#react skill test

[techtalksonthego]

React Developer Technical Assessment Test for Hiring: Best Practices

In the competitive world of web development, hiring the right React developer can be a game-changer for your projects. ReactJS, with its component-based architecture and virtual DOM, has become one of the most popular libraries for building modern web applications. To ensure you find the best fit for your team, conducting a well-structured react technical test is essential. In this article, we will explore the best practices for designing a React Developer Technical Assessment Test that effectively evaluates a candidate's React skills, problem-solving abilities, and coding proficiency. By following these practices, you can identify top-notch React developers who will contribute to the success of your projects.

Where to Find Qualified React JS Developers?

Online Job Boards and Platforms: Start your search by posting job listings on popular platforms such as LinkedIn, Stack Overflow, and Indeed. These platforms have a vast pool of qualified ReactJS developers actively seeking opportunities.

Freelance Platforms: If you require freelance or contract ReactJS developers, platforms like Upwork, Toptal, and Freelancer offer a wide range of skilled freelancers.

Dedicated Developer Platforms: Consider using platforms like Hired, Gigster, or Gun.io, which specifically connect businesses with top-tier developers after a rigorous vetting process.

Tech Meetups and Hackathons: Offline events like tech meetups and hackathons can be great opportunities to network and connect with passionate and proactive ReactJS developers in your local community.

How to Hire a ReactJS Developer?

Determine Your Project Requirements: Clearly define your project's scope, technology stack, and specific ReactJS skills required to find the right fit for your project.

Conduct a React Assessment Test: Use a well-designed React assessment test to evaluate candidates' technical prowess, problem-solving abilities, and practical application skills. Include scenarios relevant to your project to assess real-world capabilities.

Conduct a Technical Interview: Follow up the assessment test with a technical interview to delve deeper into candidates' problem-solving approach, communication skills, and project experiences.

Review Past Projects and Experience: Examine candidates' portfolios and past projects to assess their coding quality, problem-solving capabilities, and domain expertise.

Finalize the Contract: After shortlisting promising candidates, finalize the contract with clearly defined terms, project scope, and compensation details.

Top ReactJS Interview Questions

Basic Understanding and Knowledge Questions:

What is JSX, and how is it different from standard JavaScript?

Explain the differences between functional and class components in React.

Elaborate on the purpose and advantages of React Hooks.

Practical Application and Problem-Solving Questions:

Develop a React component that fetches and displays data from an API.

Describe your approach to managing state in a complex React application.

Discuss the benefits and drawbacks of using Redux for state management.

Questions Specific to Your Project:

How would you implement [specific feature relevant to your project] using React?

Have you worked with [specific technology or library used in your project] in your past projects?

React Assessment Test-Based Discussion

Defining the Test Objectives:

Clearly outline the objectives of the React assessment test and the specific skills you aim to evaluate.

Aligning Test Objectives with Job Requirements:

Ensure that the test questions align closely with the ReactJS role's necessary skills.

Assessing Problem-Solving Skills and Knowledge:

Include coding challenges and real-world scenarios to assess candidates' ability to handle practical problems.

Emphasizing Practical Coding Tasks:

Prioritize hands-on coding tasks to evaluate candidates' practical skills.

Designing the Test

Choosing Problems and Setting Time Limits:

Select problems that challenge candidates within a reasonable time frame.

Balancing Theoretical Questions and Practical Coding Tasks:

Achieve a balance between theoretical questions and coding challenges to assess both knowledge and application.

Including Real-World Problems:

Integrate real-world scenarios to evaluate candidates' approach to authentic challenges.

Test Content

Focus on Core Concepts:

Assess candidates' understanding of fundamental ReactJS concepts, such as JSX, components, and props.

Incorporate Real-World Scenarios:

Present problems that reflect real-life challenges faced by developers.

Assess Coding Skills:

Include coding exercises to test a candidate's ability to write clean, efficient, and maintainable code.

Implement Time Constraints:

Set appropriate time limits to evaluate candidates' time management skills.

Include Domain-Specific Challenges:

Incorporate relevant challenges to assess candidates' domain-specific knowledge, if applicable.

Managing the Process

Choose the Right Platform:

Select a suitable platform or testing environment to administer the React assessment test.

Set a Regular Review for Biased or Discriminatory Questions:

Ensure the test questions are unbiased and free from discriminatory elements.

Pilot Testing:

Conduct a pilot test with your team to identify and rectify any issues with the test before candidate evaluations.

Conducting the Test

Providing Clear Instructions:

Furnish candidates with clear instructions for taking the React assessment test, including time limits and specific requirements.

Ensuring a Fair and Consistent Testing Environment:

Guarantee that all candidates have an equal opportunity to take the test under fair conditions.

Monitoring the Test:

Monitor the assessment process to address any technical issues that may arise promptly.

Evaluating the Test

Grading Rubric:

Create a grading rubric to evaluate candidates consistently and fairly.

Assessing Clean and Efficient Code:

Evaluate candidates based on their ability to produce clean, well-organized, and efficient code.

Understanding of React Principles:

Gauge candidates' understanding of React principles and best practices.

Problem-Solving Skills:

Assess candidates' problem-solving skills based on their approach to and resolution of given challenges.

Providing Constructive Feedback:

Offer constructive feedback to candidates, regardless of the outcome, to assist them in improving their skills.

Conclusion

Designing an effective Technical Assessment Build with React is crucial for making informed hiring decisions and building a skilled development team. By aligning the test objectives with job requirements, including practical coding tasks and real-world scenarios, and providing constructive feedback to candidates, you can ensure a fair and thorough evaluation process. Remember that an ideal React developer should not only possess strong React skills but also demonstrate problem-solving abilities, clean coding practices, and a deep understanding of React principles. Implementing these best practices will help you attract and hire talented React developers who will drive innovation and excellence in your web development endeavors

.

[moeblob]

Ohiwe

After Oh is split into two, their power is halved/divided. But! Other traits are not necessarily divided evenly. So she holds all the romantic love (unrequited) for Ymber. She also has the rhythm/ability to dance while the other half cannot keep a beat for the life of him.

[dymeon1]

Sannyo

[siffrins-therapist]

me: *is replaying isat for the 7th time*

me: "I need to make differences in some of the events and House layout for this damn arc in my fic or else the repetition is going to drive me fucking insane*

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

sorry for only saying this type of shit lately but i kinda wanna drive a car straight into a brick wall at the highest speed possible

[volivolition]

perceppy doodles, with my usual headcanons of "whatever harry's seeing showing up in the mist" and "whenever harry's not using a sense, it shows up on perception." suddenly trapped in a dark room? pop! you have eyes again! and then some froggy hat coffee tasting :3 i love my senses <3

[flimsy-roost]

I realized the other day that the reason I didn't watch much TV as a teenager (and why I'm only now catching up on late aughts/early teens media that I missed), is because I literally didn't understand how to use our TV. My parents got a new system, and it had three remotes with a Venn diagram of functions. If someone left the TV on an unfamiliar mode, I didn't know how to get back to where I wanted to be, so I just stopped watching TV on my own altogether.

I explained all this to my therapist, because I didn't know if this was more related to my then-unnoticed autism, or to my relationship with my parents at the time (we had issues less/unrelated to neurodivergency). She told me something interesting.

In children's autism assessments, a common test is to give them a straightforward task that they cannot reasonably perform, like opening an overtight jar. The "real" test is to see, when they realize that they cannot do it on their own, if they approach a caregiver for help. Children that do not seek help are more likely to be autistic than those that do.

This aligns with the compulsory independence I've noticed to be common in autistic adults, particularly articulated by those with lower support needs and/or who were evaluated later in life. It just genuinely does not occur to us to ask for help, to the point that we abandon many tasks that we could easily perform with minor assistance. I had assumed it was due to a shared common social trauma (ie bad experiences with asking for help in the past), but the fact that this trait is a childhood test metric hints at something deeper.

My therapist told me that the extremely pathologizing main theory is that this has something to do with theory of mind, that is doesn't occur to us that other people may have skills that we do not. I can't speak for my early childhood self, or for all autistic people, but I don't buy this. Even if I'm aware that someone else has knowledge that I do not (as with my parents understanding of our TV), asking for help still doesn't present itself as an option. Why?

My best guess, using only myself as a model, is due to the static wall of a communication barrier. I struggle a lot to make myself understood, to articulate the thing in my brain well enough that it will appear identically (or at least close enough) in somebody else's brain. I need to be actively aware of myself and my audience. I need to know the correct words, the correct sentence structure, and a close-enough tone, cadence, and body language. I need draft scripts to react to possible responses, because if I get caught too off guard, I may need several minutes to construct an appropriate response. In simple day-to-day interactions, I can get by okay. In a few very specific situations, I can excel. When given the opportunity, I can write more clearly than I am ever capable of speaking.

When I'm in a situation where I need help, I don't have many of my components of communication. I don't always know what my audience knows. I don't have sufficient vocabulary to explain what I need. I don't know what information is relevant to convey, and the order in which I should convey it. I don't often understand the degree of help I need, so I can come across inappropriately urgent or overly relaxed. I have no ability to preplan scripts because I don't even know the basic plot of the situation.

I can stumble though with one or two deficiencies, but if I'm missing too much, me and the potential helper become mutually unintelligible. I have learned the limits of what I can expect from myself, and it is conceptualized as a real and physical barrier. I am not a runner, so running a 5k tomorrow does not present itself as an option to me. In the same way, if I have subconscious knowledge that an interaction is beyond my capability, it does not present itself as an option to me. It's the minimum communication requirements that prevent me from asking for help, not anything to do with the concept of help itself.

Maybe. This is the theory of one person. I'm curious if anyone else vibes with this at all.

[grrrrrrrbarkbarkbark]

Great limtus test for if a fellow leftist has critical thinking skills or not is seeing how they react to me saying that I hc a popular female charater that's regarded as a feminist icon as trans masc.

Because if they are reactionary good chances are they'll flip their shit. And of they aren't they'll probably be like "nice. Cool hc you got there."

[diz-eaze]

albedo and his alternative to baby trap you :(

; soft yandere, parent trap 2.0 but is it really babytrap if you lowkey told him you wouldn't mind a child (yes it still is), low-key delusional albedo, not proofread, throwback to fontaine's quest and albedo teaser #og,

the concept of breathing life into what was once an illustration is ludicrous. blasphemous, even. if the original hydro archon was punished for turning her familiars into a new race of humans, then is it not fair for an alchemist to be smithed down for a similar sin?

but the silence of the heavens has been going on for numerous centuries; it's hard for albedo to feel even a smidgen of fear, nevermind finding a speck of regret.

being born with special capabilities is rare. training under a great sinner of khaenri'ah is even rarer - it leaves him with skills that far surpasses even the average vision bearer. it grants him the power to tamper and play with the very notion of life itself.

a memory plays at the back of his mind as he settles down his painting materials, for once away from the frigid winters of dragonspine in favor of the fresh breeze found in windrise.

"the traveler told me of what happened in fontaine," albedo begins, gently taking the test tube you pass onto him. "of what became of their prophecy."

"oh?" you muse, now idly playing with the microscope lenses. "pray tell."

albedo settles his canvas down on the stable easel stand, taking out his paints and brushes in preparation. the ever-present wind blows through his messy hair, and he welcomes it.

"it would seem that fontainians were originally oceanids, only transformed into humans by the previous hydro archon." his eyes are trained upon the drops of sweet flower extract falling into the narrow test tube. "the prophecy was punishment for their sin."

"huh," you breathe out, placing down the lenses to look at him. he fights the urge to look away from his materials. "i can't tell if the arrogant one in this situation is the hydro archon or the heavenly principles themselves."

he swatches out each paint on his person, and he lines up the needed brushes for this personal project of his. the first brush, a round brush, is used to prime the canvas.

albedo finishes extracting the sweet flower and takes out a damp cloth to wipe his table's surface with. "why so?"

"think about it," you saunter up to him, leaning in unbearably close to survey his work. in this proximity, he can smell traces of cecilia flowers and windwheel asters on you. his grip on the damp cloth tightens subtly.

"the heavens think of themselves to be the absolute rulers of this world," you puff your cheeks out childishly. "yet they are more akin to tyrants. celestial nails, sins, punishments, the cataclysm... a creation of life is much tamer compared to the heinous acts they've committed!"

albedo mixes and matches his paints - a tint of red, a dollop of brown, tiny amounts yellow, and white added in moderation - in order to emulate the shade closest to your skin tone. his second brush, a flat brush, is used to lay down the overall shape of what he envisions.

"you think so?" he questions, relocating the test tube on its designated rack. he makes no move to inch away from you - not that he wants to, never. "but 'humans' who are not born from breeding are considered to be an anomaly. they are considered an outlier, are they not?"

not that he cares, may it be sinful or otherwise. he merely tells this to get a feel of you, to take a dive into your mind.

"i care little of how a human is produced," you huff out, leaning even more to disrupt his orderly workflow. he wonders how you'd react if he told you he wouldn't care should you trash his camp, so long as you continue to be shoulder to shoulder with him like this. "if it's sentient, it has life. i think all life should be valued, regardless of the creation method. the creations themselves didn't ask to be brought to this world, either."

his deft fingers scrapes paints together to match his hair next. only little tufts of hair for now. the brush dips into the water to be rid of its previous color, reborn anew into a clean slate. he pats it down with a spare cloth and goes back to painting once again.

"you're not wrong," albedo comments, eyes trailing after the flutter of your lashes. the body heat that emanates from you causes his synthetic one to gradually warm up, too.

he hesitates, then. licking his lips as if to buy time before he voices out the question stuck in his throat. you must have noticed his pause, for you peer at him in silent questioning. you nudge him slightly, and his body sways from the motion.

there is little he fears in this world. not when he was raised in the aftermath of the cataclysm, horrors unknown to normal people are found there. but the thought of your opinion of him souring slightly has his heart palpating in dread.

albedo leans closer to the canvas, intent on detailing the cherubic face as much as possible. focused on creating the perfect specimen that earns your adoration.

a beat passes.

"then," he looks down at his workspace, unable to find the strength to look you straight in the eyes. "what do you think of creating life artificially, from the likeness of your image?"

you blink once and tilt your head, though he does not see it. you crowd closer to him, now nearly chest to chest. if you inch even closer, he fears you'll fear the loud thumps resounding deep within his chest.

"a life... with my likeness?" you parrot back, still not comprehending him fully. then, your eyes widen, as if struck with realization. "oh! you mean your magical drawings, right? i still remember that vishap you created! i am dismayed at the poor thing's lower half, however."

his masterpiece is almost finished. sunset is near, and the wind is starting to pick up. it feels as if barbatos himself is advising albedo to stop with his actions. but not even the divine nail from celestia would tear him apart from this painting.

his mind was lingering more on the alchemical method. though, if this is the method that you prefer, then it will be what he goes through with.

"perhaps," still, he nods, "so, what do you think of it?"

you smile, a gleaming, precious one that surpasses crystalflies. "since it's a hypothetical, i suppose the idea would be cute."

the verbal 'hypothetical' is blocked out from his illusioned mind, for he locks onto your explicit agreement, even going as far as to call his idea cute.

he smiles, clearly pleased with your answer.

"i am glad to see you so enthusiastic about this," he parts away from you and begins to tidy up his workspace with renewed vigor, moving with a sense of purpose.

you confusedly look at his back, "about what?"

but you're met with no reply.

albedo finishes his painting with the last brushstroke being an eyelash of the infant. he steps back to observe for any errors made, but he finds none. excitement courses through his body, eager to bring life to this illustration. his mind is already running amok with all the domesticity he will soon witness you do.

his gloves hands reach into the canvas, surpassing the physical barrier as he reaches for the finished painting. it's similar to reaching into a void, but he knows how to navigate this power of his. when he tugs his hands back into reality, he is not empty handed.

in his hands is a crying infant, not just any infant, but his baby with you. within a few seconds after giving it life, the infant opens its mouth and wails.

he kisses the top of its head, endeared at the sight of pale blond strands.

"shhh, your father is here now."

he understands the original hydro archon now. even he would endanger the lives of others for the creation of life.

[natsaffection]

Can you write a fic where reader and Natasha are best friends and one day reader comes back from a mission and Nat helps reader relax by giving her a massage and reader accidentally lets out a moan turning Nat on, and things get heated ending in sex?

(You can make Nat G!P or not it’s up to you, and sorry if this is bad, it’s my first time requesting something)

Relaxing. | N.R

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI!, G!P Natasha, fingering, unprotected Sex, begging, rough Sex

Word count: 2,2k

A/n: Jesus Christ, Im sorry....

You stepped into Natasha's apartment, the weight of the mission still clinging to you like a heavy shroud. Your muscles ached from the effort, and you felt utterly exhausted. Natasha, ever perceptive, immediately noticed the tension in your posture as you sank onto the couch. "You look like you've been through hell." Natasha observed, her voice gentle but teasing as she approached you.

"That's exactly how it feels.." you replied with a tired smile, leaning back against the cushions. "Everything hurts." Natasha's eyes softened as she stood behind you, her hands hovering just above your shoulders. "Let me help,." she offered, her voice a soft murmur as she began to knead the tight muscles in your shoulders.

The moment Natasha's hands touched you, you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Her fingers were strong and skillful, effortlessly working out the knots. You sighed and sank deeper into the sofa as the tension in your shoulders began to melt away. "You always know exactly where the knots are.." you murmured, closing your eyes as you surrendered to the soothing rhythm of Natasha's touch.

Natasha chuckled quietly, her hands moving lower, tracing the line of your spine with deliberate pressure. "I can practically feel the tension radiating off you." she said, "You need to relax more." You nodded slightly, too content to form words. Natasha's hands were like magic, taking away the stress and exhaustion that had accumulated throughout the day. But as her hands moved lower and gently pressed the small of your back, your body responded in a way you hadn't expected. When Natasha applied a bit more pressure to a particularly tense spot, you couldn't suppress the soft moan that escaped your lips. The sound was quiet, almost involuntary, but it hung in the air between you, laden with unspoken tension.

Your eyes snapped open, your face flushing with embarrassment as you realized what had just happened. "I-I'm sorry..!" you stammered, your heart racing as you tried to pull back slightly, embarrassed that such a sound had slipped out. But Natasha didn't retreat. Instead, she paused for just a moment before continuing, her hands now moving with a new, deliberate slowness. "Don't be embarrassed." Natasha murmured, her voice taking on a seductive tone. "I like knowing that I'm making you feel good."

Your breath caught at her words, your mind spinning with the implications of what Natasha had just said. There was something in Natasha's voice, a subtle change that made it clear she had noticed more than just the moa..she had felt how your body had reacted, how you hadn't really pulled away. Her hands resumed their work, but now there was a different kind of tension in the air, one that made your pulse quicken. The touch was no longer just about relieving tension, it was intentional, exploratory, as if Natasha was testing the waters to see how far she could go.

As Natasha's hands glided lower, tracing the curve of your hips, she leaned in closer, her breath warm against your ear. "You don't have to hide anything from me." Natasha whispered, her voice soft and full of intent. "I know what you want, even if you're too shy to ask for it." Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel Natasha's hands hovering just above your hips, waiting for your response. But instead of pulling away, you found yourself leaning into the touch, your body silently encouraging Natasha to continue.

Natasha's lips curled into a small, satisfied smile as she felt your reaction. "That's right.." Natasha whispered, her voice a soft, seductive purr. "Just relax..let me take care of you."

With that, Natasha's hands glided lower, her fingers brushing the tops of your thighs, lingering just a bit too long. Your breath quickened, your body tensing slightly under the intensity of Natasha's touch. You knew you should say something, should stop this before it went any further, but the truth was..you didn't want to. The realization hit you like a wave, and you felt a warm blush creep across your skin. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the tension between you so thick you could cut it with a knife. Natasha's touch, her voice, the way she was slowly breaking down your defenses, it was all too much, too intoxicating to resist.

As Natasha's fingers slipped just under the hem of your shorts, you let out a shaky breath, your whole body trembling with the intensity of the moment. "N-Natasha.." you whispered and her hands paused for a moment, her fingers gently caressing the skin just above your thighs. "Do you want me to stop?"

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. You could feel every nerve in your body yearning for Natasha's touch, the need inside you growing until it was almost unbearable. "No.." you whispered finally, your voice barely audible. "Don't stop."

That was all the encouragement Natasha needed. Her hands resumed their slow, deliberate exploration, sliding lower, closer to your center. The touch was gentle, almost teasing, but it sent a jolt of electricity through your body, drawing another soft, involuntary moan from you. Natasha's breath was warm against your ear as she whispered, "Good girl."

Natasha's fingers moved skillfully at your entrance, drawing soft moans and shivers from you. The intensity of the moment was palpable, each touch and whisper pulling you deeper into a state of desire you hadn't fully realized. As Natasha continued, you could feel the tension building in your body, and you knew you couldn't hold out much longer without wanting more. Needing more.

"Natasha.." Your voice was a breathless whisper, filled with a mix of need and uncertainty. But Natasha didn't give you time to think. Instead, she pressed a firm, demanding kiss to your lips, silencing you with a possessive hunger that left no doubt about how much she wanted this. Natasha's hands roamed over your body with a confidence born from years of desire, her touch firm and determined, as if staking a claim.

"Shh.." Natasha murmured against your lips, her voice deep and thick with desire. "You're mine tonight." Her hands were no longer gentle as they moved lower, roughly pulling down your clothing, exposing your bare skin to the cool air. You gasped at the sudden roughness, your body tensing for a moment before surrendering to the sensation of Natasha's demanding touch. Natasha's breath was hot against your neck as she trailed kisses and nibbles down your skin, each touch filled with an intensity that spoke of her pent-up desire. She had waited far too long for this moment, and now that she had you in her arms, she wasn't going to hold back.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted this.." Natasha growled, her voice a mix of frustration and longing as she pressed harder against you, drawing a soft moan from you. Your mind was spinning, caught up in the roughness of Natasha's touch, in the way she seemed to unravel as she gave in to her desires. But instead of feeling overwhelmed, you felt a surge of excitement and power. You could feel Natasha's need, her raw, unbridled lust, and it awakened something deep within you.

When Natasha thrust into you with a hard, unrelenting stroke, you cried out, your body arching under her as she filled you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, Natasha was thick, stretching you in a way that made you feel utterly possessed. But it wasn't just the physical feeling that made your heart race, it was the way Natasha moved, the raw, animalistic lust that fueled every rough thrust, every satisfied growl.

"Fuck, you feel so good.." Natasha moaned, her voice hoarse as she set a merciless pace, pounding into you with a ferocity that spoke of her desperate need. "You're so fucking tight."

"Natasha..G-God..!" your words were cut off by another deep thrust, your back arching as Natasha hit a spot inside you that made your vision blur. "Please.. don't stop!" Natasha's grip on your hips tightened, her fingers digging into your skin as she pulled you closer, your bodies colliding with each thrust. The roughness, the dominance, it was exactly what you had craved, what you hadn't even known you needed until now.

You moaned loudly, your voice trembling as Natasha's pace grew faster and harder, each thrust more intense than the last. "Is this what you wanted?" Natasha growled, her voice dark and commanding as she leaned down, her lips brushing your ear. "Tell me. Tell me how much you wanted this."

"Yes..Y-Yes! Natasha..I wanted this..I wanted you- fuck!" your words came out breathless, your mind barely able to keep up with the intensity of the pleasure coursing through your body. You could feel yourself losing control, as Natasha pushed you closer and closer to the edge. Her lips curled into a wicked smile at your confession, her thrusts growing even more intense as she drove herself into you with a force that left you gasping for breath. "Good." Natasha purred, her voice deep and full of satisfaction. "Because now that I have you, I'm not letting you go." Natasha whispered, "I'm going to make sure you feel every single inch of me.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling as you tried to hold on, to maintain control, but Natasha gave you no chance. Every movement, every thrust was designed to break you, to drive you deeper into the pleasure that Natasha so skillfully conjured.

“You belong to me..” Natasha growled, her hand burying itself in your hair, pulling your head back as she leaned over you, her breath hot against your neck. “Say it. Say that you belong to me.”

“I’m-I’m yours, Natasha..!” you gasped, your voice trembling under the intensity of the sensations crashing over you. “I’m yours..Godd..” These words seemed to drive Natasha even further. With a deep, wild growl, she turned you onto your stomach, her movements rough and demanding as she positioned you exactly how she wanted. Natasha’s hands gripped your hips firmly, her nails digging into your skin as she aligned herself with you again, thrusting into you with a force that made you cry out loudly in both pleasure and surprise.

“Damn, yes..” Natasha moaned, her voice filled with raw lust as she pounded into you with a brutal pace, each thrust hitting deep and eliciting loud, desperate moans from you. “You feel so damn good, so tight..so perfect..” Your mind was a haze of lust and pain, the roughness of Natasha’s thrusts sending shockwaves through your body, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. “Natasha..please, I can’t..I-I’m going to..”

Natasha’s hand slid between your legs, her fingers finding your clit and rubbing it with a rough, practiced touch that made your whole body tense in response. “That’s right.” Natasha murmured, her voice filled with command and satisfaction as she felt you tighten around her. “Come for me, I want to feel it.”

Your breath caught, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level. You could feel yourself losing control, the roughness, the intensity of Natasha’s thrusts, her fingers working on your clit, it was too much, too good, and you could feel yourself falling, the climax rushing towards you with unstoppable force.

Natasha’s thrusts became more erratic, more desperate as she neared her own climax, her breath hot and uneven against your ear. “You belong to me.” she growled, her voice rough with need. “Completely mine.”

With one last, deep thrust, your world shattered. You screamed Natasha’s name, your body convulsing under the weight of your orgasm as waves of pleasure washed over you, leaving you trembling and breathless in Natasha’s arms. Natasha continued to thrust into you, riding out your orgasm with rough, powerful movements that extended the pleasure until you thought you might pass out from the intensity.

Natasha’s own orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her entire body shaking as she buried herself deep inside you, her orgasm hitting her with a force that left her gasping for air. For a moment, you were both lost in the intensity of your climax, your bodies trembling in the aftershocks. When Natasha finally pulled out of you, she collapsed beside you, pulling you into her arms with a tenderness that stood in stark contrast to the roughness of her earlier actions. You were still catching your breath, your body tingling from the aftereffects of your intense encounter.

Natasha looked down at you, her expression softening as she brushed a strand of hair from your face. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice now filled with gentle concern. You smiled up at her, your heart still racing, but filled with a deep sense of satisfaction. “More than okay..” you whispered, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Natasha’s lips.

Natasha returned the kiss, this one slow and tender, filled with the unspoken promise of many more moments like this. As you lay there, in each other’s arms, you couldn’t help but feel that you had crossed a linem, one that had been waiting far too long to be crossed by the two of you. And now that you had, there was no going back.

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

HRHEH this sounds like a silly request buttt... Can you do a Hxh hcs react when Reader has a baby? (ANY CHARACTER IS FINE SINCE I ALWAYS SEE YOU DO HALF OF THE CHARACTERS)

NO REQUEST IS SILLY OR STUPID IN THIS HOUSEHOLD DONT U WORRY POOKIE SCHNIOKS

killua, kurapika, illumi, chrollo

(killua and kurapika are aged up!)

z. killua

- i hope we can all collectively agree that killua isn’t exactly father material

- he’s absolutely stiff when he sees the pregnancy test, blinking so many damn times with every single possible thought in the world running through his head

- he’s more worried than anything. what if illumi or his family comes after his child in hopes to groom and train them into an assassin as they had done with him?

- but all of his worries melt after the first time you do your ultrasound, where your baby is so extremely small and probably extremely fragile

- he’s definitely not a naturally good partner, but he’ll try his hardest to provide the happiest life he can for his child

k. kurapika

- is he father material? oh, 100%. most definitely so. but does he utilize it? hell no.

- now, kurapika isn’t upset that you’re pregnant. the opposite, really. he’s so unbelievably happy, but there’s just one teensy beensy tiny problem…

- he’s kinda sorta a mafia family leader who is still fuming with vengeance and emptiness, and he traded quite the number of years of his life to his nen ability.

- but really, he tries to do as much as he can for you and your unborn baby in the unknown amount of time that he has left. he overspends and overworks, but he doesn’t seem to care.

- he says that he doesn’t care about the baby’s gender, but he secretly really hopes that it’s a girl.

z. illumi

- honestly, the rest of his family members have more of a reaction that he does when they hear the news.

- yes, he’ll certainly love his child. hell, out of everyone on this list, he probably loves his child the most. but how does he express it without his kid running away from the training like killua did?

- his mom is ecstatic, his dad grumbling his congratulatory words, milluki is in shock that illumi even managed to rizz you up in the first place, killua is in shock that illumi ever even got married, alluka is excited, and kalluto is confused.

- illumi is actually very happy, although you can’t see it on his face or reaction. at all.

- perhaps it’s about time he asked killua for some advice on how to not have his kid run away from training.

l. chrollo

- definitely the most father material out of everyone here, i guarantee it. he utilizes it too.

- oh and i just know that this guy is RICH. you better expect to have the most luxurious and expensive life the moment he finds out that you’re pregnant.

- “he’s toxic and a yandere!” “he’d kidnap you!” yall need to stop mischaracterizing every single villain in existence. he’s literally the most gentle guy when you’re pregnant, always carrying your stuff no matter how heavy or light.

- he definitely books you appointments with the most expensive and skilled doctors. i can imagine him hiring random ass people to help you whenever he’s busy with a heist or heavens arena battle; he’s a floor master after all. on some random tuesday you’ll wake up and see a maid or a masseuse in your house attending to you.

- yall better stop mischaracterizing my glorious king chrollo because fuck no he’s not going to go all alpha and “if i cant have you no one can😈🤡” like where did that even come from😭

a/n: whew i haven’t written hxh stuff in a while, i hope it’s still ok. anyways i think yall can see the clear bias i have towards chrollo…

[just-aake]

Detecting Love Part 3

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Part 3 to Detecting Love. Sometimes being able to see lies isn't the only way to know the truth.

Part 1 | Part 2

Warnings: fluff, light angst, slight violence

Words: 6011

Everybody lies.

It’s a skill everyone picks up from the moment they understand the world around them—instinctive, reflexive, necessary. 

Some might even say it’s the glue that holds society together, smoothing out interactions, saving feelings, keeping secrets.

Because lying is one of the surest ways to get what they want.

And when you’re the one person who can see every lie, it means you’re also the one possible thing standing in the way of what they want. 

Your power has been with you for as long as you can remember, an ever-present weight you’ve learned to carry. You’ve adjusted, adapted, built your life around it. Every conversation, every interaction—filtered through the crimson glow of deception that only you can see.

But “seeing” is the crucial part of your ability.

Which is why, at this moment, stripped of your sight, you find yourself completely at Natasha’s mercy.

The soft cloth tied around your eyes steals your vision, replacing the world with darkness. You lean back against the armrest of the sofa, letting yourself sink into the plush cushions, the absence of sight sharpening your other senses.

A soft rustling sound. The clink of items being placed on the coffee table. Then, the telltale shift of weight as Natasha settles onto the sofa beside you.

You reach out blindly, fingers stretching toward where you think she is. There’s a shift—so subtle, so deliberate—and instead of warm skin, your fingertips grasp at nothing but air.

Your hand drops onto the cushion with a quiet huff.

“You know,” you mutter, tilting your head in her direction, “this isn’t exactly what I imagined when you asked if you could blindfold me.”

A melodic chuckle answers you, warm and teasing. 

And then, a gentle touch—her hand finding yours, fingers sliding between yours in a slow, deliberate motion. The heat of her palm against your own sends a small thrill up your spine.

And then she tugs.

You’re pulled forward, your balance shifting unexpectedly. Your free hand instinctively reaches out, fingers splaying against the back of the sofa just in time to steady yourself.

The sudden proximity makes your breath hitch. 

Even without sight, you can feel her—warmth radiating from her body, the faint scent of something so distinctly her lingering in the air between you. 

The soft exhale of breath ghosts over your lips.

And finally, the press of her mouth against yours.

It’s slow at first, a testing, teasing thing. A mere brush of lips, then another. 

You hum in approval, leaning in to deepen the kiss, but just as you begin to chase the sensation, she pulls away—just enough to be out of reach.

You frown, lips still parted. 

A quiet chuckle rumbles from just beside you, her presence shifting slightly as she dodges out of the way.

“Was that what you were thinking about?” Natasha’s voice is playful, laced with amusement.

You chuckle, shaking your head slightly. 

“More or less,” you admit, voice low. You tilt forward again, intent on finding her.

Only to be met with empty space. 

You sigh in exasperation, lips jutting out in an exaggerated pout. 

Natasha’s quiet laughter follows, rich and teasing, a warm contrast to your supposed frustration.

Then, she shifts, as smooth and quiet as the expert spy she is. 

A presence—suddenly close, just beside your ear, and a breath of warmth that sends a subtle shiver down your spine.

“Unfortunately,” she murmurs, her voice dripping with amusement, “I did have something else planned first.”

Before you can react, a gentle but firm nudge pushes you back into your original position. You huff in mock protest, but there’s no real resistance. 

Instead, you settle back against the sofa, patience threading through your posture as you listen to the subtle sounds of movement—the rustle of fabric, the soft clink of utensils, the faint scrape of ceramic against wood.

Then, Natasha speaks again.

“Open up.”

A brow arches instinctively, curiosity flickering in the absence of sight, but you obey nonetheless. Lips parting slightly, you wait. 

The moment the food touches your tongue, you process the flavors—unexpected, slightly off balance, but not bad exactly. 

You chew thoughtfully, trying to find the right words, as you now realize why Natasha had spent the last few hours in your kitchen while also forbidding you from entering the area.

“Mmm, oh, that’s…that was, uh…that tasted pretty good.” 

A beat of silence. Then, a soft exhale, barely containing amusement.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Natasha states flatly.

You grin, tilting your head in her direction, unbothered at being caught.

“Hey, between the two of us, who’s the one who can actually prove whether I’m lying?”

A featherlight touch brushes against your cheek—at the edge of the blindfold, her fingers tracing along the fabric. Then, a low chuckle, close and intimate.

“Right now,” she murmurs, “I’d say my odds are better than yours.”

You roll your eyes behind the blindfold, a grin still tugging at your lips. 

“Alright, Romanoff, what’s next?”

There’s a slight pause before you hear her retrieve another bite-sized offering from the table. Then, once again—

“Open up.”

You oblige, and the moment the different food hits your tongue, a genuine hum of appreciation escapes you.

“Oh, wow. That’s actually really tasty.” 

You don’t need your sight to know she’s suspicious. It’s in the split second of silence, the charged pause that follows your reaction. 

Then—an offended scoff and a shove against your shoulder. It’s light and playful but enough to push you back slightly. 

You react on instinct. Before she can retreat, your hand darts out, fingers wrapping around her wrist. 

A surprised inhale escapes her as you tug—not forceful, just enough to unbalance her.

The next thing you know, she’s half on your lap, her weight settling against you as she catches herself with her hands on your shoulders.

For a moment, there’s only stillness. Warmth pressing against warmth, shared breaths mingling in the space between.

“I’m not lying,” you say softly, your voice steady with sincerity.

You tilt your head slightly, aligning with where you think her face is, wishing—just for a second—that you could see her.

But then, she moves.

Her hands rise, cupping your face gently, her palms warm against your skin. A second later, her forehead presses against yours, grounding you in the closeness of the moment.

“I know,” Natasha whispers.

And you believe her.

A part of you aches to look into her eyes, to see the truth in them. To witness firsthand the way her gaze would soften, the way the world itself would fade in the presence of her unwavering adoration. 

But the blindfold remains—a barrier, yet somehow making every other sensation sharper, more visceral.

You exhale, a slow, teasing smile forming. 

“Not that I’m complaining,” you murmur, “but was the blindfold really necessary for this?”

There’s a slight shift with Natasha turning her head from you as if debating whether to admit something.

“Trust me,” Natasha mutters, her voice lower, more conspiratorial. “My cooking has gotten to the point where it may be somewhat edible, but the presentation definitely needs some work.”

A quiet chuckle rumbles in your throat.

She shifts again, her nose grazing against yours now, a barely-there touch that sends a flutter through your chest. 

And then, in the smallest of murmurs, as her lips brush yours.

“Plus,” she whispers, the words melting into your skin, “I could do this.”

Just as you anticipate the full press of her lips, the warmth vanishes.

You lean forward instinctively, chasing after the kiss that never lands. Your breath stirs the space between you, lips parting slightly in expectation, but Natasha has already moved away.

A quiet chuckle—low and knowing—echoes from a different angle now, just slightly off from where she had been before.

Your brow furrows. 

“You’re playing dirty,” you mutter, tilting your head as if that might help you locate her.

Another soft laugh. Then—

A featherlight kiss at the corner of your jaw.

Your breath catches, but before you can react, she’s gone again, retreating before you can pinpoint her exact position.

You turn slightly in the direction of the touch, but then—

A kiss, just beneath your ear.

It’s brief, teasing, her lips barely making contact before they disappear again. Your fingers twitch at your sides, itching to catch her, to pull her back where you want her.

Then—

A press of warmth at the hollow of your throat.

Your exhale stutters, heat curling low in your stomach. You tilt your chin up, attempting to track her movements, but Natasha is already gone, shifting to another spot before you can react.

Then, a whisper, her breath fanning over your collarbone—so close but maddeningly out of reach.

“Having trouble, detka?”

You let out a quiet growl of frustration, reaching blindly in her direction, but she slips past your grasp once again. Your pulse pounds beneath your skin, every teasing press of her lips winding you tighter, pushing you further into a mix of heat and exasperation.

“I swear to God, Romanoff—”

Her laugh is like silk and fire, smooth but entirely too pleased with itself.

Another kiss, this time against the side of your throat. A sharp inhale escapes you, but before you can turn toward her, she’s gone again.

Your hands finally shoot up, reaching out in the dark, determined to catch her this time. 

But Natasha is faster. 

A whisper of movement, the ghost of her presence shifting away just before your fingers can close around her.

Your head falls back against the sofa, a frustrated groan escaping your lips. 

“I really hate you right now.”

She hums in amusement, the sound vibrating against your skin as she hovers close, just beyond reach.

“No, you don’t,” she counters easily, seeing through your lie.

You exhale sharply, trying to school your breathing. 

“Debatable,” you grumble, though you know a red aura is probably around you at the moment.

Warm hands suddenly cradle your jaw, fingers tracing along your skin with deliberate tenderness. 

You barely have time to process the shift before she finally, finally presses her lips fully against yours, capturing you in a slow, intoxicating kiss.

The tension in your body melts instantly, frustration replaced by the relief of having her exactly where you want her. Your hands find her waist this time, pulling her in with no intention of letting her slip away again.

When she eventually pulls back, just enough to break the kiss but still close enough that your breaths mingle, she smirks against your lips.

“See?” she murmurs. “The blindfold was necessary.”

You shake your head with a breathless laugh, fingers tightening at her sides.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still hopelessly in love with me.”

You sigh dramatically at the truth of her words.

“Yeah, yeah. Now kiss me properly already.”

This time, when she does, she doesn’t pull away.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The steady hum of the AC sends another chill through the room, making you shiver involuntarily. Rubbing your hands together for warmth, you glance down at the document in front of you before shifting your gaze to the woman sitting across your desk. 

“You want to transfer to another department?” you ask, scanning the request form. “Are you sure?”

The woman nods without hesitation—at least, on the surface.

“It’s been weeks since our break-up, but he’s still trying to get me to take him back,” she explains, frustration laced in her tone. “It’s getting to the point where I can’t get anything done without him hovering over my shoulder.”

Your frown deepens, arms crossing as you lean forward slightly.

“Do you actually want to leave your department?”

For a split second, there’s a flicker of hesitation, a moment where her expression wavers. Then, in a much quieter voice, she mumbles, “Yes.”

And there it is.

The red glow appears instantly, surrounding her like a warning flare only you can see. A lie—one spoken more to convince herself than anyone else.

You sigh, setting the paper down.

“Look,” you say gently, “if he’s harassing you, you shouldn’t be the one who has to uproot your life to avoid him.” You meet her gaze firmly, making sure she understands. “Let me talk to him. If he still won’t leave you alone, I’ll transfer him to a different facility. Does that sound okay?”

She hesitates. Then, a slight nod.

No red glow this time.

Instead, relief crosses her face, and you nod in confirmation. 

“Alright. That’s what we’ll do.” 

She thanks you quickly, standing and heading toward the door. As you turn in your chair to discard the request form, you hear a sudden, surprised gasp.

Then, almost shyly, a mumbled greeting before hurried footsteps scurry away.

Without looking, you already know why.

“Everything okay?”

Natasha’s voice fills the room, smooth and unmistakable.

You glance back to see her stepping inside, the door clicking shut behind her as she gestures over her shoulder.

“That’s the third time I’ve seen her in your office this week.”

A teasing smirk tugs at your lips when you realize she’s been taking note of such things. You lean forward, elbows resting on your desk.

“Are you jealous?”

Natasha rolls her eyes, unimpressed. Without hesitation, she tosses the hoodie in her hands straight at your face, hitting you squarely.

You let out a muffled laugh, peeling the fabric away.

“Don’t tease me,” she warns playfully, settling against the edge of your desk. “Especially after I took the time to bring this to you.”

You hum in amusement, slipping on the hoodie. Immediately, warmth envelops you, and with it, her familiar, comforting scent. 

Natasha watches as you sink into the hoodie’s embrace, snuggling into the fabric like it’s second nature. There’s a pause before she quirks a brow.

“How come you keep forgetting to bring your own?” 

You glance up, smirk never faltering.

“Because I love yours so much.”

She scoffs, shaking her head, but the slight smile curling at the corner of her lips betrays any real irritation. Her gaze flickers downward as she plucks the paper smoothly from your hand. 

“A transfer?” she muses, raising a brow.

You exhale, leaning back into your chair. 

“Just some workplace romance drama.”

Your fingers find their way to her thigh, tracing slow, idle circles against the fabric of her pants. 

“You know how relationships between coworkers always get complicated.”

Natasha smirks, tilting her head slightly. 

“Is there something you’re trying to say here?”

You grin, about to tease her further, but a sharp beep interrupts the moment.

Natasha pulls out her comm device, checking it briefly before shutting it off with a sigh.

“I have to go,” she murmurs. “The team’s probably already at the hangar by now.”

“A new mission?”

She nods. 

“Shouldn’t take too long. I’ll probably be back for dinner.”

A playful look of apprehension crosses your face.

“Oh, uh…did you want to try cooking again tonight, or—?”

She shoves your shoulder lightly, making you laugh as she huffs in faux irritation, crossing her arms.

Still grinning, you scoot closer, uncrossing her arms just so you can hold her hands instead.

“I’m kidding,” you assure her. “I’ll wait for you to come back, and we can make something together. Sound good?”

Natasha exhales, her faux annoyance melting away into something softer. She nods, giving you a brief eye-roll before letting you hold onto her hands.

“Alright.”

You squeeze her fingers gently, tugging them slightly so she focuses on you again. Your thumb glides over the back of her hand in slow, soothing strokes. Then, the words leave your lips, unfiltered and true.

“I love you.”

It’s soft—barely more than a whisper—but woven with every ounce of affection you feel for her.

Her eyes search yours, something flickering behind her gaze. Then, she lifts a hand to your cheek, her thumb brushing along your skin as she leans in. 

The kiss is slow, lingering, and warm. Careful in a way that makes your chest ache.

When she pulls back, she hovers close enough that you can still feel her breath against your lips.

Her mouth parts slightly as if she wants to say something—as if she wants to say it back.

Your heart hammers at the thought, and for the first time, instead of fear, a surge of anticipation appears within you—to hear those words fall from her lips.

But she doesn’t say them.

The moment stretches, charged with something unspoken. And then, you exhale softly, filling the silence with your own quiet plea.

“Stay safe, okay?”

Natasha’s expression softens. A small, knowing smile lifts the corner of her lips as she whispers back, “You too.”

She squeezes your hand again before pulling away, slipping effortlessly back into her composed exterior. As she heads for the door, you watch her go, the warmth of her touch still lingering in your hands.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“I swear I didn’t go near her this whole week.”

You barely suppress the sigh threatening to escape as you lean back in your chair, watching the man across from you. He sits rigidly, hands clasped together on the desk, his face carefully composed. But it doesn’t matter how well he masks his emotions.

Because the truth is written all over him. Or rather, it glows.

A constant red aura surrounds him, pulsing faintly as he continues to defend himself. His voice is smooth, and his delivery is nearly flawless—he might have been able to convince someone else if he had to. Maybe even turn the situation in his favor.

Too bad he has to face you instead.

You drum your fingers lightly against the desk, exhaling quietly. You’ve heard enough.

Rubbing your temple in exasperation, you make your decision.

“Alright,” you say, keeping your tone measured but firm. “I think the best option right now is to create some distance between you two. Why don’t you take some time off for yourself? And in the meantime, I’ll arrange for your transfer to another department.”

His expression tightens. “But—”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

Your voice cuts through his protest, cool and unwavering. You straighten in your chair, leveling him with a stare.

“Either you take the transfer,” you continue, “or you can gather your things and leave the Compound entirely. Your choice.”

For the first time in the conversation, his composure cracks. His brows furrow, lips parting slightly as if he’s struggling to process that you aren’t buying a single word of his defense. He looks at you as if searching for an opening, a way to manipulate the situation in his favor.

But you aren’t giving him one.

After a long moment, his jaw clenches. Then, reluctantly, he nods.

“Fine,” he mutters.

You nod once in return, already mentally filing the necessary paperwork to have him reassigned.

“Good. I’ll have the details sent to you by the end of the day.”

The meeting ends, and he leaves, his steps heavy with frustration. You watch him go, feeling a faint sense of relief that, at the very least, the situation will be handled.

It’s late by the time you make your way toward one of the labs. Most of the Compound has quieted down, the usual hum of activity reduced to only a few lingering agents and late-night researchers. 

You had planned to leave for the night since it’ll still be a few hours before Natasha returns, but something nagged at you—an instinct, maybe. 

A feeling that you should check in before heading out.

As you approach the lab, muffled voices filter through the partially open door. One is quiet and tense. The other is lower, insistent.

You frown.

Pushing the door open, your eyes narrow at the sight before you.

The woman who had come to you earlier stands backed into a corner, shoulders hunched as she clutches a tablet to her chest. 

The man—the same man you had just ordered to take some time away—looms over her, his stance rigid with barely restrained frustration.

“I just want to talk,” he presses, voice strained with forced patience. “You don’t have to act like I’m some kind of monster—”

“That’s far enough.” Your voice cuts through the air, sharp and cold.

Both of them turn. 

The woman’s eyes widen slightly in relief while the man’s expression darkens. He straightens, schooling his features into something less aggressive, something more controlled.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” he exhales, clearly displeased to see you again. “She agreed to meet up with me.”

The red glow appears around him once again, and you internally groan at his constant attempts at lying to you.

You step forward between them, pushing the woman back behind you as you face the man with your arms crossed. 

“I gave you two options. This wasn’t one of them.”

His jaw tenses as his eyes flicker in suspicion between the two of you. A subtle anger forms in his expression. Then, in a flash of movement, he lunges with a punch.

You react quickly, your hand shooting out and grabbing his arm in a vice grip. With a sharp pivot of your body, you use his own momentum against him—slamming him onto a nearby table with a heavy thud.

He groans, winded but still struggling.

“Stay down,” you growl.

But he doesn’t listen.

His other hand scrambles blindly, knocking over a tray of glass vials before grabbing something solid. Before you can react, he slams the tray into the side of your head.

The impact sends a wave of pain through your skull, sharp and searing. Shards of broken glass cut into your skin, and something cold, almost slick, drips down your face.

You stagger back slightly but force yourself to recover and move.

With a burst of strength, you throw a roundhouse kick, your boot connecting solidly with his chest.

The impact sends him sprawling to the floor, where he stays motionless, unconscious.

For a moment, all you can hear is the ragged sound of your own breathing.

Then, the burning starts.

A sharp, stinging sensation spreads from where the liquid seeps into your skin, trailing down into your eyes. It burns, an unfamiliar heat that makes your vision swim.

You press a hand to your forehead, blinking rapidly to try and clear your sight, but the pain doesn’t subside, and your vision becomes even more distorted.

The woman rushes over, worry painted all over her face. “Are you—oh my God, you’re bleeding—”

“I’m fine. Just call the medic team,” you grit out, even as your head pounds with each pulse of your heartbeat.

Despite the pain, one thought drifts sluggishly through your mind.

Natasha is not going to like this when she gets back.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

“Is this going to take much longer?”

You sit perched on the edge of one of the medical bay beds, an ice pack pressed gingerly against the side of your head. The cool sensation numbs the dull throb beneath your fingertips, but the sting in your eyes remains persistent.

Dr. Cho, standing, you assume, at the other end of the room, hums in thought.

“Depends,” she responds. “Can you open your eyes fully without struggling?”

Your eyelids flutter slightly as you make an attempt, but the moment they part, an intense burning sensation forces them shut again. You exhale through your nose, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“It’s just that I have dinner plans tonight,” you explain, shifting slightly in your seat. “So I really need to be home sooner rather than later.”

Dr. Cho pauses briefly before revealing, “I’ve already informed Agent Romanoff. She’ll be here shortly to assist you home.”

Your mouth parts in betrayal. 

“What happened to patient-doctor confidentiality?” you ask, turning toward where you think she is.

Before she can answer, another voice emerges from the doorway—low, edged with quiet challenge.

“Were you going to try and hide what happened to you from me?”

Your back straightens instinctively at the sound of Natasha’s voice.

Your mind scrambles for a defense, but all that escapes is an unconvincing response.

“Wha–I uh…of course not.” 

Footsteps approach—calculated, steady. Then, before you can react, a warm hand cups your cheek, fingers tracing gently over your skin. Another hand, softer but firm, wraps around your own, carefully prying the ice pack away from your head. The loss of the cool compress makes you wince slightly, but the warmth of her touch quickly replaces the sensation.

Under her breath, Natasha mutters, “Terrible liar.”

You huff a small laugh. 

“Hey, you can’t be mean to me. I’m injured here.”

An amused exhale leaves her lips, and though you can’t see it, you can feel the way her expression softens. Then, a slight shift as Natasha turns away from you.

“Why can’t she open her eyes?” she asks, her tone dipping into something firmer, more concerned.

There’s a shuffling of papers before Dr. Cho answers.

“Her optic nerves were affected by exposure to a trial serum during the fight. The blunt trauma to the head certainly isn’t helping, either.”

Natasha sighs, irritation laced in the sound. Her fingers find the ice pack again, pressing it gently back to the side of your head. You flinch slightly at the contact before your hands instinctively reach for her waist, tugging her closer as you rest your head lightly against her shoulder.

“You should train more on not leaving an easy opening for them to hit you like this,” she mutters, the words tinged with quiet frustration. 

You chuckle, tilting your head slightly.

“Let’s not forget that I still took him down while blinded.”

Natasha huffs, exasperated, but she doesn’t push you away. Instead, she shifts her focus back to Dr. Cho.

“So what can we do to help her?”

There’s a sound of rustling before footsteps approach.

“These eyedrops should help alleviate the pain and speed up the recovery process of the serum’s effects,” Dr. Cho explains.

“What effects?” Natasha asks in concern.

You can practically feel the tension in her body, the way her muscles tighten subtly beneath your touch. 

Dr. Cho hesitates momentarily before answering, “We’re not exactly sure yet. The serum is still in its trial phase. But based on what we know, whatever effects there are should be temporary.”

Before Natasha can question the doctor further, you sigh dramatically. 

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” you say, making a grabbing motion in the air, hoping someone will hand you the drops.

A hand—undoubtedly Natasha’s—swats yours down before setting the ice pack aside next to you.

“Hold still,” she murmurs.

You feel her fingers cup your cheek again, tilting your face up slightly. Then, with gentle precision, she coaxes your eyelids apart.

Cool liquid drops into your eyes, and immediately, a wave of relief washes over the burning sensation. A slow exhale leaves your lips as she repeats the process for the other eye.

It takes a few moments before the sting fully subsides. Your eyes remain shut as you wait for the discomfort to fade entirely. Then, cautiously, you let your eyelids flutter open.

The blurriness makes you blink rapidly, adjusting to the light of the room. The familiar shapes of the medical bay start to take form, Natasha’s figure sharpening before you.

But something isn’t right.

Your breath stutters slightly, eyes darting around as an unsettling sensation creeps into your chest. 

Natasha notices your hesitation immediately.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice steady but edged with concern. 

You hesitate, your pulse picking up as your mind tries to make sense of what you’re seeing. Your brows furrow as you rub at your eyes, but when you look again, it’s still the same.

Her hands come up again, cupping your face, grounding you. Her warmth steadies your frantically beating heart. 

“Talk to me,” she murmurs, softer now. “What’s wrong?”

You exhale deeply, your gaze locking onto hers.

Then, quietly, you whisper,

“Everything’s gray.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

You stare at the food on your plate, moving it around aimlessly with your fork. The once-vibrant colors that usually make a meal feel inviting are gone, leaving behind a dull-tinted palette.

Dr. Cho explained that the serum must have affected the nerves responsible for transmitting color signals to your brain. Thankfully, she assured you that the condition would be temporary. Unfortunately, she couldn’t say how long it would take for your eyes to fully recover.

Days? Weeks? Longer?

The uncertainty gnaws at you, making you lose even more of your appetite.

“You know,” Natasha’s voice cuts through your thoughts, calm and casual, “we could still order some takeout.”

You blink, looking up to see her sitting across from you, elbow propped on the table as she watches you.

“You don’t have to force yourself to eat that,” she adds, already reaching for your plate.

Your instincts kick in. Quickly, you maneuver your plate out of her reach, eyes narrowing in challenge.

“I like eating the meals you make me,” you say firmly. Then, to drive your point home, you take a large bite.

The moment the food hits your tongue, warmth spreads across your taste buds. Then, heat. A slow, creeping burn.

Your eyes widen slightly as the realization sinks in—it’s spicy. Uncomfortably spicy.

You cough lightly, reaching hastily for your water. Natasha watches calmly as you take a few gulps before finally catching your breath.

Swallowing hard, you manage to look back at her with as much composure as you can muster.

“See?” you rasp. “It’s not bad.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches. Then, slowly, a soft smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she rests her chin against her hand, a look of undeniable fondness in her eyes.

“Liar,” she mutters, amused.

The teasing tone makes you want to smile—until your gaze drops to your hands.

Your colorless hands. You turn them slowly, searching. Looking for the familiar glow—the telltale red aura that has always been there whenever someone lies. 

But there’s nothing. An unease tightens in your chest.

“How can you tell?” you whisper before you even realize you’ve spoken the thought aloud.

“What do you mean?” Natasha asks.

You lift your head, meeting her eyes.

“How can you tell that someone is lying?”

For a moment, she simply looks at you, expression unreadable. Then, something shifts in her gaze—understanding.

“Years of training and spy work help in that field,” she says, her tone light as she gives you a small smile.

You exhale slowly, the weight of everything settling heavily on your shoulders.

“I’ve had my powers my entire life,” you murmur. “Now that I can’t use them…it feels terrifying.”

Natasha listens quietly and attentively. 

“How does someone live like this?” you continue, voice barely above a whisper. “Not knowing whether someone is telling the truth or not?”

Silence fills the room. The weight of the question lingers between you, and for a second, you regret bringing it up.

But before you can brush it off, Natasha speaks.

“Sometimes,” she says gently, “we just have to trust our instincts.”

You glance up, skeptical, but she isn’t finished. 

“Other times,” she continues, gesturing toward you, “there are things we just know are true.”

Your brows furrow slightly, but she holds your gaze with quiet certainty.

“It’s how I know you’re telling the truth every time you say you love me,” she murmurs.

She pauses for a brief second before offering you a soft smile.

“I can feel how true it is in my heart.”

Something inside you tightens at her words. 

To feel the truth of something rather than see it—it’s a concept that should scare you. But as you sit there, watching her, listening to the quiet conviction in her voice, you can’t help but want that.

To believe without hesitation. To know something so deeply that no confirmation is ever needed.

You swallow, steadying yourself before you ask the question that you’ve wanted to hear the answer from her for a while now but have been too hesitant to ask.

“Do you love me?”

The words leave your lips softly, but they carry a weight that settles in the space between you.

Natasha tilts her head slightly as if searching your expression for the reason behind your sudden question.

And then, after a beat, she stands from her seat.

You watch as she makes her way around the table, stopping when she’s close enough to lean against the edge beside you.

Her hand lifts, fingers brushing gently against your cheek before her palm cups the side of your face. Her thumb strokes your skin—slow, deliberate.

And then, finally—

“I love you,” she says.

It’s firm, unshaken. No hesitation, no uncertainty. Just truth.

A breath of relief escapes her lips as the words settle into the air between you, as if she had been waiting—aching—to say them.

Your heart swells, warmth blooming in your chest.

And in that moment, you understand what she meant.

You don’t need your power to know she isn’t lying. You feel the truth in every word.

Without hesitation, your hand reaches up to the back of her neck, pulling her down into a deep, lingering kiss.

She doesn’t hesitate either. She returns it instantly, sinking into the moment as if she had been waiting for this, needing this as much as you have.

When you finally pull back, lips still brushing against hers, you murmur against her mouth, “I love you too, Natasha.”

A grin spreads across her lips, her breath warm against yours as she presses a featherlight kiss to your lips—soft, lingering, a quiet savoring of the moment.

“I know,” she murmurs, her voice filled with warmth.

You barely have a second to bask in the glow of her confession before you catch the subtle scrape of ceramic against the wooden table.

Your instincts kick in immediately.

Without breaking eye contact, your hands find hers just as she tries to slide your plate away. With a firm grip, you press her hands down against the table, standing as you give her a knowing, pointed look.

“That doesn’t mean you get to take away my food, Romanoff,” you say, playful yet unwavering.

Natasha raises a brow at your challenge. She doesn’t pull away from your grip—at least, not yet.

Her expression shifts, mischief flickering behind her green eyes as she tilts her head slightly, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.

“I’m trying to prevent the person I love from getting further injuries from my cooking,” she counters smoothly.

Then, without warning, she leans in, her lips grazing against yours—so soft, so fleeting that it barely qualifies as a kiss.

It’s a tease, deliberate, and infuriatingly effective.

You instinctively chase after the sensation, leaning forward, but she stays just out of reach, hovering close enough that you can feel the smirk curling against her lips.

Her breath fans across your skin as she murmurs, voice a hushed, teasing challenge.

“Do you really think you can stop me from doing that?”

The words send a slow shiver down your spine, and in an instant, the playful tension between you crackles like a live wire. Your fingers tighten around hers slightly, your grip firm yet unyielding. A silent declaration.

Your body presses closer, the air between you thickening as you arch a brow.

“I think I have a shot,” you counter, voice low, measured, daring.

Natasha hums, the sound laced with knowing amusement. Her eyes flick down to your lips, lingering for a fraction of a second before locking back onto yours, her own shimmering with something equal parts affection and mischief.

She tilts her head slightly, and the corner of her lips quirks up.

“You really are bad at lying,” she murmurs. 

And then, before you can respond, she closes the distance.

Her lips press against yours—not teasing this time, not fleeting. The kiss is slow but firm, filled with an unmistakable sense of certainty.

You lean into it without hesitation, swallowing any words she might have added, neither confirming nor denying her remark.

Not that it matters. 

You already know the truth without needing to see the red glow around yourself.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: thank you for reading! I know a lot of you were looking forward to this, so I hope you all were able to enjoy this part also.

[munchhmm]

hey ml! Was wondering if you could do headcanons of one piece men, specifically Zoro, with a love interest (preferably fem) who is SUPER strong, and fast, like Saitama.

Thank youuu! Byeee

More Than Muscle

Hi annon! I’m sorry I’ve never watched One Punch Man and I'm not feeling very well oops, but I have an idea (I think) of what you were expecting though!! hopefully this is good :’)

The boys reacting to reader being super duper strong! ♡

Image above is mine.

Pairings: Zoro, Ace, Law, Smoker, and Luffy x F!reader.

Warnings: None! ᐢ. .ᐢ

Word count: 550 I'm sorry It's so short :(

Zoro > ᴗ•

Doesn’t want to admit you might be stronger than him.

Sees firsthand how powerful your skills are—he’s in awe but would never show it.

Trains harder to try and get on your level, even though in the back of his head he knows it’s probably not possible.

Secretly finds it cute and fun; sparring with you felt like a real challenge.

“Where did all of this come from?” —asking out of sheer curiosity but with a hint of annoyance, knowing you’re beating his ass.

Protects you silently; he sees your strength but knows everyone gets tired sometimes.

Lets you lean on his shoulder, eventually his lap after practice—running his fingers through your hair when he knows you’re asleep.

Ace ´ ᵕ `

Smirking but wants to be your biggest fan on the inside.

Constantly puts you up to tests, timing your speed and agility.

In awe when you fight, almost to the point he forgets he’s in the scuffle himself.

Still tries to take care of you like a baby—he admires you so much. Even if you’re strong, you’re still his love.

Honestly would probably try to stop you from going overboard, like you’re all fighting and he grabs you so things don’t get too heated. Haha, literally, right? Get it with Ace? I should shut up…

When you get tired, he scoops you up and holds your body like you’re the most fragile thing on earth.

Doesn’t care about the teasing—he respects you even if your power can compare to his.

Law ᵔᗜᵔ

Doesn’t say a word outright, just a small smirk across his face.

Worries way too much—his doctor instincts kick in. Are you pushing yourself too hard? Are you hurt? These thoughts circle his mind constantly.

Stands behind you with his eyes closed like he isn’t paying attention. He most certainly is.

Offers practical help: meditation and cold compresses. This is his way of showing he cares.

When you do inevitably push yourself too far, he’s the first to notice—almost forcing you to rest and take things easy.

In secret, he lets you lay on his chest while he watches your face, trying to read what mental and physical state you’re in.

Would never let anyone tease you—giving deadly glances when anyone dares to open their mouth.

Smoker •⤙•

Cold and stern outwardly; on the inside, he’s really impressed.

Worries about you in battle but knows you can handle it.

If you ever did get hurt, he’d calmly bandage you while cursing himself for not being there sooner.

Never lets you push yourself too hard, even when necessary—he cares too much about you.

Watches with a focused eye at all times.

Brags about you to other Marines without even realizing it.

Keeps your weak spots in the back of his mind so he can help when—really if—needed.

Luffy >ヮ<

Biggest fanboy from the very start.

“WOAH, THAT’S SO COOL! HOW DID YOU DO THAT?!”

Wants to join every fight you’re in from that point forward.

Secretly learns the way you fight so maybe he can copy you.

If anyone ever underestimates you, he just laughs and lets you at them.

Tells everyone that you’re the strongest person he’s ever met—and means it.

Makes you eat lots of food—aside from what he steals from you, ofc—and rest a bunch to keep your strength.

[theaawalker]

Steps to Writing a ‘Chosen One’ Character

follow for more tips 💋 || request writing tips 💌

1. Establish the Foundation

Define Their Origin: Decide what makes them the Chosen One—prophecy, destiny, lineage, or sheer coincidence. Clarify why they, specifically, are given this role.

Determine Their Initial Attitude: Are they reluctant, eager, indifferent? Show how they react to the burden of being chosen.

Set Their Core Struggles: Define the internal and external conflicts they will face. Do they wrestle with imposter syndrome, moral dilemmas, or fear of failure?

2. Shape Their Role in the Story

Decide Their Purpose: Are they meant to destroy an evil force, restore balance, protect a sacred artifact, or lead a rebellion? Ensure their journey aligns with the story’s central themes.

Avoid Overpowered Tropes: They shouldn’t be flawless. Give them limitations, weaknesses, or struggles that make their growth compelling.

Show Their Impact on Others: How do allies, mentors, or even enemies perceive them? Their role should ripple beyond just their own development.

3. Build Their Character Development

Challenge Their Destiny: Let them question, doubt, or even reject their role at some point. Growth comes from resistance, not blind acceptance.

Forge Meaningful Relationships: Give them friends, mentors, and rivals who help shape their journey. Avoid making them the sole focus of the story’s world.

Balance Personal Desires and Duty: Show moments where their personal wants clash with their responsibilities as the Chosen One.

4. Define Their Abilities and Training

Determine Their Power Source: Magic, divine intervention, inherited skill, or sheer perseverance—whatever it is, make it unique and consistent.

Avoid Instant Mastery: They should struggle, fail, and improve through effort, mentorship, and experience.

Give Them a Signature Strength and Weakness: Maybe they’re brilliant strategists but poor close-combat fighters, or they can harness powerful magic but suffer from physical fragility.

5. Create Meaningful Obstacles

Test Their Morals and Limits: Put them in situations where they must make difficult choices. Let their decisions shape their character.

Introduce Personal Stakes: The battle shouldn’t just be about saving the world—it should also mean something deeply personal to them.

Make Victory Costly: Triumph shouldn’t come without sacrifice—whether it’s losing loved ones, suffering personal injuries, or making difficult trade-offs.

6. Develop a Satisfying Arc

Decide Their Ultimate Fate: Will they survive and thrive? Sacrifice themselves for the greater good? Retire into obscurity? Make sure their journey reaches a meaningful conclusion.

Showcase Their Legacy: Whether they win or lose, let their choices leave a lasting impact on the world around them.

Avoid Predictability: Subvert clichés where possible—maybe the Chosen One isn’t the true hero, or perhaps their destiny isn’t as set in stone as they believed.

Examples of ‘Chosen One’ Characters

Film/TV Examples:

Luke Skywalker (Star Wars): A reluctant hero who grows into his role while battling his own darkness.

Aang (Avatar: The Last Airbender): A lighthearted but deeply burdened Chosen One struggling with war and responsibility.

Buffy Summers (Buffy the Vampire Slayer): A Chosen One who balances personal life with monster-hunting, questioning fate and sacrifice.

2. Literature Examples:

Harry Potter (Harry Potter series): A prophesied hero whose strengths lie in his friendships and moral choices.

Percy Jackson (Percy Jackson & the Olympians): A reluctant demigod whose humor and flaws make him a relatable Chosen One.

Duke the Guarder (The Guardians of Camoria series): A noble-hearted Chosen One defined by mercy, internal conflict, and a fear of death.

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thank you, i am farkle :)

[chokkzou]

⠀ ৴ the submission of the boys ─────

PART. 1 ! ︵︵ sypnosis : the bllk boys discovering the beginning of his submission (?.

link to part two !

𓄹𓈒        yoichi isagi , reo mikage , seishiro nagi

⸺　top male reader

﹏⠀ׄ⠀ Yoichi Isagi :

　⸺　 Isagi has always been someone who thrives on recognition and validation. He lives for those moments when his skills are acknowledged, when he feels like he’s making a difference, when someone tells him that he’s doing great. But it wasn’t until you came into the picture that he realized just how much your words affected him.

　⸺　 At first, he thought it was normal—after all, he liked being praised, right? But then you started doing it in ways that left him completely off guard. A simple "good job, Yocchan," said in a low, smooth tone after a match, your fingers barely brushing his sweat-dampened hair? That had him completely losing focus for the next few minutes.

　⸺　 And you noticed. It didn’t take you long to realize that whenever you praised him directly, with intensity in your voice, Isagi would react in the most adorably helpless way. His lips would part slightly, his eyes would flicker with something unspoken, and sometimes—if you were close enough—you could hear the way his breath hitched for just a second.

　⸺　 One day, you decided to take it a step further. After watching him score a goal, you pulled him aside, leaned in close, and murmured, "You looked so good out there." His face turned completely red. His hands clenched into fists, his body stiffened, and he stammered something incoherent before looking away, desperately trying to regain his composure.

　⸺　 That’s when you knew. Compliments were his kryptonite. And if you ever wanted to see him break, all you had to do was whisper something sweet with a bit too much confidence.

﹏⠀ׄ⠀ Reo Mikage :

　⸺　 Reo is used to taking the lead. He’s confident, he knows what he wants, and he’s never had a problem going after it. But for some reason, when it’s you taking control, he absolutely melts.

　⸺　 It started with small things—placing your hand on the small of his back to guide him through a crowded space, casually hooking a finger under his chin to tilt his head up, pulling him by the wrist with just enough force to make it clear that you were in charge.

　⸺　 At first, he brushed it off, laughing it away like it was nothing. But you saw the way his breath faltered each time, the way his fingers twitched slightly, the way he swallowed a little too hard when you did it without warning.

　⸺　 The moment you realized how much he loved it? You had casually placed your hands on his hips to move him aside while saying, "let me through, swettie " he froze.

　⸺　 It was barely a second, but you saw the way his pupils dilated slightly, the way his lips parted as if he was about to say something but completely forgot how to speak. And when he finally stepped aside, he did it almost robotically, like his brain was still catching up with what just happened.

　⸺　 After that, you made sure to test the limits—pulling him into you when he wasn’t expecting it, whispering "stay still" in his ear just to see if he could obey. Spoiler alert: he couldn’t.

﹏⠀ׄ⠀ Seishiro Nagi :

　⸺　 Nagi doesn’t care about a lot of things. He’s lazy, indifferent, and rarely puts effort into anything unless it’s truly worth his time. But for some reason, he cares so much when it comes to you.

　⸺　 It started out simple—he began noticing the small things you did for him. You’d grab his water bottle before he even asked, adjust his hoodie when it slid off his shoulder, remind him to eat when he got too distracted with his phone. And each time you did something for him, he’d just… stare.

　⸺　 Not in a creepy way. More like in complete awe.

　⸺　 One day, when you casually handed him a towel after practice, he took it but didn’t move. He just blinked at you, gripping the fabric a little too tightly, before mumbling, "…you’re spoiling me."

　⸺　 But he didn’t stop you. And you noticed something else— Nagi never initiated much, but when you did, he followed effortlessly. If you tugged on his sleeve, he’d move. If you tilted his chin up, he wouldn’t resist. If you told him to do something in that smooth, confident voice of yours, he’d do it without even thinking.

　⸺　 So, naturally, you started pushing the boundaries.

　⸺　 One evening, as he lazily lay on the couch, you ran your fingers through his hair and said "sit up." And without hesitation, without question, he did.

　⸺　 That’s when you knew— Nagi wasn’t just being spoiled. He was waiting to be led.

[xprinceling]

niki’s kinks & turn ons<3

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

enjoy!:3

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

• tight tops - riki would go absolutely BALLISTIC after seeing you in a small, tight tee. the way the fabric clings, sculpting every curve of yours, makes it impossible to look away. it moves with you, accenutating each breath, every little stretch, every shift of your shoulders. if the material is thin enough, it hints at the warmth of your skin underneath, making riki desperate to touch, to slide his long, ring-covered fingers along the fabric, feeling the heat radiate through.

then, there’s the way it rides up - just a tiny bit. maybe you reach for something, and suddenly - there’s a silver of skin exposed, a glimpse of your waist, the dip of your back. it’s completely maddening to him, sending heat surging through his veins like wildfire.

it takes all of riki’s strength to hold himself from backing you against a wall, caging you with his presence and showing you just how hard you’re making not only the situation, but his dick too.

• manhandling - riki would never hurt you, but seeing just how much stronger he is than you does something to him.

there’s a force pulling him to showing his strength in front of you - hands gripping your waist, the way he can control the space between the both of you with nothing more than his presence. it’s not about power - it’s about the tension, the game of it. for example - play fighting. it ignites something deep inside him - the playful shoves, the teasing challenges that test his patience. the thrill of being able to take control, then letting go just enough to keep you on edge. the push and pull of strength, dominance and surrender - it’s electrifying, a game he’s always willing to play.

• being vocal - riki isn’t the type to be super vocal - his and growls are not a lot, but on the other hand- hearing you squirm and moan his name, occasionally letting out a few words in your mother tongue slip out from just how good he’s making you feel, could make him finish right then and there. he always finds something irresistible in that, the way your voice seems to react to every touch, every shift of the atmosphere between your bodies.

• making out - everyone knows riki’s lips are made for kissing, and he is aware of the fact too.

he uses it to his advantage, pursing them even more before meeting yours, the proximity between you making it hard to breathe. feeling the graze of your tongue against his forces him to lose all previous intentions of impressing you with his making out skills, and turns the kiss into a sloppy one, needing to be closer, deeper inside of your mouth. the way your hand grabs onto his hair, and the other one cups his jaw, pushes him over the limit. his hands find your waist, pulling you even closer, the heat between both of you igniting a fire that can’t be surpressed. his mind is completely blank. the only thing he wants to do is to fully lose himself in you, but the way you play with his tongue - with confidence and passion, keeps him just on edge.

• pussy - just how his lips are made for kissing, they also share their purpose in life for eating you out.

one of the things that gets him most - watching you take your shorts off before going to bed - knowing that he could take your remaining panties off with just a little tug, leaving you in nothing but your top. his desires fortunately materialize almost every time, and riki eats you out like a man starved. seeing you get lost in the pleasure he gives you, your hand guiding his head, feeling the way his tongue hits just the right spots, your hips buckling every time he makes a noise - it not only makes you lose your mind, but him too, even more so.

• beads of sweat - hear me out now.

sweat is an everyday thing for him - he’s a dancer. a small trickle of sweat slowly trailing down your neck, catching the light and glistening like a tiny drop of desire absolutely hypnotizes him - his eyes can’t help but follow it’s path, every second feeling like it stretches on forever as it makes it’s way towards the curve of your collarbone, then lower, disappearing beneath the fabric of your top. it’s a small detail, something incredibly simple, but it makes riki’s breath catch in his throat. there’s something about the way your skin shimmers with that fine sheen, how your body reacts to the heat in the room, that drives him absolutely wild. he wants to reach out, to touch you, to feel the heat of your skin, but he’s frozen, his thoughts completely consumed by the sight.

• introducing you to his friends - a very important moment for riki is introducing his girlfriend to his buddies.

the way you carry yourself, a mix of grace and subtle confidence, has a magnetic pull on him. there’s something about the way you interact with his friends - so naturally, yet with that quiet intensity, that stirs something deep within him. your smile, the way you laugh at their jokes and how your hand brushes his as you navigate the group only heightens the tension he feels. your scent, the way you tilt your head when speaking, every small detail only draws him in further - feelings of pride taking over both of his heads.

• your neckline - he is a neckline SUCKER.

the way it curves, the delicate line of your collarbones, soft and inviting. it’s not something he usually focuses on, but when he does it draws him in like a magnet pulling his attention in ways he can’t ignore. his gaze captures the subtle movement of your pulse beneath the surface - a small thing, a subtle detail, but to him, it’s intoxicating. he can’t help but imagine how it would feel to kiss that spot, to press his lips against the delicate skin there, where the warmth of your body meets the cool air of the room.