not really his own and there's only one character we've seen do that to him.

And if Crowley's not the only one behaving out of character, then what else happened to Maggie at the mini-mart but something similar?

What happened in The Final 15? Satan robbed the bookshop.

He and The Metatron don't give a toss about the shop itself and plan to destroy it alongside everything else once Armageddon gets rocking. They're there to get Crowley and Aziraphale out of the way for Armageddon by dividing and conquering. Just because we've yet to see blood doesn't mean this wasn't robbery by force.

Satan took hostages at the start-- letting the ones go he didn't care about go and keeping the ones most likely to influence the shop's owner: Crowley and Muriel.

Satan and The Metatron sacrificed Muriel to their plan, not caring if Muriel explodes along with the shop when they kick off Armageddon a matter of *checks watch* basically any minute now after S2. We think Muriel is better off in the shop at the end of S2 but I'm not totally sure they are. I think it actually might be one of the most dangerous places to be in right now. The bookshop didn't burn down this time-- it was burned as safe space in every possible way. It's a crime scene.

The Metatron and Satan are here for revenge. The Metatron is letting Satan have Aziraphale to get Crowley and Aziraphale out of the way for Armageddon. There is no real job offer-- it's all Satan tempting Aziraphale into falling. Satan's revenge on Crowley and Aziraphale is to force Crowley to help him take Aziraphale right out from under his nose. That's the start of it, anyway.

Besides Armageddon and daring to have a relationship and a sense of self outside of the demonic collective of Hell what is Satan really pissed at Crowley and Aziraphale about?

His kid. Adam. Crowley and Aziraphale helping Adam against him.

If Satan has been lying in wait, still very, very angry at Crowley and Aziraphale for turning his son against him and if he's now here for revenge, then who else besides Aziraphale is then most in peril here?

Yes, my Job-and-Sitis-paralleling poppet... your big, cross duck and your kids are most imperiled here and S2 showed us that your kids are not just humanity writ large but, specifically, Maggie. The Small Back Room is of the bookshop that is you and Crowley. Maggie is your Adam. Will Satan come after your daughter? It's a concept posed in your paralleling/foreshadowing story earlier in the season... actually, it was also the entire plot of that paralleling story earlier in the season as well...

I feel like not going with Ennon and Keziah's theories on Satan's behavior is probably the best way to form a Good Omens theory 😂 so I'll stick with the idea that Satan very much would dare leave a revenge body count of Crowley and Aziraphale's adopted kids, as the Job minisode proved he'd do even with the spawn of "God's favorite human", let alone anybody else.

As, speaking of foreshadowing lines, this is really even more S2 than it was about S1:

Satan will even have a whole pseudo-philosophical chat about it with you first, amused that he's standing in a place called Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death and ordering a coffee while the plan is likely for this place, the women making him the coffee, and everyone on this street and on most of the planet to be dead by tomorrow.

Maggie is the only character who actually asked for coffee using that exact word in S2.

[dr-spectre]

RANT POST ABOUT CALLIE AHEAD!!!

I need to get some old and built up feelings out of my chest before i explode into a trillion pieces, if you do not wish to see a LONG rambling about me getting mad and rageful about this important character to me then by all means skip over and have a good rest of your day or night!

If you can handle me getting a bit pissed off and mean then keep on reading!!

This will also be a VERY LONG POST!!! Because I have a lot to rant about. Some of it i have talked about before many times but i need to talk about them... Again..

So anyways. If you wanna move on, that's okay, if you wanna stick around? That's all good as well!!! I highly HIGHLY encourage you to read all that I have to say. Okay? Thank you!

You know, as someone who has put in a lot of time and research into Hypno Callie and the others. What I've come to notice in media is that people tend to use the words mind control, brainwashing, hypnosis, influence, indoctrination, corruption, all interchangeably despite each word having vastly different meanings and connotations and effects.

Brainwashing has been used as an incorrect word to describe a lot of these kinds of plots in TV, movies, games, etc. and it really bugs me personally. Like, if you see something as clearly hypnosis, they explain that it is hypnosis and there is a hypnotic element at play here, you cannot just slap the word brainwashing onto it. It's like if I called a mango an apple you know? Or if I showed you a squid and you called it an octopus and you were REALLY adamant that it's an octopus.

Another example, if there's mind controlled zombies that are being controlled by aliens or something, slapping the word hypnotised or brainwashing onto that scenario is stupid because they clearly explained it in the story with evidence that it's straight up direct mind control and nothing else.

This doesn't just to apply to Splatoon btw, this annoyance goes for every other time a "mind control" plot has occurred in fiction.

I don't wanna sound rude here, I really don't! But guys, do you realise that we have this cool thing all across the world called a language? And languages have words in them!!!! And words have meanings in them that are brains understand and interpret!?

If I say the word "fluffy" what do you think of? "Fluff, fur, cute, huggable, adorable." You think of cute fluffy things, yeah?

If I say the word "hypnosis" what do you think of? A trance like state, a weird altered state of consciousness, maybe even a weird sleep/flow state?

If I say the word "brainwashed" what do you think of? Cults, militarily, experiments, evil, etc.

You guys see why I take issue? You guys see why I am extremely picky and laser focused on people's word choices when it comes to Callie and what happened? You guys see why I get really angry when people who do fuck tons of research into the events of Splatoon forget that languages exist and fail to see things past a fucking Wikipedia article?!? Is it seriously THAT hard for some people to say hypnotised?

I don't even necessarily blame most people for the words that they use, they don't know any better! And you know what? That's okay! I don't wanna get mad at SOME people since that word has been used incorrectly in media for a long ass time. And you wanna know another reason why i don't blame the casual fan or someone not in the know that much too? Because even the SPLATOON DEVELOPERS use brainwashing to describe Callie which is just... from my research and posts, incorrect.

I have yet to find a single person who can confidently explain to me that Callie was actually brainwashed and provide evidence to me to prove their points. Cause all I see is people just saying that "oh, a wiki and an artbook said so, so it must be true." Instead of looking at the actual game and looking at Hypno Callie's personality, behaviour, actions, etc. and comparing them to regular Callie.

Why do you think 99% of people call her Hypno Callie? Like there's a reason as to why her name is that in most circles... Have you ever talked to someone who calls her brainwashed Callie? Probably not...

God... I'm really sorry if i come off as some gatekeeping fan or elitist snob or some shit. I'm not trying to be and i don't wanna be like that. I wanna educate people, make people think of a different perspective and make people think a little more you know?

I'm just getting tired of it all... It affects how I see Hypno Callie and the events of Splatoon 2. I can't enjoy it when some people throw out these certain words, and it makes me feel so sad and terrible. And not in an engaging way, just a sadness that fucking stings my chest and I'm SO SICK OF IT!!!!!

I just despise this notion in the Splatoon community, Inkipedia, YouTube videos, social media and official sources that Callie was kidnapped out of the blue when she was alone and Octavio forced the shades onto her, brainwashing her and removing her memories. I hate it so much. It's something that truly fills me with great sadness and pain and pure anger. Callie is a comfort character of mine and to hear that scenario for her in official canon is just... no. I can't accept it. I refuse to accept such a vile and awful thing. It makes the Octarians more evil and way less sympathetic that way too, it makes DJ Octavio's eventual redemption make less sense because in one game he's this fucking monster and the next he's like "Hey guys imma help you out!" It makes his character incredibly inconsistent at that point.

it makes his appearance with Cuttlefish at the Grand Fest feel less satisfying because there this huge black spot on his character from Splatoon 2 where he apparently did something truly evil and unredeemable. Why would Cuttlefish be okay with standing next to a man who """kidnapped and brainwashed"""" his grand daughter?! I don't care about their history together, if i was Cuttlefish and I heard about that kind of event for my grand daughter, I WOULD NEVER FORGIVE OCTAVIO!!!

Hypnosis by nature is less evil and has more nuance and agency for Callie and the Octarians. Sure it's still fucking bad but not as extreme and dark as brainwashing is. The two terms are so vastly different and using either word willy-nilly is extremely annoying and frustrating to me.

Hypnosis ≠ brainwashing and you cannot prove to me otherwise. You literally cannot mind control someone with hypnosis, that's not how it works. They are so opposite of each other it's actually insane. I DON'T GET WHY PEOPLE USE THEM INTERCHANGEABLY ALL THE FUCKING TIME?!?! WHY?!?!!? Is it a lack of knowledge?!? Lack of caring?! Is it because of how hypnosis is portrayed?!?!

And the whole "Callie was kidnapped/abducted." My god... Do people understand what words are coming out of their fucking mouths?

Callie was more than willing to join the Octarians and she said to them "okay fine I'll hear you out." That is not KIDNAPPING!!!!!!!!!! THAT STATEMENT MADE BY CALLIE GOES AGAINST THE DEFINITION OF THE WORD!!!!

I don't know why they say this in some official sources either, i don't know why Inkipedia lists it on their pages. i don't know why fans keep wanting to push this idea that Callie was kidnapped, is it because an artbook said so and nothing in the game? I don't know why timeline explainers and people who do a fuck ton of research into Splatoon push it too. If Callie was kidnapped you figure she would mention it. But she doesn't!!!! Marie does and says she was brainwashed in the North American (NoA) localization, but of course she would think that and from her perspective she would figure that is the case from her limited knowledge of what happened to Callie.

God I just.... I hate it when people say Callie was brainwashed. I fucking despise it. It makes me so violently angry and upset and EVERYONE WHO HAS A LOUD VOICE IN THE COMMUNITY SAYS IT!!!

This doesn't even impact just Callie. It impacts the entirety of the Octarians as a species and DJ Octavio too. I LIKE DJ OCTAVIO!! I THINK HE WAS FUNNY IN SPLATOON 1! I like his role in Splatoon 3 and how he redeems himself and how he appeared in the Grand Festival with Cuttlefish. It ties back to before the Great Turf War when the Inklings and Octarians were on good terms and now finally that peace is back....

But this enjoyment... this appreciation of his character growth gets ruined because of the shit Nintendo did and what the fanbase did when Splatoon 2 rolled around... I can't enjoy Octavio as a character anymore because of the notion that Callie was brainwashed by him.

I can't look at his inkipedia page because IN THE FIRST PARAGRAPH THEY SAY HE BRAINWASHED HER!!!!

And don't you EVEN MENTION the line "I remixed Callie's brain!" My brother in Christ, that is not only a call back to a line he said in the final boss of Splatoon 1, but it's also because DJ Octavio is a.. idk... DJ!!!! A DISC JOCKEY!!!! In the NoA version of Splatoon, Octavio's personality is very loud and in your face, compared to his more sinister and intense personality in the European and original Japanese versions. This serious personality was only given to Octavio finally in the NOA version of Splatoon 3 ROTM where his personality actually matches his Japanese and European versions from Splatoon 1 and 2.

Octavio says puns and musical terms to describe shit in the NoA versions of Splatoon 1 and 2. Remixing by definition is taking a song and altering it to make something new. What is Hypno Callie? A REMIX OF CALLIE!!!! It's Callie but she's more aggressive, emotional and impulsive. And you know where we've seen this remix of Callie before? IN SPLATOON 1!!!! IN THE SPLATFEST DIALOGUE!!!!

Octavio didn't literally mean that he "remixed her brain." via actual brain, washing. He just means that he gave Callie a new twist, and Callie in her hypnotic state was like "okay fine I'll hear you out."

Octavio hypnotising Callie who wanted to help the Octarians anyways out of her own free will, planting suggestions into her head that SHE HERSELF ACCEPTED AS DURING HYPNOSIS, SUGGESTIONS GIVEN CANNOT GO AGAINST THE PERSON'S MORALS AND IDEOLOGIES!!! So that Callie would be more likely to stay in Octo Canyon and not decide to suddenly run off as Callie was under a lot of mental distress and emotion from her busy and lonely life, and allowing Callie to put her influence onto Octo Canyon to help his people and boost motivation, fits more in line with Splatoon as a series and Octavio as a character than the whole "he brainwashed Callie" bullshit that has plagued the internet for 7 years and continuing. Why do you think Callie is so chill to see DJ Octavio come back in Splatoon 3 huh? Why do you think she misses shaven Octarians in ROTM? Why do you think she calls Octarians cute? Hmm... I WONDER WHY?!?!?!

Is Octavio still bad? Yes! Did he use Callie to benefit his people? YES!!!! Was Octavio being manipulative and selfish? FUCK YES!!! HE'S THE ANTAGONIST!!!! I AM NOT RESOLVING THAT MAN OF BLAME!!!! DONT GET MY WORDS TWISTED!!! HE'S STILL BAD! just not unredeemable... because once you say he brainwashed someone and forcefully removed Callie's memories like a pure evil monster, then you have a character who is pretty much unredeemable at that point. You have made him cross a line that he can't turn back from. You implanted these disgusting and disturbingly sexual suggestions about Octavio and Callie and her outfit. Why the FUCK do you want that? Why?! Why do you wanna even suggest the idea that Callie was forced to wear skimpy clothing against her consent and knowledge? Do you know how fucking DISGUSTING AND EVIL THAT IS?!?!?! FOR A SERIES SUCH AS SPLATOON?!?!?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA ON WHAT YOU ARE TRYING TO FUCKING IMPLY HERE?!?!?!

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!?!?! GOD!!!! WHY DO YOU WANT THESE AWFUL THINGS DONE TO CALLIE AGAINST HER KNOWLEDGE AND CONSENT IN THE MAIN TIMELINE!!??!?!?!?!! For AUs I get it, it's your right as a fan to make fanfiction and explore darker topics. I personally won't read it but I won't EVER stop someone from making a darker AU. It has its place in the community and I 100% respect it with all of my heart. I truly respect those who make dark AUs and darker takes on Splatoon because I'm sure it's fun and interesting for some people. To each their own! I actually like hearing my friends talk about Fuzzy AUs and stuff like that, given the time and place, darker toned AUs are something that i find really interesting but I'm not super duper in love with them.

But don't you DARE put these disgusting and sexual undertones about Callie and the Octarians in the main canon. Fuck off. Don't you even try and suggest that the Octarians are this purely evil race that forced Callie into a revealing outfit while she was completely unaware and it was against her consent. And that they just grabbed her... god... Jesus Christ man. Fuck. I hate thinking about that so much dude.

This type of scenario that people push did NOT happen.

THIS DID!

I'm so angry. I'm so sorry for this giant humongous rant. I care a lot about Callie. I only want the best for her. I only want a more engaging and more in-depth take on Splatoon 2. I want to enjoy Tidal Rush, I want to enjoy Spicy Calamari Inkantation, I want to enjoy Fresh Start, I want to enjoy the Bomb Rush Blush remix like how i enjoy Unconscience by Marina Agitando. I want to enjoy Hypno Callie in general, BUT SOMETIMES I JUST CANT AND I GET SO SAD AND MY CHEST HURTS!!!! This has been going on FOR SOOO LONGGG!!

I keep making all these posts about Callie because I still see that kind of bullshit being thrown around. Imagine having a perspective on a character you really love and you try and hold on to it. But everyone else around is pushing that perspective down and you feel so sad and stupid and ridiculous... And so your only option left is to scream and bark and yell....

I am literally gonna keep ranting until I can see the word "brainwashed" in media without having a fucking heart attack. I wanna just be able to enjoy Callie's arc and see it for what it truly is...

A story about two cousins drifting apart... Callie becoming so popular and famous... and lonely... that she became so mentally distraught and overthought everything. She did something incredibly irrational. She went to Octavio and the Octarians. Octavio knows that Callie can be a huge help to him after his loss and so he enlisted her help. And she just said, "okay, fine."

She was given hypnotic shades by Octavio in order to keep her more under control as she was ridden with mental illness and could leave Octo Canyon at any point with her overthinking. But he did NOT put her under total control and brainwash her, he needed Callie's influence for the Octarians, to decorate bases and add her touch into their music. The Octarians became happy and more motivated then ever. He didn't need a drone to help him. He needed, CALLIE.

However... Callie, in the canyon, lost herself, she gave into bitterness, hatred, sadness, anger... She knows who she is, but her memory is so cloudy and muffled by emotion and the shades... She needs help... Proper. Help. You can hear it in the songs found within the Octo Canyon, her reversed vocals sound so sad and deeply emotional...

When Marie arrives, Callie is mad at her, she wants nothing to do with her. But when Marie shoots the shades off of her, Callie is still dazed, upset, emotional, sick, she dances and continues to sing back against Marie's desperate words and pleas... Marie only wants to repair their broken relationship and lend out a hand to her cousin who needs to see the light....

But, when that heavenly melody echoed in that stadium, it was like a rushing tide of memories and feelings flooded into Callie. All of her and Marie's time performing, hosting news, celebrating Splatfests, and arriving to Inkopolis for the first time, came back to her and dispelled the darkness in her heart.

Callie heard the melody and went "wait... This isn't me! What am i doing!? YEAH! I REMEMBER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

And well... The rest is history, the pair healed their relationship over the course of a few years and are stronger than ever.

They fulfilled their fresh start, they helped redeem an angry vengeful man from the past, they inspired the present with Off the Hook, and they planted the seeds for the future in Deep Cut.

and they won the Grand Festival... TOGETHER!

Well... At least that's MY interpretation on things ;). And i want my interpretation to be held strong in my head... I'm tired of getting chest pains man... I'm tired of feeling this sadness and pain... I'm tired of going on Inkipedia and seeing that FUCKING word. I'm tired of being scared to watch YouTube videos focusing on lore and the story of Splatoon because deep down i KNOW they will say that word that has such fucking horrible connotations and meaning behind it...

Anyways. I think I'm done. I think I'm just in a huge ranting mode and I had to get it out, my autism was really acting up and i wanted to vomit this stuff out of me. I hope you guys feel what I'm feeling and if you have a character who you feel similar towards, let me know! Let the anger out. Okay?

Have a Callie for sticking around and actually reading. You're amazing.

[solisaureus]

Seeing people compare Will and Nico to Achilles and Patroclus is always weird for me because like. First off, Clarisse and Silena are the obvious intentional parallel. Secondly, there is a very specific reason why Riordan actively chooses NOT to compare Will and Nico to Achilles and Patroclus- way too much bad blood between Apollo and Achilles. I feel like most people are only familiar with Achilles through TSOA and the Hades game, and as such often understate WHY Apollo killed him. And why likening him and Patroclus to Will and Nico is in bad taste.

(Hint: Achilles had been warned in advance by his mother that he would die at the hands of Apollo if he killed Apollo's son. He didn't listen and killed TWO of them: Tenes because he intervened when Achilles tried to rape his sister, and Troilus was a twelve year old who Achilles tried to rape, chased into a sanctuary of Apollo, and beheaded/mutilated him at the altar- it's widely regarded as the worst crime Achilles ever committed. So Apollo killed both Patroclus and Achilles, to avenge both of the deaths. I don't think Will is a fan of Achilles, guys.)

ive never been a fan of fans comparing solangelo to patroclus and achilles either, mostly because it just kind of smacks of....idk, reductionism? just the fact that both couples are greek and gay? beyond that their parallels are incredibly limited and usually kind of a reach. and yeah, skimming over the fact that silena and clarisse are the canon patrochilles parallel never sits right with me either.

disclaimer that i did compare will to patroclus in my fic Solace, as a way to illustrate the role of healers in a conflict, not because it has anything to do with his romance with achilles.

the bad blood between apollo and achilles is also a factor. while i do like the song of achilles as a piece of fiction, it does irk me that it's become defining to many young peoples' understanding of achilles and the iliad. I know it's because it's a lot more readable and accessible than classical texts or academic analyses, so i'm not trying to come off as elitist or condescending. but it does bother me that most young people have this one specific view of achilles as a figure (that he's a sensitive lover who met a tragic fate) when there are eons of history and propaganda surrounding him. I believe that in writing tsoa, Madeline Miller wanted to humanize Achilles by expanding on his love for Patroclus in the Iliad, which is a bit ironic considering that that's now become the dominant view of his story. But tsoa is just one interpretation of the myth of achilles, and it's become regarded as the true, canonical one in pop culture.

I think that what bothers me most is that the popular conception of achilles now is as a fictional character, when what he is is a mythical figure. the difference being that a fictional character is sourced from one canon story and is written by only a few people who determine their canonical traits. a mythical figure is sourced from a culture, and in this case the whole world, and cultural portrayals and interpretations of that figure evolve and change over time to reflect the values of the culture telling their story.

For example, achilles was vilified (and hector glorified) by the ancient romans, because achilles was a young soldier who refused to obey his commander and fight because it conflicted with his ideals. this is something that the romans detested and found dangerous (territory can only be conquered with loyal legions). similar discussions about achilles are had in modern militaristic societies like the united states.

I'm going off on a huge tangent here. I guess what I mean to say is that it bothers me too when solangelo fans make this comparison, because i think it is not fitting with will and nico's characters, and because i have a lot of complaints with the fandomization of mythology. And I know that's rich coming from a percy jackson fan, but there it is.

On the other hand, I recognize that the historical and academic texts written about greek myth and achilles specifically are not nearly as accessible as highly-readable fiction books like tsoa and percy jackson. so while this does personally irk me, I don't think the people who do it are stupid or wrong, because like...realistically, I can't expect the average 14 year old solangelo fan to know about the murder of troilus.

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem #5810:

Wtf is up with oc roleplayers these days. Like maybe it was a different environment when I was younger.

Admittedly I was addicted to it when I was younger. But some people are real weird about it nowadays. I’ve seen fairly progressive people going “sorry, never going to roleplay with or as a girl character. Women make me feel uncomfortable uwu”.

Or using their ocs as their only emotional outlet/coping mechanism so how dare you criticise them. Like you can’t suggest ‘maybe putting so much emotional investment in escapism isn’t healthy in the long run. Maybe if the only way you can feel something is to rp heavy gore or angst, you need help’.

I guess I’m also salty that my friend of 10+ years, since joining this community, now doesn’t to talk to me unless it’s about fictional characters.

[barn-anon]

Thanks for reminding me I have a third Custodes! This is not a happy story! :D Large hands pluck the umbrella from your hands. You look up but you knew to expect it. Your Custodes, already carrying your bag, now is also carrying your umbrella for you. Trying to take it back is pointless, when he has his mind set on something, you know it's impossible to stop him.

In all fairness, he had pointed out that it's unlikely to rain today but in your defence, it's been raining on and off for the past few days. He walks on ahead, you had to hurry to keep up with his much larger strides. You had tried asking him where he's taking you, but he insisted that it's a surprise. You playfully bump into him, making him look down at you, those cold red lenses staring down at you.

If only he didn't wear that armor of his all the time, what difference does it really make when he himself feels like a brick wall? You sigh. Can you really complain? When you first met your Custodes, he was worse than what most people with Custodes say theirs are. While others' are maybe a little weird or distant, yours had been outright hostile. The number of times you felt like you might be in danger... you didn't want to think about it.

But that suddenly stopped a few months ago. It's like your Custodes had a complete flip. Where he had been hostile before, he's affectionate, attentive and caring. It's jarring at first but why question a good thing? Maybe he just needed time to settle in your house?

Then your Custodes comes to a stop and when you rush to catch up, you find yourself at a idyllic clearing with flowers of all sorts of colours. You want to take your phone from your bag but your Custodes refuses to hand it to you. How weird, m-maybe he wants you to live in the moment? Some Space Marines don't like when their humans spend too much time on phones or computers, maybe your Custodes is like them.

You were looking at a cluster of pink flowers when your Custodes comes over and leads you towards the edge of the clearing. He points at something, his hand at the back of your neck. You squint, trying to see what he's looking at. His hand tightens, you don't notice his fingers closing around your neck as he insists you need to simply look harder.

Tight, can't breathe. You try to tell your Custodes that he needs to loosen his grip, but he ignores you. Trying to pry his fingers open, your eyes are wide. His grip slowly tightens around your neck. You struggle, it tightens further. You should've questioned his change of behavior. You try to hit him only for him to catch your hand. You can't scream out when the bones get shattered.

Tagged: @kit-williams • @egrets-not-regrets • @bleedingichorhearts • @c-u-c-koo-4-40k • @orquidborgo

[howlsofbloodhounds]

So glad someone else sees the weirdness of people being gross about fem body nightmare it always comes off as somewhat fetishy too bc they reduce him to just being hot

Yes! Absolutely. Seeing the weirdness not only in how nightmare is treated, but also how killer is treated! If he supposedly respects his boss, then why the hell is he drooling over him and treating him vastly different just because nightmare has tits now?

I also see this a lot with female killer or feminine killer—female killer always has huge breasts and small waist and it hardly seems like killer. Even when it’s just normal killer wanting to dress or express himself more feminine, it makes me uncomfortable when it’s done in an overly sexual manner for no reasons?

And of course nightmare and killer are adults, so there’s absolutely nothing wrong with being attracted to them or writing/drawing them in adult situations with eachother or others, it’s just that it feels very fetishized and hyper sexualized to have characters drooling over nightmare when hes just existing and also has breasts.

Even with killer as he is now, vastly hypersexualized as a character for not even any real reason either. He only flirted like once or twice in his canon drawings, clearly as a joke even and mostly because people asked rahafwabas to draw those things with killer, and yet it somehow became his entire character. Not to mention how people took “flirty” and “romantic” and immediately went “lustful creepy pervert.”

To the point where people just cant seem to let these aspects of killer’s character be just that; aspects, something interesting and fun, but not his whole entire character.

Don’t yall find it interesting to explore how a character who views themselves as emotionless and is dissociated from themselves and their actions most of the time navigates things like physical intimacy?

Especially when this character has very likely not felt any kind or comforting touch that wasn’t just a way to keep him further manipulated and controlled? How his experiences with abuse and torture and control have become so normalized it taints every aspect of his life, from the ideas of consent to the idea of boundaries.

Can he even feel much sensation that is too gentle, would it send him reeling in discomfort and disgust at first. would he hate how his body reacts even if it’s something that feels good—wouldn’t he feel viscerally unsettled if someone could provoke bodily reactions like flushing cheeks or a beating “soul beat” or even genuine arousal from him.

wouldn’t he think with contempt if his body reacts positively or negatively to receiving comfort. wouldnt he try to find a way to maintain control and detachment because too much stimulation or stress or feeling threatened or trapped or controlled or afraid for his safety and life could trigger higher stages and he lashes out and literally could kill his partner(s) because his mind mistakes the situation for something else. wouldn’t he need a level of either trust or control to willingly engage in something that feels deeply threatening.

Anyway i got off topic, but you’re absolutely correct. I love female or feminine Sanses, especially with the apple twins, and i don’t think there should be any need to hyper sexualize and fetishize the female body. (especially if these feminine/fem presenting or female bodies also happen to be trans/queer bodies; such as with transfem dream.)

like just let nightmare exists as nightmare, regardless of if he happens to have breasts or not—and don’t have his subordinates drooling all over him and behaving super strange just cause nightmares got boobs now.

(and I also don’t wanna see any situation where nightmare who usually doesn’t have boobs has boobs one day and the gang make a big deal about it, since nightmare is a shapeshifter and all. he could realistically just decide he wants boobs one day and the gang could just go “interesting. Anyway..” and hardly even that.

unless it’s to like, ask for today’s pronouns or something, i don’t see no need to comment on the breasts unless in the context of, nightmare is engaging in intimacy with their partner(s) or something. a context where it would make sense. Anyway just be normal about female/fem killer and nightmare please.)

[captain-space-kin]

My two cents on the new elements “discourse” (for lack of a better term I don’t think it’s actually that controversial afsgdfgd) is that if the elements of harmony can be called elements then so can literally anything else

Also there’s a whole conversation to be had about how ninjago has historically just done whatever tf it wants with its magic system. And this isn’t even the first time we’ve had “elements” that aren’t really elements. It’s just the name of the magic system and it’d be weird and confusing to call them something different.