#Defensive driving responsibility

[techdriveplay]

A Comprehensive Guide to Defensive Driving Techniques

Defensive driving is more than just a set of skills; it’s a mindset and a commitment to safety on the road. This guide aims to provide drivers with an in-depth understanding of defensive driving techniques, empowering them to anticipate and respond to potential hazards and reduce the risk of accidents. The Defensive Driving Mindset Situational Awareness Develop a heightened sense of…

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Nooooo Bestie, don't go to mad at me island

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[solar-halos]

all my sister does is ask me to drive her places and crochet her things. and by god i’m gonna do it every time

[munch-mumbles]

ive been a little upset about it all night so i need to write out all the things that happened at work today and are bugging me so i can TRY to get it out of my head and actually RELAX bc i just keep pacing in circles around it instead of just accepting it and moving on

[marioprobertson]

Getting the Best Rates for Auto Insurance: A Comprehensive Guide

Discover how to secure the best rates for auto insurance. Learn about key factors influencing rates, top insurance companies like State Farm and Progressive, and the advantages of defensive driving programs. Get expert tips to save on premiums and be a responsible, protected driver. For more information visit: https://www.dmvgo.com/defensive-driving/picking-the-right-dmv-practice-tests-your-path-to-a-successful-drivers-license-2/

[nemisuki]

Sunshine

Jealous AU | It wasn't often you spoke to those outside your class. So imagine his shock when he saw you speaking to a random extra in the hallway. A short oneshot of jealous bakugo and an oblivious girl who is unaware of a lot of things… including their romance.

᧔o᧓ || Katsuki Bakugo x f!reader, no manga spoilers, no nsfw, pure fluff, minor jealous bkg but not toxic, aged up to third years, dense reader, mutual feelings, bkg pov, implied short reader, oneshot, bkg is mature and a softie, open ending, 1.1k word count

He had to do a double take to make sure he wasn't mistaking something. 

His red eyes are practically boring into the student's back – who had the guts to approach you. 

A random extra from another course, a guy he's never seen before. So why the hell are you talking to him? 

As much as he tried, he couldn't look away from the sight. Who knows what they might pull on you. Bakugo can tell by the way the idiot looks at her, that the guy is clearly interested. 

That pissed him off. 

And what pissed him off even more is that she's completely oblivious of it. 

The girl didn't know how beautiful she was. How blinding her smile was when she saw something she liked.

How blinding her smile was when she looked at him.

If only she recognized the significance of her own feelings.

Bakugo could tell she liked him more than a friend should. Yet the dense idiot didn't know how she felt herself. 

He knew she unknowingly developed feelings for him as they started their third year. For someone as perceptive as him, it was easy to notice the clues. 

She clings to him despite his rough demeanor. And easily laughs whenever he grumbles a snarky comment under his breath. Always following him around both in and out of class. 

At first he didn't know what to do. He wasn't one to even think about romance. But her constant proximity threw the blonde off. 

Slowly as time went on, he found himself expecting to see her by his side. Feeling a bit uneasy on those rare days they didn't spend much time together. By the time they were halfway into their last year at UA, that's when he knew. 

He liked her too. As more than a friend. 

For the first time in his life, Katsuki Bakugo yearned for romance. Yet only with her.  

The realization only made him more agitated. Him growing soft for a girl? How ridiculous.

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ  ⎯⎯ ✦

He was pulled out of his thoughts a few seconds later. The reason?

The sight of the other guy lifting his hand and picking a piece of lint out of her hair. Not a second later, taking the opportunity to ruffle her hair playfully.

That's what had him speed walking over there with purpose, “Oi Y/N!” 

Her head quickly turns around at the familiar sound of his voice, “Ah Bakugo! Good Morning!” she says with a bright smile, completely forgetting about the other presence behind her. 

That response alone, almost made his stoic expression morph into a cocky grin. Almost. 

He grumbles in acknowledgment as he stands by her side, looking back and forth between her and the extra close by. A silent question directed towards Y/N. To which she seems to figure out immediately. 

“Oh this is Kai from the support course. He had some ideas for potential support gadgets I could use to regulate my quirk!” 

Support course huh. 

Bakugo simply stares at the other guy, a calm yet serious expression displayed across his face. He makes no move to greet this supposed ‘kai’ or even initiate small talk. 

A moment of silence passes between the three of them.

Kai smiles awkwardly in Bakugos direction, a visible indication of how uncomfortable he is. “Erm- well I should be heading to class now. See you around Y/N” he says but then quickly leaves as he makes eye contact with Bakugo. 

Meanwhile the blonde's ego skyrocketed from his success of driving the coward away. His shoulders slightly relax from the defensive stance he wasn't even aware he was doing. 

“Huh? What was that about?” she says looking back at Bakugo with a curious expression. Tilting her head to show her confusion. 

“Tch how the hell should I know. Now hurry up. We gotta head to class” he says, turning around and starting to walk in the direction of their classroom. He doesn't need to look back to know she's already shutting her locker.

“Or do you want to be late?” he says, loud enough for her to hear. 

“Ah, I'm going. Wait up!” she says while proceeding to run to catch up. Slowing down when she reaches his side and adjusting her bag that's draped over her shoulder. 

He occasionally glances at her as she starts babbling about random topics. Though he's not really paying attention to her words. He’s eyeing the side of her head, the specific spot where the other extra touched her. 

Bakugo doesn't know how to feel. 

He's confident in her feelings for him. Confident in his own abilities. 

Yet being a boyfriend… is something he can't comprehend. What exactly makes a good partner? Empathy? Kindness? Vulnerability? 

None of those reside with him. 

He ponders for a moment and takes a look at her cheerful expression. Full of bright joy that could rival the sun. 

His feelings only seem to grow more by the second. 

Without much thought he lifts his hand and gently pats her head. She pauses her endless chatter and hums in acknowledgement, “hm?” 

“Your hair is all messed up from before” he grumbles while fixing the random strands of hair by patting them down in place.

They both halt in the middle of the hallway as she lets him finish. Giggling at the soft sensation of his hand. He raises a brow at her sudden outburst. 

“What's so funny, idiot?” he huffs out and pinches her puffy cheek, unable to resist. 

“It tickles! Plus your hand is really warm. Agh- hey!” she whines slightly at his sudden actions. Trying to pry his hands away and retaliate. Only causing his body to tingle at the contact. 

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

He likes her. A lot. 

“When are you gonna realize huh” he mumbles to himself. Showing pity and letting go of her face. 

“Huh sorry what was that?” she says smiling while rubbing her sore cheek.

“Nothing nerd. Cmon pick up the pace, you're slow as hell” he rolls his eyes and continues walking to class, not waiting for her yet again. 

“Not my fault I have small legs!” she yells out and jogs after him, already falling behind.

She can't see it but his lips slightly curve up at her words. What an idiot. 

A few minutes before the bell, they make it to their classroom. Bakugo ignores his classmates as usual and makes a beeline to his seat. Sitting down and taking out his notebook. 

He can already hear Y/N chattering away in the background with some of their friends. Yet a few seconds later she's already at his desk to blab on about something else. 

Some of their friends come over as well to join in on the conversation. 

But his eyes never leave her. 

He may not know all the aspects of how to be a good boyfriend but for her, he’ll try. When the time is right. 

For now he could only wait for Y/N to figure out her own feelings. Which frankly might take awhile.

But Bakugo isn't worried. 

Because he knows she'll follow him anywhere. 

And so would he. 

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

a/n ||| idk why this specific fic got so popular?! it's my most viewed work but I prefer my other ones ermmm hi bakugo fans... check out my longer fics? if u want? um i love u all byeeee! plus ultra!

[fatherbrat]

the amount of sexual tension between defense attorney!suguru and you, his client.

being his client is agonizing because you know you have to maintain professionalism. he’s not a hookup, or a friend, or even a colleague. he’s your lawyer, tasked with the hefty responsibility of keeping your ass out of jail. but, god, every time you have to see geto, your resolve weakens bit by bit.

you’ve wondered how he would react if you proposed paying his fee with sex instead of a direct deposit. you'd sooner ask him to represent you pro bono—or even discharge him—before ever considering letting that question leave your head. still, you'd be lying if you said you hadn’t touched yourself to the thought. multiple times.

having to work with you isn’t easy for geto either. he wishes that you would’ve met another way, because having sex with a client is completely, totally, utterly out of the question. he dreads the meetings you have together. being stuck in his office with you sitting a less than two feet away and not being able to touch you feels like torture.

as if that wasn't trying enough, every time you meet him at the courthouse you do a little spin and ask if your outfit is appropriate enough or if you need to wear the cardigan you brought along. his answer is always the cardigan.

maybe that was the driving force behind all those late nights at the work he’d been pulling lately. putting in extra work to make sure that he won your case and wouldn't have to endure this torment anymore. (or maybe it was because your perfume lingered in the air after you left his office and he wanted to jerk off to the thought of bending you over the desk while your scent surrounded him.)

for you, having to watch suguru in court is the worst part. you can smell his cologne wafting off him as he sits next to you at the defense table, something musky and woody and just a little vanilla-y that makes you want to jump his bones right there in the courtroom. you gnaw on your bottom lip as he cross-examines a witness, appreciating his tailored suit and leather oxford shoes and the way he commands attention before he even gets up. you wouldn’t be surprised if some of the jury members were swayed by his looks. you were.

you should be listening intently, fixing your posture, and trying to portray a look of innocence. it feels impossible when suguru's smooth voice is echoing throughout the courtroom and your clit is throbbing between your legs.

it’s a relief when the jury finds you not guilty, not for the obvious reasons, but because you won’t be obligated to see him anymore. when you invite him out for a few celebratory drinks after the final court appearance, you have nothing but pure intentions. it’s the polite thing to do. the proper way to thank him. a neat little bow tied on the end of your professional relationship.

however, in the soft lighting of the bar you suggested, suguru looks good enough to eat. you want to blame the wine, but you know the reason you feel so warm is because he's laughing and smiling and looks terribly handsome with the top buttons of his dress shirt undone.

he looks at you with half-lidded eyes and leans in too close. this time, you do attribute it to the alcohol. that is until you catch him staring at your mouth for a beat too long and all of your remaining resolve crumbles. you incline your head towards him, your lips just barely brushing against his before he closes the gap.

the kiss is feverish and disorienting and definitely too much pda. there's a string of spit connecting you when suguru pulls away and asks if you'd like to go back to his office for a nightcap.

begrudgingly, you remind him that you shouldn’t. you can’t. it’s inappropriate. he’d likely lose his license if anyone found out.

he reminds you that the case is closed now. you’re not his client anymore. the two of you can do whatever you want.

that's all the convincing you need.

[maiamore]

THREE STRIKES

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader - No Outbreak

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 2k

Summary: Joel fucks you in his truck.

Tags: road rage, cockwarming, orgasm denial, husband!joel, public sex, car sex, p in v, unprotected sex, use of the word daddy, grumpy!joel

A/N: swung this out in eight hours through pure adrenaline and proofreading with my homie MASTERLIST

If there was one thing you knew about Joel Miller, it was to never fuck with him when he was on the road.

It wasn’t that he was a bad driver, per se. Joel just had pretty low tolerance with shitty drivers, as evident by the dozens of times he’d changed his horn out in the past couple of months. You learned to sit pretty & let him grumble—being on your merry way as the passenger princess you were, humming along to whatever country station he flipped to.

“Left in the lane up ahead,” you cut in, interrupting Joel’s long-winded rant about the signages being too small. Which of course, his old man vision was probably more of the reason why, not the state's fault. Joel at the same time, refused to use a GPS, a stubborn stance that had already led to him missing an exit earlier. Considering the two of you were now running late to dinner to his younger brother,Tommy, and his wife’s place—you’d been on edge.

Joel glances at you, annoyance flickering across his face. “I know where I’m goin’, sweetheart.”

“Sure,” you replied, the sarcasm practically dripping from the single word.

“Joel!” Your arm whips directly in front of his face to point at the lane he was supposed to be in. He shoots you a sharp look in return, his palm pressing down on the base of the wheel, rotating it clockwise as he finally shifts over. You could tell, just from the tension in his jaw—that you’d hit strike one.

“I was about to,” he countered, his voice defensive.

“Yeah, didn’t seem like it.”

“My signal was on.”

“Oh, great, you announced your signalling intentions five hundred meters away from the lane. Can I please just put the GPS on?” you bit back, exasperated.

“We’ll get there. Quit fussin’.”

You’d slumped back into your seat, attempting to not let it affect you, Joel knew better though. He could tell you were ready to pop up with a “we need to turn here!”—despite your piss poor attempt at behaving for now.

His truck comes to a stop behind a Blue Toyota Yaris—with a slow rumble from the engine. Fingers drumming steadily against the steering wheel to fill the silence. Finally, he breaks the tension. “You plannin’ on sulkin’ all the way there?” 

“I’m not sulking.” You shot back.

Joel raises a brow, giving you a once-over. Gaze flicking to your thighs, clamped together and turned away from him. Well, that’ll do it. His lips twitched like he might’ve smirked. “Mmhm. Sure looks like it.” His voice a smooth drawl.

You turned your head just enough to shoot him a mocking look, trying not to let it show just how much the hum in his response caused a visceral reaction in what went on below. 

Joel’s jaw clenches at that, the faintest crease forming between his brows.

Strike two. 

The light turns green.

With a long, drawn out sigh—Joel eased his boot off the brake, released the clutch and wrapped a firm hand around the gear shift to nudge it into first. The truck rolled forward with its familiar low rumble,  He continued driving without saying a word, his patience teetering on the edge with how he was now holding the steering wheel with a white knuckled grip.

You shift in your seat, mindlessly scrolling through your phone when the click of a tongue snaps your attention back up. “You gotta be shittin’ me.” He breathes out. Gesturing angrily at the Blue Yaris driving way below the speed limit, you couldn’t really fault Joel for this one. You lean backwards, fully prepared to hear the end of it. 

He behaves for a while, but after a few miles, his patience snaps. With a grunt, he slams on the horn and flashed his lights, the sound cutting through the air like a gunshot. 

You groaned internally at his obnoxious habit. Before you could get a word in, the Yaris brake-checks him, sending the both of you careening forward.

Your face lights up in pure and utter amusement. You let out an audible hah! Karma was kind, you supposed, for the Yaris at least. But not for you. Definitely not for you. By the time you turned to look at Joel—

He was already looking your way.

That was three strikes.

“Oh, that’s funny now is it?” He says, with no humour in his tone.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so obnoxious with your honking. Just because you’ve got old people hearing—”

Joel swerves, stopping on the shoulder of the road. You twist your body a little when you feel the lock of your seat belt snapping open with a dull click.

“Up.”

You blinked. “Up where? Onto the dashboard?” You mused at his audacity. His eyes twitch. With a sharp tug of your arm, he attempts to pry you over the console towards his side. “Ow!—Okay, okay!” You huffed, unsteadily sliding over, your ass hitting the honk in the process, sending the both of you jolting.

Joel’s hand tightens around your wrist to pull you snug onto his lap. “Christ, Joel, what the hell?” You tried, effectively shutting up when you felt his very hard erection pressed against you. Your eyes widen, looking at Joel who didn’t have an ounce of embarrassment on his expression.

Clearly, someone liked you being a brat.

“Nothin’ to say now, mouth?” Joel tugs you by the back of your waist, your palms steadying yourself against his shoulders. You bit down on your lips to withhold just how much you enjoyed this “punishment”. With the thin material of your skirt, you’d felt every-single-fucking-thing. And god did it feel good.

So much for putting me in my place. You thought. 

Your heart was already thumping with how the truck was still illegally parked, surely, he wouldn’t fuck you into obedience here now would he? And risk getting arrested? Goody-two-shoes Joel?

Your gaze trails down as Joel snaps his belt buckle off. Nerves frayed in both trepidation and exhilaration. He brings his hand up to his mouth to wet his fingertips before slipping them beneath your skirt. 

You shudder at the motion, feeling his knuckles graze the sensitive skin, legs parting where it was tucked underneath your thighs. A thumb pushes the flimsy fabric of your thong aside, his knuckles grazing your clit. You jumped at the sensation. He gathers the slick to rub against the entrance of your folds before sinking two fingers into you in a go. You groan, tipping your head back at how full you already feel. 

“Fuck the lube, I guess.” He murmurs more so to himself. Lips quirked into a lop-sided grin as he curls his fingers up steadily into your slick pussy. Thrusting in and out. Iiiiin and out. You ground your hips impatiently to take his fingers deeper. Which surprisingly—he lets you. Normally you’d be met with a stern warning to stay still. 

He wasn’t that cruel to you, yet. A rough palm comes up to knead your tits over the pretty blue sundress you had on. You were on the precipice from coming with the adrenaline alone.

But just as you tightened around his fingers, your pussy clenches around….nothing. Your half lidded gaze meets Joel in confusion when he pulls his fingers out. You feel two heavy palms lift your hips, which you oblige without complaint.

“Upsy-daisy.” He grunts, stuffing you to the brim with his cock. The both of you let out a groan in unison. Your hand slams up onto the headrest, your pussy greedily swallowing all eight inches of him up. 

You attempt to plant your palms back onto his knees to ride Joel’s cock when a sturdy palm on your waist stops you, tugging your back towards his chest. You look back at Joel, a brow furrowed.

The truck then whirrrs back to life.

What the fuck.

What the fuck?

Your lips parted in disbelief, you feel the truck swerve back onto the road, the slight jump making his cock nudge deeper into you. A pitiful moan left you. “A-Are you kidding me? You’re driving like this? We’re gonna crash!” You protested. 

“We won’t if you keep your head down.” He emphasizes the down with a hand tugging the back of your neck till’ your cheeks smushed against his shoulders—eyes steadily welling up in tears from the growing ache.

“Wanna be my GPS so badly dontcha’, sugar?” He taunts,“go ‘head. Tell daddy how many miles he has left.”

You grimaced at his tone. You should’ve known punishment wasn’t going to taste sweet. 

Every goddamned dip in the road had you biting back a moan. Weakly, you glanced outside the car windows. “T-Two.” You manage. Eyes fluttered shut with hot tears staining Joel’s flannel. 

Your cunt tightens around Joel’s cock involuntarily. You lift your hips an inch to give yourself the bare minimum stimulation, gasping softly at every single jerk of the truck. 

“You best quit doin’ that if you want daddy to fuck you, baby.” He warns. 

You hiccup, forehead rubbing against Joel’s shoulders pitifully. “Joel…” You whined against his chest. 

“I know, sweetheart. How else are you gonna learn, huh? Testin’ me all damn—...“ He heaves, rocking you upwards until you come slamming down back onto his cock. “—day.” Grunting at the way your pussy grips around him like vice. You let out a stifled cry against his shoulder.

Thighs quivering now at the lack of proper attention to your cunt. 

“I-I’m sorry—…can’t—…Joel.” You begged, lifting your head up to trace the curve of your nose up the scuff of his jaw. 

Joel wasn’t a man of steel for sure, just feeling the wetness of his wife’s tears against his chest was enough for him to give in and fuck her like the pretty little slut she was for him. 

He clenches his jaw. Letting you pepper needy kisses up his neck. “Please…please please—…” 

“Need him, baby.”

The car nearly comes into a screeching halt when Joel stops in front of Tommy’s garage. 

You feel a firm tug at the back of your head. Cheeks flushed visibly. “Poor baby, you need him now do you?” He mutters softly. Joel gazes at you. Your pretty, tear stricken face making his cock throb even harder than he knew possible. 

“Even after you were such a fuckin’ brat?” You shake your head, not daring to move your hips in the slightest, in fear he might deny you. You didn’t think you could endure it any longer. 

“I’m sorry—…M’sorry.” You babbled, not even sure what exactly you were begging for anymore. You just needed something, anything to ease the ache.

With a content smirk, Joel’s hands run down your back in a soothing effort. 

“Keep quiet f’me?” He whispers. 

Your head tips back with a groan when Joel’s cock slams hard in you once, and again. 

And again. And again. 

He steadies your hips with a firm grip, snapping his hips upwards to meet the effort you took to grind your hips back down. Joel leans his head back against the seat. “Shit.” He whispers. 

It was bad enough he held back cumming into your tight little pussy for twenty minutes—but the way you were milking him now had him groaning in pain just to make sure you came before he did. 

“Sweet girl.” He coos. A rough palm sliding upwards to hold your jaw firm, facing him. “C’mon. Can’t come without you.” 

His thumb massages steadily against your clit, giving you the nudge you needed. Your palms shift to grip around his thighs. Arching your back in a way you didn’t know you even could before your entire body tenses. It doesn’t take long after for Joel to grunt with a heaving effort, flooding your pussy with his thick spend. He slides his hand down your throat, cupping around your waist to hold you against him.

The both of you remained there, panting heavily in the wake of what was possibly the best orgasms you’d had since your honeymoon. 

The haze of lust was short lived when the loud sound of Tommy’s garage door opening caught your attention. 

Joel laughs and you do too, he leans in to kiss the valley between your breasts up to your collarbone. You were officially a whole hour and a half late. 

“Think they’ll ever invite us again?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

[techdriveplay]

The Psychology of Road Rage: Understanding Driving Behavior

In the fast-paced world we live in, the road becomes a stage for a wide array of human emotions, among which anger often takes the spotlight. The psychology of road rage is a complex phenomenon that intertwines with our daily lives, sometimes with dire consequences. This article delves into the intricacies of road rage, shedding light on its psychological underpinnings, societal impacts, and…

[n0cturnalflesh]

The One Where Sylus Turns Into A Wanderer

Synopsis: Sylus gets hit with an attack that not only turns him into a wanderer but also makes him really horny??? Oh nooo what will you do? (wink wink nudge nudge)

Characters: Sylus x Reader

tw: Dragon Sylus, smut, p in v, breeding kink, praise, aphrodisiacs, unprotected sex, oral, tentacles

wc: 8.3 k

A/N: I'm a BIG fan of the theory(is it confirmed?) that Sylus is/was a wanderer at one point but I wanna see more content of him looking kinda scary. Love the idea of Sylus with cute horns and a tail but I'm thinking more like the wanderers we fight in deepspace trials - big, scaly monsters that barely look human. (I’m not not even a Sylus main lol sorry Zayne but duty calls)

“It recovered. Be careful.” Sylus charges forward, his evol twisting the wyrmlord wanderer and redirecting its fiery assault just out of the way from hitting you. 

“I know, I know.” Your voice comes out hoarse, throat parched from the hour-long battle against a horde of mechanically enhanced Wanderers—an unwelcome gift from one of Sylus’ enemies. It wasn’t anything the two of you couldn't handle, but their durability in the field was at least 4 times that of regular wanderers. This was an endurance test.

“This better be the last one.” You grumble, Harrier 700s aimed at its maws as you dump Evol-enhanced bullets into its rocky flesh.

“It is.” Sylus warps to its side, taking a vicious hit before striking back just as hard. “Look at the fluctuations around it, they’re weakening. Anything that might come after this will likely be too weak to stand. This is their last card.”

It’s true, now that you take a closer look; the translucent shimmer that had been protecting every wanderer before this is now no more than a simple sparkle. Cocking your gun in your hand, you level the barrel to its heart, giving a brief glance to Sylus. 

“Let’s finish this.”

Blood-red swirls of energy coil around your hands, leaving little tingles on your knuckles as the cold mist kisses your knuckles. With each shot fired, a shard of energy follows the bullet, driving it deeper into the Wrmylord. Sylus stays close to the beast, striking each bullet wound as his evol amplifies the force of your resonate-enhanced attacks. A powerful gust from its panicked wings nearly knocks you off balance, but you hold firm, standing against the wind. Your hair slaps across your face, nearly covering your vision but the red energy around your hands helps keep your aim. It’s almost dead— it has to be.

With each bullet, the wanderer staggers; each punch leaving it closer to the ground in defeat until the final shimmer of its enhanced defense shatters.

“Now!” You yell as you close in the distance, running until you’re side by side with Sylus. His evol energy swirls begin to coil stronger, wrapping around your entire body before channeling directly into your gun. With the dragon in your sights, gun up and facing its weakened body, you pull the trigger. At the same moment, Sylus charges forward, winding up his final strike and landing a crushing blow where your bullet landed.

The wyrmlord lets out a final, piercing scream before collapsing to the ground. 

“Damn, I don’t want to see another wanderer for at least a month. Maybe more. Thoughts on a mini vacation Sylus?” You ask, wiping off your gun as you place it back in its holster on your waist.

A few seconds of silence go by. With no response from Sylus, you glance up from your holster just as it all goes wrong. A vibration on your wrist draws your attention, red letters glowing above your watch that read “Extreme Fluctuation - Evacuate Vicinity Immediately”. A low grumble shakes the ground, the sound echoing through the ground and reverberating so powerfully that you feel it rumble in your chest. Before you can react, a blinding flash of energy fills your vision. 

“Fuck off!” You shake your head and reach for your gun, squinting against the brilliance but all you can make out are the wyrmlord’s glowing crooked eyes peering through the glare. 

“Get back!” Sylus’ low voice cuts through the rumbling, and in an instant he’s standing in front of you, shielding you just as the light directs into a beam and strikes his chest. The moment it hits, everything stops. The beast collapses on the ground, its limbs going limp as dust creeps up its disintegrating form until nothing remains. 

“Sylus!” Your voice breaks the silence, hands pressing against his sturdy shoulders until he turns to face you. “Are you alright?”

Despite the attack, he appears none the worse for wear, aside from tired and dirty from the battleground dust. His eyes are downcast, staring at his chest where the beam hit. 

“Yes, I’m fine kitten. Must’ve died just before the beam could hit me.”

“Are you sure?” Worry laces your voice, “I could’ve sworn I watched that weird beam hit your chest.”

“Yes, I’m fine. Your eyes must be deceiving you. You should head on home quickly, book that vacation on my card. I’ll…” he trails off, looking back to where the wyrmlord disintegrated. “Stay behind to make sure no other wanderers come.”

Sylus’ eyes narrow as he looks around, his tone low and calculated. He shifts from foot to foot, unusually stiff as you notice the way he draws his shoulders in stiffly. 

“Sylus?”

He bows his head down, turning to face away from you. 

“Sylus, that beam did something to you didn’t it?”

An audible sigh escapes him, his breath slow yet his upper torso rises rapidly like its breathing entirely separate from his breaths. 

“It… did. But it’s nothing I can’t handle, don’t you worry about me. Just leave me to deal with this on my own, you should go rest.”

He stands awkwardly, posture just a bit too stiff - like he doesn’t quite know how to hold his limbs. You lean towards him, eye glancing over his body to check for hidden injuries or changes. There has to be something, he wouldn’t be sending you off so easily if there wasn’t. 

“Sylus, I’m not just going to leave because you said so. I’m a top hunter, why don’t you think I can help you?” You take a step forward, hoping for a closer inspection but he takes a step back as you do, keeping his face turned away.

“Excuse me?” Betrayal strikes you; how dare he go through months of coaxing and bonding just to leave you when he finally needs help for once? “Look at me.” You speak firmly, snatching his wrist so he can’t flee.

His body tenses at your touch, a quiet gasp escaping his lips. He could pull away if he wanted, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t move at all. He’s frozen still, his gaze fixed on the ground. You slide your hand down until you can squeeze his fingers; they feel unusually cold at the tips yet hot toward his palm.

Following the heat of his palm, your fingers trace back up his wrist, gliding along his forearm until they reach the edge of his sleeve. A wave of warmth pulses beneath his skin, following his veins, though the surface remains cold to the touch. 

“Kitten,” His voice draws out low and raspy, leveled like he’s holding his composure just to talk. “Please, let me deal with this on my own. You don’t need to see this.”

Testing the waters, you caress over his chest and up until you hold his chin in your palm. He resists only for a moment as you tilt his head until his vibrant, glowing red eyes face you, laced with evol.

With brows drawn and tense, he shutters under your touch, eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzles deeper into your palm. For a moment, he seeks comfort there, but he pulls away sharply as if your touch suddenly stings. His eyes reek of evol, the glowing red so bright that it becomes hard to see his pupils. Yet the sensation of his evol never comes. You don’t feel that deep pull from within; don’t hear the voices of your deepest desires. 

“Whatever that wanderer did to you, I won’t let you suffer alone. We’re in this together.”

He stares back, almost animalistic in nature, like he’s calculating how to react to your next move. His drastic change in personality becomes increasingly unsettling.

“Why are your eyes glowing like that? I don’t feel your evol.” You question, hoping a direct question might be an easier approach.

It seems to work, his gaze refocusing on you as he blinks a few times.

“It is…” he lowers his head, avoiding eye contact as he speaks, “returning me to a form I had hoped you’d never see in this lifetime.” Running a hand through his hair, he tilts his head up to look at the night sky, worries etched onto his face. The light of the moon shines on his pale skin and you can see a sheen layer of sweat on his forehead as he pushes his hair back.

“What does that mean?” Hundreds of questions pop into your head but that’s the one that comes out first before you can even think harder about what he said. A form? Form of what?

Sylus hums, voice uneven and hoarse as he keeps his head turned towards the stars. “Some time ago, which does not matter when, I was something else. Not… entirely as I am today.” He keeps his head tilted but lowers his glowing eyes to meet yours. “I’d since been able to restrict it, but it seems as though that wanderer’s attack was able to affect it.”

You stand your ground, holding eye contact. That’s not a complete answer, and he knows that. You stare back, not moving as he awaits a reaction that you won’t give him.

“I’ve never wanted it to come to this, because I know you won’t leave my side no matter what I say.” He continues, sad gratitude flashing on his expression for a moment, “You really won’t leave me to deal with this, will you?”

He’s not making sense. His words have told you nothing of the situation or his weird behavior. But raising your voice or pressing him further might escalate his behavior. Your heart aches at the thought of whatever is going through his mind as he loses his collected mannerism. He has done so much for you these past few months; proven your opinion of him wrong from the start and treated you so well. You will not let him be alone for this, whatever it is.

“No, I won’t.” You reply firmly.

“You never do.” He sighs, before doubling over to pull his arm close to his chest, hiding the skin from your touch.

“Sylus!” You cry out, taking a step towards him but he moves away as you come close.

“No.” His tone comes out calm despite the strain in his voice, “Don’t get close, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, Sylus.” You pause, observing the way he carries his limbs in towards himself like he’s trying to make himself look small. An impossible feat for such a large man. “I know you won’t because I know you would never dare to hurt me. I don’t know what you’re talking about or what you mean by this ‘form’ you’re reverting to, but I know that if it is still you at the core, you will not hurt me.” 

It’s a lie. Sylus is a very scary man if you don’t know him well. Whatever he’s talking about clearly has him worried about hurting you, and if that’s something he’s concerned about, it absolutely gives you every reason to be alarmed. But you can’t just admit that. Not after everything he’s done for you —risking his life, taking hits meant for you, following you on pointless expeditions that far exceed the duties of the N109 Zone leader, even letting you hurt him. No, it’s your turn to take a risk for him. Prove to him that you trust him wholeheartedly.

Assuming a (hopefully) confident-looking stance, you hold eye contact with him and take a step forward, leaving no room for debate as you press into his personal space. He gasps at your touch, eyes glued to where your hand grabs at his arm. 

“Please,” He grunts, “be careful. I don’t want to hurt you. Not…” His voice trails off just as you make contact with his skin. But it’s not skin. It's hard, rocky almost in texture but still molds to your touch as you squeeze it. 

Not ready to look down, you raise your other hand up and cradle his cheek. “It’s okay.” Your voice comes out as a hushed whisper, and finally, you look down.

His arm below the elbow and hand are not human. The skin is jagged, flesh turned black and grey while red light seeps out from the lines of his veins. His fingers are longer than they should be, joints extended and bony as they lead to talons at the tips. These are the hands of a wanderer.

“Sylus, your form? A wanderer?” The look of raw insecurity in his eyes stops you from questioning. With his brows knitted and eyes glistening, his lips tremble slightly, parted as if struggling to form words. His chest rises and falls with shallow, uneven breaths. He looks like he’s seconds away from breaking down.

“So you’ve figured it out, Miss Hunter.” He speaks, emphasizing the nickname like he’s pointing out how your job is sworn to killing monsters like him. He’s spiraling, slight tension tugging through his body like he wants to break away from you but doesn’t want you to leave him at the same time. You need to show him that you’ll remain ever at his side.

“This doesn’t change my statement, I won’t let you go about this alone.”

He lets out a small laugh, although there’s no humor or joy behind it. “I appreciate your help, but you don’t deserve to have to be exposed to this side of me. You've seen enough wanderers to last you at least 5 missions in the last few hours alone. You said it yourself, you need a vacation away from us horrid monsters.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“Because that wasn't you! You’re not just some beast that runs wild! Regardless of your form, there’s a ‘you’ deep inside. If you lose control, I’ll be here to make sure you don’t get caught. If anyone finds you, I’ll make sure they don't hurt you.”

“And if I hurt you?”

“You won’t.” Staring into his glowing eyes, you stand your ground. He needs to know this is a hill you’re willing to die on. “Listen, I don’t understand any of what’s going on, and you will explain everything to me when the time is right. But please, just shut up and let me be here for you.”

His jaw tightens before relaxing into a sigh. You run your fingers up and down his hardened palm, hoping to reassure him that this change does not change how you view him. 

“If you won’t leave me, you should at least distance yourself from me. At least for the time being. I don’t if the attack has altered my state of mind.”

“Alright.” You give his hand a light squeeze, rubbing your thumb against his knuckles before turning to retreat to a nearby tree. Only he doesn't let you. As you turn to leave, rough talons grasp onto your wrist. He pulls you close to him, your back pressing up against his chest as he wraps his arms around your waist. They feel… different. 

The rough, rocky texture has continued up his forearms. He’s hidden from your line of view, only his arms visible as they wrap your torso. 

“Sylus?”  Your voice trembles with uncertainty, but the only response is a low, guttural growl from behind you. In the stillness that follows, you notice the next sudden change; he’s growing. His hands, already massive compared to yours, now seem to dwarf you entirely.  As he splays his left hand across your abdomen, his claws extend effortlessly to the back of your torso. His palm alone envelops your entire stomach.

The sharp rip of fabric echoes from somewhere along his back, followed by the rush of warm, heavy breaths against your neck—slowly, far too slow for any human. Wrapping your fingers around just one of his now enormous claws, you strain to fully grip it, prying his hand away with deliberate caution.

“I’m going to turn around now. And then you can tell me if you still want me to distance myself, okay?”

He doesn't answer, but he also doesn’t stop you from pulling out of his grasp. Gently, you free yourself from his hold. Drawing a deep breath, you prepare for what awaits. If he truly is a wanderer, is this his true form?

As you turn, there’s a deep, resounding thud—Sylus stepping back, perhaps anxious for you to see him like this. Finally, in the pregnant silence, you open your eyes.

He’s… gigantic. Towering close to nine feet tall, his presence is overwhelming. At first glance, not much seems to have changed—his face, his torso, still familiar; aside from the darkened, rocky skin leading from his hands and now his feet upwards. Through the tears of clothing struggling to hang off his growing body,  the skin beneath remains a softer hue, though roughened, textured like stone.

Your gaze travels upward, from his exposed chest, straining beneath shredded buttons, to his face. Aside from the glowing red eyes and his change in size, the only new and noticeable changes are the two massive horns shooting out from behind his ears. —black as night, laced with swirling red energy tapering into sharp white tips. They curl around his face gracefully, flaring outward before narrowing into points that end near his chin. For such a beastly figure to cower, avoiding your eyes, almost elicits a strange tenderness—were it not for the seriousness of the moment. 

“I’m not afraid of you.” You murmur, stepping closer and offering your hand. He doesn't take it, but he doesn’t pull away, allowing the space between you to close.

When he speaks, his voice is even deeper than normal, rasping out hollow as though unused to forming words in this form. “I’m holding back... slowing the transformation.” His eyes shut, pained. “But the attack... it may have triggered some... side effects.”

He kneels down until he’s level with you, large eyes roaming over you like he needs to memorize your body. “I wanted this to be different. You deserve better—dinner, gifts, a proper evening to show you how much I—”

“Stop deciding for me.” You cut him off. “You’re not making sense. What side effects? What dinner? What’s happening?”

His chest rises and falls heavily, beads of sweat forming along his brow.  “I need you.”

“You have me.” you reply. He lets out a shaky breath, gaze slipping from your face to your body, over every curve you have and back up. He looks back to your face with a carnal, unrestrained desire.“No. I need you in ways that I should not take from you. I can endure this.” He groans. The side effect he mentioned is starting to make sense – an aphrodisiac. 

But it doesn’t shake you. Stolen evenings and unexpected gifts, whispered messages between meetings and surprise plushies left just for you—this isn’t for nothing. You want him. You want to be the one who helps him.

“And I’m saying you have me.” you whisper, “however you need me.”

In an instant, he surges forward, capturing your lips in a fervent kiss, nearly knocking you off balance. His claws steady you, holding you close as heat floods through you, every nerve alive under his touch. This wasn’t what you expected, but the rush is undeniable. After weeks of tension, playful flirtation, and stolen moments, you undeniably want this. The circumstances don’t change the feelings that you’ve harbored for him.

His pace is feverish, lips crashing against yours with a desperation that steals your breath. With inhumane sharp teeth, he pulls at your bottom lip before releasing, his tongue brushes lightly over your mouth, hesitant, seeking.

Your hands, trembling slightly, move to his jaw before drifting upward, fingers curling around his horns. The moment you tug gently, his breath hitches, a low gasp escaping him. His control slips further, the weight of his form heavy in the air between you as he slowly pulls away, panting, eyes squeezed shut. His hands, shaking, rest on your waist, still fighting against the wildness threatening to consume him.

“Sylus, it's ok. You can let go, show me your true form.”

He rests his head on your shoulder, face buried in the curve of your neck as he lets out a hushed groan, panting heavily as you feel his weight around you.

“Ok, my love.” He whispers, voice trembling, giving you no time to respond before his body begins to shift. The sound of bones cracking reverberates through the space, jarring and raw. He cups your chin gently, pulling your face to his, and kisses you deeply. Your eyes flutter shut as you cradle his tear-streaked cheeks in your palms, the damp warmth of his tears smearing against your skin. Whether he’s trying to distract you from his changing body or himself from the pain, you can’t be sure—but you return the kiss with equal passion, willing the world outside to fade away.

The sounds of his transformation— clothes ripping, bones snapping, joints realigning—begin to echo about louder and louder. Yet you ignore them, clinging to the heat between your lips, in hopes that the connection you share distracts him from the painful shift. After what feels like a small eternity, you pull away slowly, lips tingling from the heat of his breath. Steadying yourself, you take a step back, ready to take in all that he has become. 

Words cannot do justice to his new form. You stare in awe, committing his new body to your memory as he stands completely bare in front of you. Before you stands no trace of the human you once knew—only a towering, fearsome beast, the living embodiment of draconic ferocity. His body is a fusion of taut muscle and hardened scales, rippling with untamed power. Long, white hair cascades down his back, swaying like a mane as it frames his draconic face, a mix of humanoid and bestial features. His maw, lined with razor-sharp fangs, juts forward like that of a great dragon, yet his eyes still carry the familiar glint of Sylus—recognizable, despite the terrifying transformation.

His legs are thick and clawed like that of an animal, hoisting his massive form even higher above you. While he moves with the mannerisms of a bipedal creature, this is no man—this is something far more primal, more dangerous. Behind him, a long, jagged tail swings low, its blade-like ridges sharp and lethal. Higher up, leathery-red wings point upwards and wrap around his waist, covering himself up as modestly as he can. The horns that once subtly adorned his head have grown monstrously large, curling menacingly around his skull, nearly outsizing his monstrous, animalistic visage. His arms, though almost human in form, are colossal—each muscle encased in a thick, armor-like scale, protruding with strength at every joint as they swirl around his chest, where the beating thump of his heart stands out.

He is immense; a creature of both beauty and terror, and you can't help but feel both in awe and mesmerized in his presence.

You must look off-put, as Sylus bows his head, once more avoiding eye contact. Before he can move away, you take the initiative to reach out and grab his hand. Your fingers barely make a dent in his thick flesh, but still, you tug him towards yourself hoping he’ll understand the motive. 

“You’re beautiful.” You whisper, voice quiet as you reach your hand out for his face. He takes the hint, hesitantly stepping forward with a loud thud that shakes the ground nearby, bending down to place his jagged jaw into your hand lightly. 

“Don’t,” His voice comes out with a groggy, half-growl tone, “Lie.” He finishes. Each word seems to have winded him, sighs escaping through sharp talons.

“I’m not.” You answer, and before he can protest, you push your lips against what would be his lips in this new form. It’s awkward, your lips barely covering a quarter the size of his mouth, his large teeth pushing up against your mouth as you try to kiss him. But awkward as it is, he returns the passion as delicately as he can. 

“I still want you Sylus, like this, or in any form. You have me.”

He must finally give in to his desires, ignoring whatever reservations were holding him back as he realizes your devotion to him.  He takes your body in his giant hands, cradling you gently as he lifts you up so he can stand at full height. As you sit like a pretty doll in his palms, nearly 9 feet above the ground, he brings his head close to yours until his forehead and horns rest against your head. 

“Thank you.” He growls through softly bared fangs, “But… don’t know how much you can help me…” he trails off, “ like this. Don’t want to.. to hurt you.” 

As he leans away from you, a brief flicker of his eyes downwards gives him away. You shift a little in his grasp, hoping to peer down at one body part of his you hadn’t considered might also change. 

“Are you certain…want to see all of me?” Sylus nuzzles his sharp snout into your neck, subtly preventing you from looking further. 

“If it will help you, then of course. I know this isn’t how you wanted things to play out, but under different circumstances, I would still want to see all of you.”

Sylus lets you squirm out of his firm hold on you, allowing you to look past his scaled rocky chest and down to where the red tapered tip of his cock rests against his torso. And it's thick. The tip alone must be fatter than your fist. You can’t see beyond the tip from the angle you’re being held at but if it reaches this high up his body, it must be massive. Maybe you can’t help him the way he needs. 

The expression on your face must give away your shock at his size, as Sylus looks down to his cock and back up to your face, awaiting a reaction. 

“What exactly do you need from me to help you?” You ask hesitantly, gauging the severity of his need to fuck you. 

Sylus groans at your questions, low and deep, hips bucking forward like the mere thought of what you’re offering makes him throb. As he leans back to rest on a nearby tree, his hands tighten around your waist, just slightly, as he responds. 

“Need to fuck you,” he huffs, “To eat you,” he presses his face against your neck, “to breed you,”, saliva drips down from his scaly maw, landing hot and wet as it slides down the front of your shirt. “Mine.” 

“Mmph.” You moan, a warm wetness beginning to form between your legs at his words. “I’m not sure if you’ll fit, but we can try. Whatever will help you.” Your voice is flakey, shaking with each breath as you try to contain your arousal.

“Will fit,” he licks at your neck, right where your pulse is, “spit will help, will numb, stretch.” As he slides his tongue up, the sheer size of it alarms you and reminds you of how much bigger he is. Its heavy weight feels like a compression around you as it wraps once around your throat. The tip of it drags across your chin, soaking your face in his wetness, stopping before your lips, awaiting your approval. 

As he holds you so close to him, his hands the only thing supporting your body as his mouth pants at your chest, you give in. Accepting that whatever will come, Sylus will not hurt you. 

Opening your mouth, his tongue pushes in, stretching your jaw slightly before it flattens to fit better. Even with only the tip of it in, you’re overwhelmed as it thrashes around your cheeks, saliva beginning to drip down all around your face. 

Yet as it continues, as his tongue soaks your neck and fills your mouth, pleasure begins to stir within you. As his sharp talons hold you above his head, you start to crave more. As his scaly snout pokes into your chest, the feeling of being overwhelmed dissipates. The weight of his touch lightens. The awkward wetness feels comforting. 

And your arousal heightens. The fear that has been holding you back from fully indulging in him is gone, replaced by a carnal need to be used by him. Without even realizing it, you’ve gathered his heavy head in your hands, his tongue almost entirely down your throat as you swallow around it with ease. Face to face with his heavy maw, you finally let loose and moan into his mouth.

He pulls back slowly, unwinding his tongue from its place down your throat. He growls, keeping you eye to eye with him. “Ready?”

Jaw still sore, soaked from spit, you nod dumbly.

“Good.”  And as soon as the words escape his mouth he’s using a claw to rip apart your clothes, just barely leaving a mark on your skin as your tattered outfit falls to the ground. The cool air hits your body hard, nipples hardening in the wind as the saliva dries quickly. You tremble in his hands, partially due to the wind, and partially due to the way your body is out on display for him; the first time he’s seen you naked.

Any insecurities you may have had begin to melt away as he stares at you like he holds the world in his hands. “Beautiful.” He groans, gently caressing your skin with his claws. Despite his beastly exterior, he cradles you as though you are his most treasured possession.

Your skin is taut under his grasp as Sylus lifts you higher until you’re above his head. Staring directly at your exposed cunt, he clasps his maw against it before you can even blush at his forwardness. Gasping at his reaction, every touch seems to set your body aflame with desire. As his scaled lips touch your pelvis, his tongue begins to swirl around your pussy.

“Divine.” He croaks, words muffled by your wetness between his lips. He drags his tongue between your folds once more before diving deeper, the tip poking at your entrance. As his saliva mixes with your slick, your desire heightens. You need him in you now.

“Please, Sylus, fuck me already.”

His eyes snap from their view of where his tongue plays with your entrance, slit pupils dilating as he makes eye contact with you. He takes a deep breath in, then plunges his tongue deep inside.

The sensation is immediate, pleasure taking over your body as his self-lubricated muscle pumps into you, poking around at your gummy walls like it’s looking for room. No, like it’s making room. It’s almost terrifying, watching as his long and thick tongue penetrates deeper and deeper. It shouldn’t fit, but somehow, inch after inch it disappears further until you’re sat entirely on his sharp face.

 His hands hold your body up in the air as he tilts his head back to keep you in an upright position. Your feet, dangling on either side of his head, wrap around his horns to use as some kind of leverage to contrast the penetrating feeling of his tongue pushing against your cervix. “Mmm, Sy-!” You whine, his name the only word you can form as he pumps into you repeatedly. The coiling of his tongue pushes against all your inner walls, all the hidden spots you didn't know could be touched.

His fingers shift, one hand sliding slightly upwards, unintentionally grasping your loose tits between them, while the other wraps lower around your ass. It gives you a better view of his face - and the bulge protruding from your lower stomach every time his tongue flicks forward.

Sylus must catch your gaze, as he withdraws his tongue slowly until just the tip is inside, and he pushes on the bulged area, distending it to lengths that must made possible with the use of his aphrodisiac-like saliva. It hurts, but it hurts good. 

 “Carvin’ out my place in you.” He slurs as best he can without proper use of his tongue. He gives one last squeeze to your breasts, before withdrawing until he’s back to holding you up at chest height to him - still at least 9 feet above the ground.

“Ready?” he pants, “Sweetie?”

Missing the feeling of being filled already, you nod rapidly. Sylus smiles, scales glistening in his smirk, and then lowers himself until he’s lying on his back, keeping your body close to his chest. Feeling the base of his heavy cock rest on your ass is enough to get your body subconsciously moving, humping your hips forward helplessly, looking for any kind of stimulation. The hard texture of his skin beneath you catches against your clit. You lurch forward, hands steadying yourself on his defined abs to get yourself.

A purr-like noise radiating from beneath you causes you to open your eyes which must’ve closed in the chase for release. Sylus’ head is tilted low to watch as you use him and despite the desire in his eyes, he holds an expression that’s entirely human.

He lifts his gaze to meet yours, and suddenly, the world around you seems to still. His eyes are wide, filled with a mixture of awe, disbelief, and something deeper—infatuation. Relief washes over his face, softening his features as if the weight of years has been lifted in a single breath. It’s as though he’s finding solace in your acceptance of him, releasing the fears he’s long held about how you would perceive this form. He looks at you as if this moment is something he had once dared to hope for but never truly believed would come—an unspoken dream, now realized. His expression speaks of a man who has waited a lifetime for this, for you, and for the peace that comes with being seen and accepted completely.

“Sylus,” your voice comes out dripping with desire. The hardened skin beneath feels good, but you need more. There’s an aching emptiness within you, now that you’ve felt his tongue carve out a place in you. “Need you inside me. Now.”

He tosses his head back, throat exposed as he arches his back like you’re words alone pushed him closer to his release. His hands fondle your body before gently raising you up and back so you're sitting with his cock in front of you. And it is indeed massive. 

From where it rests against his stomach, you can see now why it felt so heavy when it was behind you. The base alone is almost as thick as one of your thighs. It shoots up at least a foot before tapering off to a tentacle-like tip that’s almost sized like a normal penis. 

There’s no way that’s fitting inside of you. 

“There’s no way that’s fitting inside me.”

Sylus huffs in what could be considered humour, before his expression softens. “It will… Some of it. Trust me.” He lets go of his grab on you and offers a hand. As your tiny palm slides around one of his fingers, just barely able to grasp it entirely in your hand, his wings wrap around your body like a shield of privacy. 

“Trust. Please.” His voice comes out more breathy than before, his chest rising and falling deeply with each breath. It’s then that you notice the tension in his shoulders, the way they bunch up is different than a human body but still noticeable. He must be suffering, holding himself back. 

You turn your head to the side, nose brushing against his taut wing. “Ok.” And with confidence, you lean forward and grab his cock. Holding it with both your hands, the girth is barely contained between your fingers. It’s moist all over, self-lubricating, slippery, and heavy. Sylus gasps under his breath and before your fingers can even reach the tip, he’s sliding you forward and upward. 

Hands flat against his shoulders, your face to face with him once again as he reaches to guide his cock towards your entrance. The anxiety of how he’ll fit must be evident in your face as he leans forward and licks your cheek. 

“I’m ready.” You whisper, and Sylus slowly slips his tip inside your dripping cunt.

Fitting a literal monster cock inside you is not something you can easily prepare for, mentally or physically, for that matter. But somehow, with a mix of whatever is in his saliva and his earlier ministrations, you now sit with almost half of a monster cock deep in your gut. 

The stretch of your gummy walls accommodating his girth is not as painful as you would have imagined. 

It feels like a reward, as if you’re fulfilling a purpose your body was made for.

Because it was, wasn’t it? Isn’t your body destined to take him inside you and milk it until you’re full? Weren’t you made for this? 

The feeling of his tip working its way inside you reveals a hidden will of its own, pulsing and writhing around despite Sylus not thrusting into you yet. He slowly works you down his cock until it seems you’ve hit your limit. With just barely half his length inside, your cunt split open wider than you thought possible, the thumping tip pushes out into the area he fucked open with his tongue. 

“See?” He growls. “Fits. Just need tip.” At his last word, the tip inside pokes out into your belly, a protruding bulge in your front. He takes your hand in his much large hand and pushes back against it, and you nearly cum at the sensation. Based on his reaction, he nearly does too.  

It’s becoming too much and he’s not even fucking you yet. The widening of his girth from where it sticks out of you is lined with rocky scales that hit exactly at your clit, like they were made for your pleasure. The tense bundle of nerves ache for stimulation. You squeeze your legs around the base of his cock, and slowly thrust yourself forward in hopes that he understands what you want. 

He does. Using gentle hands, he holds you up in place before slowly starting to thrust his hips upwards into you. With each movement, his cock pushes through your gut leaving you feeling stuffed and full of desire. Your legs loosen from their grip around his base and instead, hang freely below you as he uses you like a personal flesh light. 

“Fuck.” He growls, hands tightening around you like he’s using your body to keep himself alive. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, fuck.”

You can’t reply, at least not in words. The combination of his fat girth and poking tip render you speechless aside from a few moans of pleasure. “Sy…” you attempt his name, but it’s useless. You can’t focus on anything other than the way he fucks up into you. 

“Mine. Mine.  Fuck.” He mutters under his breath, fingers finding their way to where your body holds him inside, splaying across your belly to feel the weight of his cock inside you. 

The build-up of pleasure grows and grows as he brushes his cock against your clit and insides. Your edging closer and closer to release, but just as you feel your physical pleasure start to take over your mind, everything flips. 

The mossy ground is beneath you as you’re softly placed on the ground. With Sylus still inside your pulsing cunt, he now hovers above you, thick arms holding himself up on either side of your head. His wings flap around, shielding your body beneath him. 

“Mine. No one else’s.” He shouts, not taking his eyes off you as he raises an arm and holds his hand up in a direction away from you. Between the folds of his wings, you see movement: more wanderers. A few gnaves, they’re launching in your direction but a red whirling mist surrounds them before they can reach you. 

“Mine!” Sylus screams out, sharp fangs agape as he bares his teeth in the direction of the gnaves. From his position, he starts lightly thrusting his hips forward into you. The sharp pang of pleasure as he fucks into you draws your mind away from the looming threat of wanderers. 

You close your eyes, hands out grabbing for his chest, his arms, anything to ground you. A splattering of wetness across your face forces your eyes open in shock. Sylus stares down at you, his face and yours dripping in wanderer blood. Beside you, the dead bodies of the beasts disintegrate leaving only their protocors. Sylus fucks back into you. 

“Mmmph! Fuck - M’ yours!” You scream out, pulling his horned head towards you again and diving into his mouth. His long tongue laps at your mouth in anticipation before you let it slide in and down your throat once more, the numbing of the saliva still in effect as it mixes with the blood across your face.

“Mine. Mine to protect. Mine to fuck. Mine to breed.” Sylus pants into your mouth, words obstructed by his tongue down your throat. 

“Mmhmm.” You whimper, unable to form words between the harsh fucking of his cock in you and his tongue in your mouth. 

”I’m…” he groans, “here.” He lowers a hand to your stomach, the bulge less visible than the previous position but still just as deep in you as he fucks forward. 

“My place.” The tip of his cock squirms around and fucks up into you at a pace faster than his hips, smooshing against the thing wall of skin separating it and his hand on the other side. It feels like being fucked twice, one thick and slow, stretching against your clit. The other, thin and fast, pumping around against your cervix in whatever space has been molded to take it. 

“No one else.” His gaze is animalistic, hungry, desperate. With each thrust his hardens torso twists and twitches, your tiny body beneath him rocking back and forth on the ground. It hurts, it’ll definitely leave bruises on your skin, but the pleasure overtakes you. 

He slides his tongue out of you and it slithers to wrap around your throat. He looks over you, head nearly twice as big as yours with his sharp horns dangling over either side of your face. This shouldn't be as enjoyable as it is. You should be scared. The leader of Onichynous is splitting you open on the floor of a wandered infested forest after turning into one himself. 

But the way he stares at you overrides all of those things. He looks down at you with such a longing mixture of emotions. He looks down at you like you’re the most precious and dear thing to him in the world, like he’s been waiting for this, like he needs this like he needs to breathe air. Like he can’t believe it’s finally happening. 

His red eyes widen at your eye contact as you raise a hand to rest against his scaled cheekbone.  Not entirely human. Not entirely wanderer. Completely Sylus. 

His eyes glaze over, whether from the pleasure or the intimacy of the act, you’re unsure. But it moves you to speak. “Yours. Forever.” 

That pushes him over the edge, wings flapping violently behind him, horns scraping into the dirt beneath you without care as he leans his head down beside yours. His tongue squeezes at your throat, his breath and pace quickening as he fucks sloppily into you.

“Fuc- mmph...” he stutters into your ear, trying to form words. And then he whimpers, a high-pitched, voice-cracking cry right into your ear. And then he cums. And you can feel it happen. 

You can feel a sudden warmth spread through your lower half, feel each spurt and twitch of his cock. The pressure increases as it pumps into you and pushes against your walls, making you feel even more stuffed as he stays inside you. 

It must be some kind of wanderer, monster anatomy but you can feel the base of his cock tightening as he cums. It swells and grows, pushing further up against your clit. With each twitch of his hips, the base rubs on the nerves until you finally come undone on him. 

“Fuck! Sylus! I’m-!” You cry out. 

“I know, Sweetie,” he moans, voice hoarse, “Keep cumming. For me.”

You close your eyes, whole body tensing as release tingles through your muscles like a spell. Each pulse of pleasure quivering throughout your body; a blanket of white taking over your every thought. Your legs wrap and tighten around Sylus’ waist as he rocks forward into you, slowing down with every hump as you slowly become overstimulated.

“Nnph. Sylus, too much. Can’t.” You whimper out, eyes squeezed shut as you paw at his torso to slow down.  He doesn’t reply, but his body comes to a halt until he’s still above you. His breath is warm against your chest in slow, warm puffs. Time seems to come to a stop; your body feels heavy, and your mind floating above. There’s nothing besides you, the ground beneath you, and Sylus deep inside you. 

After what feels like hours (but could very well be minutes), Sylus shifts. A sharp claw slides gently under your back, supporting your weight as it picks up you. You keep your eyes closed in a heightened state of bliss, trusting Sylus as he moves until you are chest-to-chest with him while he lays on his back. The leather blanket of his wings rests on your shoulders as they wrap around you, keeping you warm and protected from the outside world. His cock remains nestled deep inside you, your stomach feeling tender - used. As if sensing your awareness to the discomfort, Sylus runs a sharp finger down the crest of your back, humming a cracked and hoarse tune. You wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t. He just sits in the silence with you. 

With the strength of Linkon’s most powerful hunter, you lift your tired head off his chest and peer up at him to find his ruby eyes already staring back at you. He looks unsure, almost vulnerable, an expression that a giant horned wanderer shouldn’t be able to express. His hand steadies on your waist, keeping a light hold on you like he’s waiting for you to pull away.

“You mean the world to me Sylus.” You say, eyes glimmering with intent and honesty. He doesn’t respond but his chest stops rising for a moment, a baited breath like he needs a moment for the words to set in. You can see the thoughts racing in his mind as he stares back at you and for a split second, his eyes shine with unshed tears. 

He looks away before you can comment, a smile returning to his face before looking back at you with a soft gaze. “And you are my world.” He says softly. He pulls you tight to him in an embrace that feels like more than just a hug, nuzzling his scaled-maw to your cheek. “Thank you. For trusting me.”

“Of course.” You smile, care seeping into your voice. “How are you feeling? Are the side effects… gone?” You ask, unsure of how to approach to topic. 

“Yes, thanks to you. I don’t know where I’d be without my feisty little kitten.” he teases, but there’s no bite to his tone - It’s filled with appreciation and truth. He smiles and as he does the tips of his scales begin to crumble to dust.

“You never cease to surprise me, Miss Hunter. I thought I walked this unforgiving road alone. You’ve proven me wrong, I’m sorry for doubting your trust in me.” He picks up your hand in his now considerably more human-sized palm and presses a kiss to your knuckles. “I’ll answer all your questions once we’re back at the base. But for now, let me tend to your body. Rest. Stop that wired train of thought in your pretty little head.”

“I don’t think -” you start in protest, but he pushes a no-longer taloned finger to your lips and hushes. “I’ll play kitty cards with you all night long if you wait until we get back.” He bribes, and you can’t find it in you to deny his offer. 

“Pinky promise?” You ask with a small voice, suddenly alerted to the feeling of Sylus’ monster cock shrinking within you and leaving you feeling empty even though he remains within.

“Pinky promise.” He replies, locking his finger around yours and sealing the deal with a spark of red evol energy swirling between you two. He notices your brief discomfort, holding you closer to him with a look nothing short of true love for you. “Thank you for this. You’ve given me a support that I don’t deserve.” He whispers into your ear. You tear your gaze from where your hands are intertwined and are met with human Sylus once again. 

“Don’t insult yourself like that. What we think we deserve and what others see in us are rarely the same—sometimes, we just have to accept the kindness offered.” You say in a stern voice. He looks at you with utter respect, eyes glowing like you’re his queen. “As you wish.” He hums, and it finally seems like everything you’ve said sinks in. “Now let’s get you cleaned up. As stunning as you are, I don’t think dried wanderer blood is a healthy fashion statement.” He lulls as he begins to unwrap his arms from you. 

“Rest, kitten.” Sylus smiles as he smudges dried blood away on your cheek.“Although we’ll need to find where our phones fell to. And new clothes.”

[lymtw]

Soft and Slow

Thinking of a soft and slow, but heated make out session with Toji, where he's got you beneath him, brushing his lips against yours with the intention of not stopping until both his lips and yours feel raw.

One of his hands is on your waist, squeezing tenderly, while the other is in your panties, thick fingers rubbing slow circles on your clit. You're humming little whimpers into your kisses, pushing at his chest every once in a while and breaking the ongoing kiss.

"What, ma?" Toji asks, his voice deepened with restrained lust. His eyes are so dark, you can barely see the green that naturally brightens them. "Why're you pushing me away, hm?" He asks, kissing the corner of your lips.

"Please... slow down," you say, breathily. "I don't want this to end so soon."

"Baby, that was slow," he says, with an amused grin on his face. "Was being gentle and barely moved my fingers."

You sigh, embarrassment coursing through you and showing itself in your face through a bright shade of red that smothers your cheeks.

"Come on," he says, softly, leaning in again to continue where things were left off. Toji's lips lock with yours, the gentle synchronization egging on the pleasure he draws from you. He wasn't lying when he said he was barely moving his fingers. He just knows you've always been a sensitive little thing for him, and because of that, he loves testing your sensitivity in moments like these. Moments where even just the kissing part would have you squirming, and his weight on your body makes you need him so bad that you feel filthy for letting your thoughts of the situation evolve into something sinful.

"Kiss me back, princess," he murmurs, noticing the way you're heavily slowing down, not fully reciprocating his kisses like before.

"W-Wait-" you gasp, slapping a hand on Toji's wrist. "I'm gonna-"

"Then cum, sweetheart. We can do it again and again if that's what you're stressing over."

"Mm-mm." You shake your head to emphasize your response. "The first one is always the strongest. Please, Toji. Pretty please, not yet," you beg.

Toji has a look of strange disbelief painted on his features. How could you not want this? It's been going on for the better part of half an hour, now. The edging must be driving you crazy.

You pull his hand out of your underwear and the other one off your waist, bringing them both up to your lips. "Please, baby..." you murmur into his palms, kissing them both repeatedly. "...not yet. Just a little longer." You change the position of your hands and hold his hands tight, bringing his knuckles up to your lips this time.

Toji clicks his tongue, making it clear that he's the one who's being impatient. He just wants to see and hear the side effects of your pleasure. You're teasing him with those little whimpers and gasps between kisses. The reason it's so hard to bear is because he's so used to you giving him what he wants, when he wants it. This is one of the rare times where you're trying to stand your ground against him. You always hope you have enough willpower to keep up your defense because Toji knows every way to sneak through it or tear it down. Your love for him is a severe disadvantage, and because of it, all it takes is a few words and it's as if your defense was made of flimsy paper.

"Alright, alright, little masochist. I'll slow down even more, for you."

You giggle at the nickname, welcoming Toji's weight on you again. He makes a brief detour and directs himself towards your ear to whisper some much needed information.

"I'm not going any slower than this, you understand?" He mutters, into your ear.

"But-"

"Princess," he says, cutting you off. "It's yes or no. Do you understand or not?" he asks, stomping all over your wants because for once his needs outshine them. You nod, silently, in response. "Good." He pecks your cheek, leaning back to look at you. You look... not all there, or at least not like you did just seconds ago. It's not what he wanted. He sighs, knowing what it's gonna have to come down to as he cups your cheeks in his warm hands. He knows there has to be a different approach. One that doesn't involve him making you feel like you were in the wrong for wanting him in a specific way.

"Wanna cum? For me, mama?"

There he went, tearing down your defenses like they're party streamers. For me. Those two simple words were all he needed. He knew exactly how to catch you in his trap. Redirection was key. If he made it seem like a favor to him, you would do it with zero hesitation. It's one of the many pros that came with you and your constant need for his praise... He just knew you too well. Well enough to know that it worked the second the twinkle in your eyes returned.

"I'll take it slow, just like you wanted," he promises. "but, you can't push me away. Even if I bring you to the edge with that same pace you begged for." He knows he'll bring you to orgasm even with the limited movement you allow him.

There was a beam of tranquility in your eyes, a twitch in the corners of your lips, where the key to unlock the two words you strived to hear as many times as you could in a day, rested. It was only a matter of seconds before you would give in. You were right there, centimeters away from his clutches.

"Mama..." he says, pushing for you to answer him while leaning towards your lips again. "Let me make you cum," he says against the corner of your lips, a devilish smirk on his face.

"Fuck- Fine, okay," you say, waving your imaginary white flag.

"Mhm... that's my good girl."

And there they were, those two words you forever longed to hear from Toji. If he wanted you to be on the edge again, he did a great job of getting you there without having to do much.

Toji centered his lips on yours again, starting out with that same slow rhythm, as to not rile you up so quickly. He incorporated his touch a couple minutes later, his hands returning to the previous positions they held on your body—one on your bare waist, the other slipped into your underwear. You jolted at the reintroduced stimulation his fingers offered your clit, a sharp gasp breaking the passionate kissing.

"Shh... It's okay, doll," he murmured, quickly directing your attention back to his lips. He was feeding off your breathy moans and whimpers. If he hadn't pressed you so hard before with the promise of pacing himself with you, he would have gone back on his word and quickly made you cum so that he could work you up to the next orgasm, already.

Truly, you were heaven in his ears, on his lips, and in his hands. Despite not looking at you, he knew the sight to be insane, as well.

Your hands went to the sheets, the material balling up messily in your fists as Toji brought you closer to your peak. You did your best to keep up with his lips, but nothing was as clear as the strokes being drawn between your legs.

By the four minute mark, you were a panting mess, shamelessly chasing more friction from his whole hand. That's where the hand he had resting on your waist came into play. It lowered down to your hip, immobilizing you enough to stop you from taking more than what he was offering until he gave you permission.

"Be good," he mutters, cutting through the soft sounds of your whimpers. He knew you were close. So, so close. Your moans were getting higher in pitch and you were trembling beneath him. He just kept rubbing his fingertips against your clit, over and over, bringing a lingering—echoing sensation throughout your entire cunt. You completely fell apart after a few more strokes, each more pressurized than the other until you snapped. You lost the ability to kiss Toji back when he used the entirety of his hand on you, cupping your cunt to draw out as much of your pleasure as he could. Your head was thrown back into the pillow, waterfalls of lewd moans and cries filling the room. "There you go, mama," he coos, allowing you some freedom to roll your hips against his hand. He presses quick kisses into your jaw and the column of your neck as your face is aimed towards the ceiling.

You surpassed the zenith of your pleasure and in time treaded towards more than you could handle. You nonverbally begged Toji to stop, wrapping your much smaller hands around his forearm. A couple whimpers and squeaks of overstimulation were required for him to slow down to a halt, even after your quivering thighs trapped his hand between them.

Your eyes fell shut and you sighed, contentedly. Toji observed your state of bliss, a shade of pink dusting lightly over his cheeks. You looked so pretty, lying there on the pillow for him. He can see you clearly, despite the curtains being shut to keep your little world safe inside. This allows nothing and no one to peek in, not even the moon and its guiding light. You're more brilliant than the moon, anyway. Much prettier, as well. It doesn't take a genius to establish this, especially when you look at Toji with all the stars in your eyes.

"Let's go again."

[just-aake]

A Feline Connection Part 3

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha gets a temporary roommate and ends up learning about what you’re hiding from her.

Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Warnings: light angst, violence, hurt/comfort, light fluff

Words: 6888

The quinjet touches down on the Compound’s landing pad, bringing Natasha back to the familiar surroundings after yet another frustrating mission. 

She stomps down the ramp, intent on heading straight to her room, needing to recuperate from the weariness of yet another surveillance operation gone wrong.

The USB drive she collected from the target at your apartment building held information about potential weapons locations, but every lead she followed turned out to be a dead end—empty warehouses and useless intel. 

She will need to re-evaluate everything she has to figure out where she went wrong, but for now, she was too exhausted to think about it.

Stepping into the elevator, Natasha presses the button for her floor. As the doors slide shut, FRIDAY’s voice chimes in from the speakers.

“Welcome back, Miss Romanoff. Mr. Stark is requesting your presence in the lab.”

Natasha groans, tipping her head back against the elevator wall. The last thing she wants to do is deal with Tony right now.

“Tell him to wait,” she mutters. “I just got back.” 

A moment of silence passes, and Natasha allows herself a sigh of relief.

But the peace is short-lived, as Tony’s voice suddenly blared through the speaker.

“Now, Romanoff! Get down here now! Your—hey! Don’t touch that, you little—”

Natasha frowns at the abrupt cut-off. She couldn’t help but wonder who he was yelling at this time.

Curiosity wins over her exhaustion, and she presses the button for his floor instead.

When the lab doors open, she is greeted by the sight of a frazzled Tony waving his hands angrily at a small dome-shaped force field on the table.

“How do you like that?” Tony grumbles, glaring at something inside the dome. “This is what happens when you keep touching things that aren’t yours.”

Natasha steps closer, raising a brow when she sees who he is talking to. 

Inside the force field, Widow is pawing at the barrier, her annoyed meows insistent and filled with frustration as if she is arguing back with him.

“Really, Stark?” Natasha says, crossing her arms with an unimpressed look. “You’re fighting with a cat?”

Tony turns to her, relief evident on his face as he grabs her arm and drags her closer to the trapped feline.

“Finally! Get your girlfriend’s pet out of my lab before she destroys something important!” 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Natasha corrects with a roll of her eyes. 

Ever since Clint had accidentally stumbled upon one of the flirty texts exchanged between you and Natasha, the teasing from the team had been relentless. 

Despite the playful banter, you already made it clear that you weren’t looking for anything more than friendship right now, and Natasha can respect that. 

That’s not to say her current feelings toward you have disappeared, but she can be content with having your company as a friend. 

At least that’s what she tells herself.

Tony waves dismissively, “Yeah, yeah, sure. Just get that little troublemaker out of here.”

Natasha turns her attention back to Widow, who is now lying on her back inside the dome, looking up at her with wide, innocent eyes. 

Widow lets out a soft, adorable meow in greeting, prompting Natasha to place her hand against the surface of the force field with a small, amused smile.

In response, Widow stands and raises her paw, mimicking the motion and meowing softly.

“How did she even get in here?” Natasha asks, wondering if you are still nearby. 

“She took the elevator,” Tony replies flatly.

Natasha shoots him a skeptical look, but he points to the cat defensively.

“I’m serious! FRIDAY didn’t detect the little sneak until the elevator arrived on my floor. I walked in to find her scratching one of my suits.” 

Widow meows indignantly, offering Natasha a cute, pleading look as if to refute Tony’s accusations. 

“Don’t fall for it, Nat. She’s trouble,” Tony warns, glaring at the little creature. 

Shaking her head, Natasha disengages the force field and gives Widow a quick scratch behind the ears before turning to him with her hands on her hips.

“You’re overreacting, Tony. She’s practically harmless.”

At that moment, the sound of shattering glass fills the room.

Natasha turns to find a broken coffee mug on the floor, its contents spilled into a small puddle. Looking up toward the table, Widow is perched nearby, her paw still raised, clearly responsible for the destruction. 

Tony glares at the two of them and points toward the door.

“Out.”

Sighing, Natasha scoops up Widow just as she is about to jump onto another table. 

The cat lets out an offended yowl, but Natasha ignores it as she notices a small, folded piece of paper attached to the cat’s collar. 

“What’s this?” Natasha mutters.

Tony glances over before looking away, uninterested. 

“Don’t know, don’t care. She tries to scratch me whenever I go to grab it. Now, out of my lab.” 

With Widow in her arms, Natasha exits and makes her way to her room. 

Each time she reaches for the paper, the cat playfully swats at her hand, trying to nibble at her fingers. 

“Hey, no biting,” Natasha chastises, lightly tapping Widow on the nose in reprimand. 

After reaching her room, Natasha sets the cat down on the counter and pulls out a treat from the drawer.

She’s been stocking treats for the cat, just in case.

Widow’s eyes light up at the sight, and she begins to move towards it, but Natasha holds it just out of reach. 

“Ah, no, I’ll give you this once you let me grab that paper.” 

After a brief moment’s standoff, Widow releases a meow of surrender and tilts her head, allowing Natasha to retrieve the note. She offers the treat to the cat, who eagerly devours it, while Natasha’s other hand unfolds the paper.

Please take care of Widow for a couple of days There’s a backpack with everything she needs up on the roof Thanks, I owe you one, Miss Black Widow🖤 P.S. Tell Stark his west perimeter needs better security

Natasha couldn’t help but smirk in amusement at the last line.

She glances at Widow, who, after finishing her snack, is now comfortably lounging by the window, soaking in the sunlight.

“Looks like you’re staying with me for a while.”

Widow gives a lazy meow, completely at ease and utterly content in her new favorite spot. 

Natasha smiles at the cat fondly, but it fades as she re-read the note. 

Something didn’t feel right. 

Taking out her phone, she calls your number, only to hear the automated message indicating that the call couldn’t go through. 

Her frown deepens as she opens your recent text conversations—filled with photos of Widow and late-night talks—but nothing suggests you’d been planning for something where you’d need to leave Widow with her.

This must have been a sudden decision.

She quickly types out a message:

“Everything okay?”

The notification appears immediately:

Message not delivered.

Natasha’s concern grows as she stares at the screen, a sinking feeling settling in her chest.

As if sensing her unease, Widow hops down from her sunny perch and nudges Natasha’s leg with her head, purring softly as she rubs against her. 

The simple gesture pulls Natasha from her thoughts, offering a moment of comfort amidst her rising concern. She bends down, stroking the sleek fur along Widow's back in silent thanks.

"Well, you don’t seem too worried," Natasha mutters, her voice low in consideration.

Widow yawns in response, her back arching as she stretches lazily. 

The sight pulls a faint smile from Natasha, though it’s tinged with lingering apprehension. As much as she tries to dismiss her concern, the uneasy feeling still clings to her.

Glancing once more at the note, Natasha tells herself it’s probably fine. After all, you said it was only for a couple of days. 

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Later that night, Natasha steps out of the bathroom, her hair still damp from the quick shower. She absentmindedly dries her hair with a towel as she moves toward her bed, but upon reaching it, she pauses, her hands finding her hips as she takes in the sight before her.

At the foot of her bed, Widow is curled up, comfortably settled into the blankets, her little body rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep.  

Natasha huffs, a smile tugging at her lips.

“What’s the point of making you a cozy bed if you’re just going to sleep on mine?” she asks lightly, though her words are more affectionate than scolding. 

Widow, seemingly fast asleep, doesn’t stir at her words—at least, not right away. 

For a brief second, Natasha catches the subtle twitch of the cat’s ears, causing her to smirk knowingly and shake her head.

“Yeah, I’m not falling for that act again," she mutters, stepping forward and scooping the small cat into her arms. 

Widow’s eyes snap open, narrowing at her in protest. A soft, indignant meow escapes as she squirms, clearly displeased at being caught pretending.

She gives a half-hearted swipe at Natasha’s face, but Natasha easily dodges the playful gesture with a quiet chuckle.

“Nice try,” Natasha teases, holding Widow up to meet her gaze. 

Turning, she carries Widow over to the small, cozy bed she had arranged earlier near the window—a cushioned basket lined with a soft blanket, positioned to catch the warm morning sunlight.

“This is your bed,” Natasha says, setting Widow down on the plush surface.

Widow sniffs at the blanket curiously, circling a few times before settling into the cozy space. She let out a tiny, contented meow as if acknowledging the effort Natasha had put in. 

Satisfied that her new roommate has been adequately situated, Natasha heads to her bed. 

However, before she can take a step, a sharp, insistent meow echoes through the room. 

Natasha turns back to find Widow staring at her expectantly, her golden eyes locked on her. 

“What is it now?” Natasha asks, arching an eyebrow. 

Widow’s gaze shifts to the backpack you had left behind, filled with all her essentials.

Another meow follows, this time directed at the bag.

Curious, Natasha moves to the backpack, kneeling to unzip it. As she rummages through the contents—food, toys, grooming supplies—her fingers brush against something soft, tucked away in one of the inner pockets. 

Pulling it out, Natasha blinks in surprise. 

It was a small plush toy—a miniature Black Widow doll, complete with the signature red hair and black jumpsuit. 

“Seriously?” Natasha mutters to herself, an amused smirk forming on her lips. 

She wishes your phone was receiving messages so that she can tease you about this. It’s cute how you keep denying being a fan of hers.

Widow immediately perks up at the sight of the toy, her eyes wide with excitement. 

The moment Natasha places the small plush near her, the cat pounces on it with a delighted meow, her paws wrapping around it as she hugs the soft toy to her chest.

“Guess I’m your favorite Avenger, huh?” Natasha says softly, smiling warmly. 

Widow responds with a tiny, satisfied purr, her eyelids fluttering shut as she snuggles into the plush toy.

Natasha lingers by the window, watching the little feline drift off to sleep, her heart warmed by the scene. 

Once she is sure Widow has fallen asleep, Natasha returns to her bed, sitting at its edge. 

The exhaustion from the day weighed heavily on her, but something about the sight of Widow contently hugging the tiny plush toy had brought her a slight sense of peace. 

“At least one of us will have a good night’s sleep,” Natasha murmurs, glancing at the peaceful little ball of fur curled up in the basket. 

Stretching out on her bed, Natasha lies back against the cool sheets, her body grateful for the reprieve. 

Yet her mind refuses to relax. 

The day’s frustrations, the failed mission, and the nagging worry about your sudden departure churn restlessly in her thoughts.

She closes her eyes, hoping for the oblivion of sleep, but knowing it wouldn’t come easily.

Eventually, the darkness behind her eyelids pulls her under, but her rest is far from peaceful. 

Like always, her dreams are plagued by old memories—flashes of the Red Room, the harsh lights, the sharp smell of gunpowder and sweat. 

She sees faces, blurred and indistinct, and hears the deafening sound of explosions. 

Blood on her hands.

Her body feels heavy as if trapped, unable to move as the chaos envelopes her. 

With a sudden start, Natasha wakes, shooting up in her bed.

Her heart pounds in her chest as her breaths come out in short, uneven bursts. Sweat clings to her skin, and for a moment, she is disoriented, her mind still lost somewhere between the nightmare and the safety of the Compound. 

After a moment, the quiet room comes into focus around her, familiar but oppressive in the suffocating stillness of the night. 

With a tired sigh, Natasha wipes a hand over her face, trying to shake off the lingering images of the nightmare and regain her composure.

Then, a soft sound reaches her ears in the quiet—a gentle rustling.

Natasha turns her head next to her. 

Widow sits by her side, watching her intently with wide, concerned eyes. 

The little black cat tilts her head slightly, her ears twitching as if sensing Natasha’s turmoil. 

“Hey,” Natasha whispers, her voice rough with exhaustion. “Sorry, did I wake you?” 

She reaches out a hand, but pauses as the nightmare resurfaces—a memory of her hands bloodied. 

Natasha hesitates, pulling her fingers back, but before she can retreat fully, Widow nudges forward, nuzzling against her hand with a comforting purr that reverberates softly in the stillness of the room.

The warmth of Widow’s fur under her hand grounds Natasha, pulling her back from the edge of her spiraling thoughts. 

The cat presses closer, gently kneading the bed near Natasha’s arm, before moving into her lap.

For a long moment, Natasha sits there, frozen, focusing on the steady rise and fall of Widow’s tiny breaths. The calm presence of the cat was unexpectedly soothing, quieting the turmoil in her mind.

Widow’s purring intensifies, almost as if she’s trying to wrap Natasha in that sound, as if she understands something is wrong. 

Seeing the cat’s lack of fear and hesitation, Natasha exhales shakily, finally running her hand down Widow’s back in slow, gentle strokes.

“I’m okay,” she murmurs, more to herself than to the cat. “Just a bad dream.”

Widow doesn’t move, though, curling up closer against Natasha’s side, her little body a source of warmth. She lets out a soft, contented meow that vibrates with understanding. 

It’s as though she is telling Natasha that it’s okay not to be okay.

A small smile tugs at Natasha’s lips.

She hadn’t expected this quiet comfort from something so small, yet here it was, easing the weight of her fears and being a soft presence at her side.

“Thanks,” Natasha whispers, running her fingers through Widow’s fur. “I needed this.”

Widow shifts slightly, snuggling closer to her as if accepting the gratitude.

The room, which had felt suffocating just moments before, now seemed a little more bearable.

Natasha leans back onto the pillow, her fingers still idly stroking Widow’s fur, the rhythmic purring lulling her back into a sense of calm.

This time, when her eyes drift shut, the darkness doesn’t feel quite as oppressive. 

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha sits on the couch, her posture relaxed but her mind miles away as she absently scrolls through her tablet. Reports, articles, and data streams pass her eyes as she picks at the remnants of her sandwich. Every lead for the mission had taken her nowhere, leaving her more frustrated than ever. 

As she finishes off the last bite, a headline catches her eye. 

“String of Break-ins Across the City: Police Diverting Resources to Combat Surge of Robberies” 

Her fingers pause mid-scroll, and her brows knit together in suspicion. Clicking on the article, she skims through the details.

Over the course of several nights, high-end neighborhoods had been targeted by a series of well-coordinated robberies. The police were scrambling to refocus their efforts, diverting resources to protect the wealthy districts while struggling to find the culprits.

Noticing something familiar, Natasha pulls up the coordinates of the locations she had previously investigated—the ones that were supposed to link to the weapons she was chasing.

As she compares the areas of the robberies with the sites she had scouted, a pattern begins to form. 

The break-ins and her failed leads overlapped in strange ways, both of them strategically avoiding a particular zone. 

Her suspicion deepens. It can’t be just coincidence.

She glances over at Widow, who is happily munching on her food, blissfully unaware of Natasha’s growing unease. 

The little black cat has kept her company whenever thoughts of your sudden disappearance bother her.

She still hasn’t been able to reach you, which only worsens the feeling that something is wrong. 

Natasha was close to asking FRIDAY to track your phone, but the part of her that respected your privacy hesitated.

But now, a possible explanation about your whereabouts forms in her mind.

Before she can let the idea settle any further, the sound of the elevator doors opening breaks her concentration. Tony’s voice echoes into the room before he even fully steps out.

“Ugh, the cat’s still here? It’s been over a week. At this point, I’m gonna have to start charging her rent.” 

Widow lifts her head from her bowl, her yellow eyes narrowing at Tony. A string of irritated meows escapes her, sounding oddly accusatory.

Tony gasps in offense. “Is she mocking me?” 

Natasha doesn’t bother to respond to his complaints, having grown used to their ongoing squabbles over the past week. 

Instead, she turns her tablet toward him, her mind still focused on the new lead forming in her head. 

“Tony, you sent Peter to check out the docks recently, right?” 

Tony pauses his glaring contest with Widow, glancing at the tablet before leaning back against the couch with a nod. 

“Yeah, the kid didn’t see any weapons being moved in. Why, you got something?”

“Just a hunch,” Natasha replies, standing up with a quick stretch. “I need to check something out, but I need you to watch Widow for me.”

Tony’s face twists in horror as he immediately shakes his head, raising his hands in protest.

“Oh, no. Absolutely not. You take her with you. I am not cat-sitting.”

Sighing, Natasha bends to scoop Widow up from the floor, cradling the small feline against her chest. She runs her fingers under Widow’s chin, giving her a soft scratch. 

“I can’t take her. It could be dangerous.”

Tony eyes the cat warily, keeping his distance.

“Where’s Wanda? She loves this furball.”  

“She’s on a mission,” Natasha answers, stepping closer and holding Widow out toward him. “Like everyone else.” 

Tony crosses his arms and tucks his hands under his sides, stubbornly refusing to take the cat. 

“Well, I’m busy too.” 

Natasha raises an eyebrow, her expression unimpressed. 

“It’s only going to be an hour or two. Besides, you owe me, Stark. Remember Pepper’s birthday?” 

Tony frowns in silence for a moment before groaning loudly in reluctant acceptance. 

“Ugh, fine! But only because I don’t need her bringing that up again. Give me the cat.”

Widow, sensing the impending hand-off, squirms in Natasha’s arms, her tiny paws scrambling as she tries to burrow against Natasha’s body in protest.

Her soft, pitiful cries grow louder, almost as if she were begging Natasha not to leave her with Tony.

“No, no, no,” Natasha murmurs soothingly, running her fingers along Widow’s back. “It’s only for a little while, I promise.”

But Widow wasn’t having it. 

She clings to Natasha, her tiny claws gripping her shirt, her cries growing more desperate.

Natasha sighs, trying to pry the cat away gently, but Widow is surprisingly strong for her size.

“See?” Tony says, pointing an accusing finger at her. “Even she doesn’t want this. You can’t force this on me!” 

Natasha gives him an unimpressed look, clearly unmoved by his dramatic refusal. 

“She’ll be fine. You’ll be fine.”

With one final nuzzle to calm the cat, Natasha manages to transfer Widow into Tony’s reluctant arms. 

The moment the cat lands in his grasp, she goes completely still, her narrowed eyes locking onto Tony with an expression that could only be described as disdainful.

“I’ll be back soon,” Natasha promises, giving Widow one last pat on the head before grabbing her jacket and making her way to the door. 

Tony sighs dramatically, holding the cat awkwardly at arm’s length. 

“You better be. And if she scratches any more of my stuff, we’re gonna have a serious problem.” 

Natasha chuckles softly but doesn’t look back. Her mind is already back on the case, the unease gnawing at her as she steps into the elevator. 

Something about the break-ins, your disappearance, and the misleading intel she had been chasing feels connected in ways she couldn’t yet explain. 

It was too perfect, too coordinated. And Natasha knows better than to believe in coincidences.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha pulls up near the docks, parking her car a few blocks away to avoid drawing any attention.

The dimly lit warehouses loomed large in the night, and her eyes scanned the scene for any movement or signs of activity. 

Despite the late hour, there seems to be an unusual number of people milling around—far too many for a regular night shift. The men guarding the entrance didn't look like typical dock workers either; they were too alert, too stiff.

Looks like her instincts were right about something suspicious happening here. 

As she tries to figure out her approach to investigate, a slight movement from the passenger seat catches her eye.

The half-opened duffel bag in front of her shifts ever so slightly. 

Natasha blinks, her brow furrowing as she stares at the bag, almost unwilling to believe what she knew was coming. 

With a sigh, she reaches over and unzips the bag entirely. 

Sure enough, Widow’s small head pops out from where she had been hiding, her yellow eyes blinking up at Natasha with a soft, innocent meow. 

“At this point, I shouldn’t even be surprised anymore,” Natasha mutters, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She leans over and gives the cat a quick scratch behind the ears. 

“After all, you’re a professional, aren’t you? Just like her.”

Widow purrs, seemingly proud of the comparison, before hopping onto the passenger armrest. 

Before Natasha can react, the cat swats at the buttons on the door, and the distinct click of the car door unlocking fills the air. 

Natasha immediately presses the lock button again, shaking her head in exasperation and amusement. 

“She trained you a little too well, you know that?” 

The cat blinks at her, meowing insistently as she paws at the window, eager to assist. 

Natasha knows there is no point in leaving her in the car—not when Widow is clearly more than capable of finding her way out. 

With a sigh, Natasha relents. 

“Alright, what’s the plan?” 

Moments later, Natasha crouches in the shadows near the entrance to the docks, watching as the guards patrol the area. 

Widow had slipped away almost as soon as they arrived, disappearing into the darkness with the kind of stealth that only a cat could manage. 

Natasha stayed low, blending into the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to make her move. 

Suddenly, one of the guards at the gate straightens, his eyes darting around the area. 

“Hey, did you hear that?” 

“Hear what?” his partner asks lazily, barely glancing up from his phone.

“I don’t know,”  the first guard replies, his frown deepening. “But it sounded like it came from over there.”

“Well, go check it out, genius,” his partner mutters, shoving him in the direction of the noise. 

The first guard grumbles but complies, his flashlight cutting through the dark as he wanders toward the distraction—away from Natasha’s position.

A faint smile tugs at her lips.

Looks like Widow is already making her move.

With the first guard distracted and the second engrossed in his phone, Natasha moves quickly, slipping past the gate and deeper into the docks. 

She hugs the walls, her movements swift and silent, her senses on high alert. 

The deeper she went, the more obvious it became that something was off. 

The workers moving around the docks weren’t just loading and unloading—they were guarding something. 

As she rounds a corner, Natasha freezes. 

Ahead of her, two men stand by an open warehouse door, crates and boxes stacked high inside. She crouches behind a stack of barrels, her eyes narrowing as she listens. 

“Are we sure we should be moving all of this tonight?” one of them asks, his voice low. “What if the cops show up? It’ll look suspicious.”  

“Relax,” the other voice answers. “The boss has that girl keeping the police distracted with those break-ins. They’re so focused on protecting the rich neighborhoods that they won’t even think to check the docks. We’ll move the weapons through here without a hitch.”

Natasha’s blood runs cold as the realization hits her—these were the people using you. 

Her fists clenched in anger. She had to put a stop to this, but just as she prepared to move, a sharp, startled yowl pierced the night. 

Her heart leaps into her throat as her eyes snap toward the sound.

Widow’s small figure was caught in the grip of one of the guards, dangling helplessly as he held her by the scruff. 

“Hey, isn’t this that girl’s cat?” the man remarks, shining his flashlight directly at Widow’s face.

Widow hisses in defiance, her fur standing on end as she swipes at the man’s hand. The man yelps in pain as her claws scratch deep.

“Damn cat!” the man snarls, his temper flaring. With a vicious motion, he flings her violently to the side.

Widow hits the warehouse wall with a sickening thud, her small body letting out a sharp, pained cry as she crumples to the ground.

In a flash, Natasha is on her feet, closing the distance between herself and the guard, her vision blurred with rage.  

Without hesitation, she delivers a brutal kick to his ribs, sending him crashing against the warehouse wall. He slumped to the ground, unconscious before he could react. 

The other guard barely had time to register what was happening before Natasha was on him. A swift punch to his jaw dazes him, and a well-placed elbow to the side of his head knocks him out cold.

Breathing heavily, Natasha turns to where Widow had been thrown. The small cat was now on her feet, limping toward her, clearly hurt but still alert.  

Natasha curses under her breath in regret as she rushes to Widow’s side. She scoops the cat up carefully into her arms, cradling her close.

Widow meows weakly, pressing herself against Natasha’s chest, her small frame trembling slightly. 

Natasha runs her hand gently over Widow’s fur, her touch careful and deliberate as she searches for any signs of injury.

Her fingers still when they brush over a small, raised patch of fur—a spot she hadn’t noticed before. 

It didn’t seem like a wound from the impact when Widow had been thrown against the warehouse wall. It felt old, as though it had been there for some time. 

Shaking off her confusion for now, Natasha lets out a small sigh of relief. 

Widow’s injuries seem mostly minor—a few bruises and a limp, but nothing too serious. 

The cat meows softly, leaning into Natasha’s comforting touch to reassure her that she is okay.

Glancing over her shoulder at the crates stacked inside the warehouse, Natasha knows she can’t afford to stay. More guards could be closing in, and with Widow hurt, she couldn’t risk a full confrontation. 

Making a quick decision, she pulls out a few small, hidden trackers from her gear and discreetly attaches them to several of the boxes. 

Now, at least, she’d be able to track the weapons’ movement. 

With Widow nestled securely in her arms, Natasha slips through the shadows, her movements fluid and silent as she navigates between the towering crates and through narrow alleyways. 

Every sense was on high alert, her focus sharp, her only goal to get them both out safely.

“Hang on, girl. I’ve got you,” she whispers, her voice low and reassuring as she cradles the cat close to her chest. 

Throughout the entire ride back to the Compound, Natasha keeps Widow pressed protectively against her body, her arms wrapped around the small creature as though shielding her from the world. 

The lab doors slide open as Natasha rushes inside, her eyes scanning the room for Tony. She finds him in the middle of a frantic search, tossing tools and devices around, clearly looking for something. 

“Stark!” Natasha calls, her voice sharp with urgency. 

Tony jumps at her voice, spinning around with wide eyes, hands raised defensively. 

“I can explain!” he says quickly. “I put the furball down for one second, and the next thing I know, she’s...” His eyes fall to the cat cradled in Natasha’s arms, and he sags in relief. “...with you.” 

Natasha shoots him an unimpressed glare as she moves toward one of the examination tables. She gently sets Widow down on the surface, stroking the cat’s fur as she tries to comfort her. 

“FRIDAY, can you scan her for any injuries? We ran into some trouble,” Natasha requests. 

“Certainly, Miss Romanoff,” the A.I. responds immediately, and the sensors on the examination table light up, preparing for the scan.

Widow perks up, her curiosity piqued by the glowing lights beneath her paws. She paws at the surface, her small meows filling the lab. 

“I’d just like to point out, for the record, that I did warn you about leaving her with me,” Tony grumbles, grabbing a tablet from the nearby counter to check the scan results. 

“Just tell me if she’s okay,” Natasha deadpans, crossing her arms. 

Tony scrolls through the vitals displayed on the tablet, muttering as he does so. 

“Calm down, Romanoff. I’m sure your girlfriend’s cat is just–” 

Tony’s words abruptly cut off, and Natasha’s attention snaps from Widow to him. 

His face had gone still, his usual smug expression replaced with a deep frown. He stares at the tablet as if seeing something he couldn’t quite believe.

Before Natasha can ask what is wrong, Tony reaches behind him, grabbing a device off one of the nearby tables.

Without warning, he tosses it toward Widow, and within seconds, a force field dome activates around the cat, encasing her in a barrier.

Widow yelps in surprise, jumping slightly before pawing frantically at the shimmering barrier.

Her yellow eyes go wide, and she turns to Natasha, letting out a distressed cry. 

“What the hell, Tony?” Natasha barks, stepping forward to deactivate the force field. 

Tony’s hand shoots out, stopping her. 

“Don’t, Nat,” he says, his voice low and serious. “She’s dangerous.” 

Natasha’s brow furrows in confusion. “What? No, she’s harmless.”

He shows her the screen and reveals grimly,

“There’s a bomb inside of her.”

Natasha freezes, her frown deepening as Tony’s words sink in.

Her eyes shift to Widow, who is now meowing pitifully, her paw pressing against the invisible force field as she looks at Natasha with wide, confused eyes.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha lies on her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, her mind processing the recent discovery. 

Sleep was out of the question—not for the usual reasons this time, but because her thoughts wouldn’t stop racing.

Everything was slowly falling into place, but the weight of it pressed heavily on her chest. 

Earlier, Tony had confirmed it. Hidden beneath Widow’s fur was a small, foreign device—a bomb. Surgically implanted and designed to detonate remotely, it was rigged to explode if tampered with. 

“So that’s what they’ve been using to control you,” Natasha whispers to herself, her fists clenching at her sides as the gravity of the situation settles in. 

It wasn’t just about you—it was about keeping Widow alive. You had been trying to protect her this whole time. 

Her gaze shifts to the corner of her room where Widow’s bed lay empty, the small plush toy resting on top of it.

Widow usually cries out for that toy before she goes to sleep, but now she is locked away in Tony’s lab, trapped inside the force field as a precaution. 

Natasha’s heart ached at the thought of the frightened cat, isolated and alone, with no understanding of the threat she carried.

Unable to bear the thought any longer, Natasha stands, grabs the plush toy, and makes her way to the lab. 

As the doors slide open, she spots Widow curled up beneath the shimmering barrier, her small body trembling, ears flattened against her head.

A soft whine echoes through the room, and Natasha’s heart breaks a little more.

Steeling herself, Natasha approaches the table and deactivates the force field. 

Widow lifts her head slowly, blinking as she adjusts to her newfound freedom. Her wide, yellow eyes search the room before they find Natasha.

With a small, reassuring smile, Natasha holds out the plush toy. 

“Come on,” she coaxes softly, her voice filled with an apologetic tenderness. “I’m not afraid of you.” 

Widow tilts her head, hesitating for a moment before letting out a tiny meow. She moves toward Natasha, nuzzling her hand in forgiveness. 

Natasha feels a rush of warmth, the tension in her chest easing slightly as the cat accepts her apology.

A little while later, Natasha finds herself on the rooftop of the Compound, the cool night air soothing her restless thoughts. 

Widow was curled comfortably in her lap, contentedly gnawing on her plush toy under the vast, open night sky. 

Natasha’s fingers idly stroke through the cat’s fur, her thoughts wandering to what comes next. 

The situation was far more serious than she’d imagined, and it was clear the only way to move forward was to find you.

Her thoughts drift to you as they always do, wondering what you were going through—how much you must be shouldering by yourself.

Suddenly, Widow pauses her playing and stands, her front paws rising to rest on Natasha’s shoulder.

Natasha turns her head slightly to the side to look at the cat. She is about to ask what she is up to when your voice breaks the silence from the other side.

“Staying up late, as usual, I see.”   

Natasha jumps, her body tensing as she whips her head around, heart pounding in her chest. 

You were standing dangerously close—too close—and the sight of your familiar smirk made her pulse quicken even more.

The warmth between you seemed to radiate in the cool night air. 

Widow wastes no time, immediately hopping over Natasha’s shoulder and into your waiting arms.

You chuckle softly, cradling the cat against your chest, fingers brushing through her fur. 

“Hello to you too,” you murmur warmly as Widow nuzzles into you.

For a moment, Natasha allows herself to soften at the sight. There was something undeniably tender in the way you held Widow, in the gentle smile that curved your lips. 

But that moment of softness quickly dissolves as her eyes land on the bandage above your left brow.

Her body tenses again as she stands slowly, brushing herself off while discreetly scanning you for other possible injuries.

"Thanks again for taking care of her," you say, breaking the silence, your gaze meeting hers. Widow is now nestled comfortably in your arms, completely at ease. “I mean it—I owe you. Anything you need, just say the word.”

Natasha takes a step forward, her hand instinctively reaching up to your face. Her fingertips brush delicately near the bandage on your brow, the touch lingering just a second too long as concern flickers in her eyes.

"How about an explanation for this?"

For a moment, you freeze under her touch, your breath catching as her fingers hovered near your skin.

The air around you feels charged, and the space between you seems to narrow further even though neither of you has moved.  

Your hand rises slowly, fingers wrapping gently around her wrist as you guide her hand back down to her side.

The contact is soft but electric, sending a jolt through Natasha as the warmth of your skin ignites something inside her.

"You should see the other guy," you say lightly, trying to brush off her concern with a joke.

But the humor doesn’t quite reach your eyes as your smile fades, replaced by something more cautious, more guarded.

“I did,” Natasha responds seriously, her tone dropping as she locks eyes with you. She nodded toward Widow. "That’s what led me to find out about the bomb inside our little friend here."

Her gaze hardens, pinning you with an intensity that makes the tension between you spike.

“And I’m guessing the USB I left with that night…that was your doing too.”

Your expression falters, lips pressing into a thin, resigned line at her deduction. Eventually, you give her a slight nod. 

“You’re as impressive as people say,” you compliment before tilting your head at her with a wry smile. “I guess I can’t blame the cat this time.”

Natasha’s gaze flicks back and forth between your eyes, searching, her frustration building with each passing second. 

“You’ve already helped them steal the weapons by drawing attention away with those break-ins,” she says, her voice filled with a quiet, simmering anger. “So what now? Was that enough for them to leave you two alone?” 

You look away, guilt flickering across your features before your gaze drops to Widow. 

“It’s just one more job,” you whisper, almost to yourself. “One more, and then I’m done.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow, frustration building in her chest. 

"How many times have you told yourself that?" she exclaims, her voice cutting through the night with a razor-sharp edge. "How many times have you convinced yourself it’s just one more?"  

You give her a glare at her words.

“Oh, please, save the lecture,” you snap, your voice rough, your heart pounding with a mix of emotion. “Not everyone gets the luxury of forgetting their past and becoming a hero. Some of us don’t get a second chance.”

Silence settles between you as the tension grows unbearable, the air heavy with unresolved emotions.

Finally, Natasha reaches out, her fingers lightly gripping the fabric of your jacket, pulling you closer.

Her eyes bore into yours, her proximity sending a shiver down your spine as she steps closer, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper.

“You think I erased my past?” she asks, her breath fanning across your cheek. “You think I just forgot everything I’ve done? I live with that every day. But I chose to be better.” 

She holds your gaze, hoping to convey the truth of her next words. 

“You can too,” she whispers. 

For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, the heat between you palpable. Your hand hovers near her arm conflicted between pushing her away or pulling her closer.

Natasha’s eyes flicker with something deeper, a plea hidden behind her frustration as she waits for your response.

After a moment of silence, you finally give her a wry smile, touching her arm gently. 

“That’s what makes you so amazing, Miss Black Widow,” you answer, your breath shallow as her overwhelming presence consumes your thoughts. It takes all your concentration to push through with your next words as you drop your hand from her. 

“But I don’t have time for hope. This is about survival.” 

Natasha’s eyes soften, and she takes another step closer.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” she whispers, her lips inches from yours, sending a shiver down your spine. 

Your gaze locks with hers, the charged tension hanging thickly in the air, unyielding.

You want to believe her, to let her in—but fear holds you back. You break the eye contact, looking away as the weight of your situation presses down on you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, the words heavy with unspoken regret. 

Natasha’s hand slowly drops from your jacket, and she takes a step back, her heart aching at the refusal in your words.  

In your arms, Widow let out a soft, sympathetic meow, as if sensing the pain in both of you. She turns her head toward Natasha, her wide eyes pleading as if asking her to do something.

The sight of the feline gives her an idea.

“If you don’t want me to help you, at least let me help her,” Natasha says, nodding toward Widow. Her voice is softer now, almost a plea. 

You look down at Widow, considering her words, your teeth worrying your lower lip as you think it over.

Natasha’s eyes linger at the action for just a moment, but she quickly pulls her gaze back up when she remembers the boundary you’ve placed on your relationship.

“Okay,” you finally relent, holding your hand out to her. “For Widow. That’s it.” 

Natasha’s hand meets yours, the warmth spreading between your palms as your fingers intertwine, the tension still simmering beneath the surface.

“For Widow,” she whispers, her eyes locked on yours with an unspoken promise.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

a/n: thanks for reading! Your responses on this series are so nice. I'm glad to see that you are all enjoying it.

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

Taglist : @cd-4848, @carifletchersgirl

[wileys-russo]

https://x.com/kaitsgooner/status/1752015922892620031?s=46&t=k-Lwg3ELXoOdR-KcbCNumw

Leah’s always gossiping😭 she’s so funny. Would love a little fic of Leah and reader just on the bench and Leah is just full on gossiping to reader while your trying to focus on the game. Eventually getting pulled into Leah’s gossip

gossip II l.williamson

you watched with pride as your girlfriend jogged over to the sidelines, smacking her palm against laia's and clapping the catalonian on the back who raced across the pitch to take her place.

you waited patiently as leah greeted the coaching staff, shaking hands and having a quick word with the defensive head and pointing out a few things as he slid over to speak with jonas and leah made her way down the line of subs, fist bumping each girl as she went.

"hello bench warmer." the blonde teased with a grin, quickly pecking your lips and dropping down onto the grass in front of you, waving off frida's offer to move down a seat so your girlfriend could sit beside you.

"charming as ever darling." you sighed with a smile, handing her a recovery shake as she shuffled back slightly to lean against your legs, patting your knee affectionately.

as she locked into a conversation with alessia who was sat on your other side you zoned out a little, chin resting on your fist and watching the game.

"babe!" you glanced down as leah shook your leg, raising an eyebrow. "do you remember the florist? the one down the street from that bakery we like?" leah questioned as you smiled.

"lee we can gossip all you want on the drive home, watch the game." you laughed quietly, knowing the blondes tendencies far too well as she huffed and turned back to speak with alessia.

arsenal had a two goal lead but you knew even if there was only twenty minutes left that anything could happen, which is why you paid little attention to your girlfriends stories.

though you could tell she was getting into them given the way her hands darted about as she spoke making you smile fondly as alessia and now kyra hung off the older girls every word, also now clearly invested into her tales.

"leah!" you whined shoving her shoulder as your girlfriend pinched your inner thigh, having tapped you a few times and getting no response. "i called your name nicely first! space cadet." her hand reached up to poke at your cheek as you pushed it away and sat back properly.

"you know the girl from the bakery we like yeah? the one who always slips us extra pastries when the boss isn't in, olivia? olive? i think its olivia." leah again tried to draw you in as you shook your head.

"you're a terrible gossip williamson, watch the girls! and you, stop encouraging her less!" you warned the grinning blonde beside you who shrugged, kyras head popping over her shoulder matching her eagerness. "why? she's a great story teller!" the australian defended as leah hit your knee with a happy smirk and you rolled your eyes.

"stop yapping and support your teammates! all three of you." you warned a little more sternly, the younger girls beside you deflating somewhat as leah rolled her eyes but turned around to face the pitch, sipping at her shake.

but once the beverage was finished it failed to serve as a distraction, leah growing restless and leaning over to tap alessia's knee and you sighed as within seconds both her and kyra were once more hanging off your girlfriends every syllable.

"-the florist!" you only caught the last of your girlfriends sentence, drawn into the conversation by the loud gasps of shock from the younger girls beside you and even frida who leah seemed to have sucked in now too.

"wait what?" you questioned with a frown, clearly having missed the build up as you watched manu make a diving save and breathed a sigh of relief.

"well well well. look who wants in on the gossip train!" leah smirked as you rolled your eyes and shook your head, ignoring her and instead turning back to the game. "whatever." you rolled your eyes stubbornly, focusing on the pitch again but feeling leahs eyes bore up into you.

"fine! you've twisted my arm, i'll tell you." leah tapped your thigh to gain your attention back as you couldn't help but be amused by her obvious enthusiasm. "back to my original question, you know the florist-" leah began tracking backward as you nodded.

"the one near the bakery we like, i do. what about him?" you frowned as leah huffed. "bubba theres layers to this story, don't interrupt!" the blonde warned sternly wagging a finger at you as you shoved alessia who giggled.

"well the florist. so he's married yeah? he has that photo of his wife and kid on the counter, and he always has that gold wedding band on. i remember because its got his wives initials carved into it which is quite cute, or maybe its their kids initials?" leah frowned, pausing as you again nodded though this time wordlessly.

"anyway not important. well i went in to see him on tuesday, remember i got you that huge bouquet and brought you breakfast in bed and then we had second bre-" you hurried to cover her mouth as the tips of your ears flushed red.

"leah what we do in the bedroom is private!" you hissed in warning for the words which you'd stopped before they fell. "we already heard about it when she told us the story." kyra piped up cheekily as you groaned and removed your hand, shrinking a little in embarrassment.

"anyway. well i went in on tuesday and no wedding band, no picture." leah continued on completely ignoring your reaction, pulling your hand away and kissing your knuckles sweetly before letting go.

"which is weird right? but then i also went to the bakery because as we both know their bread is the very best bread for a ham sandwich. so i went in to get a loaf and i noticed there was a different woman serving, not olivia or olive whatever her name is who usually always works on tuesdays." leahs eyes narrowed as you hummed to show you were listening.

"so i subtly asked, more so joked really, about where she was. turns out she's on maternity leave? i didn't even notice she was pregnant but apparently she's due in a few weeks!" leah scoffed in disbelief as you frowned, also not having picked up on that throughout the many months you and leah had frequented the bakery.

"so while i was waiting for the bread, and i won't lie babe i did get a croissant and finish it before i got home so you wouldn't know." leah smiled apologetically as you shoved her head with a playful roll of your eyes.

"but this is the scandal of it all. so i overheard one of the bakers on the phone and it turns out that-" leah was cut off as cheers errupted around meadow park, the final whistle blowing signalling the game was over and arsenal had indeed reigned victorious.

you waited patiently for leah to finish, watching as she placed her palms on your knees and used them to help her push up to her feet before holding out her hands to help you up.

"turns out that..." you trailed off eagerly with wide eyes as the rest of the girls began to jog out onto the pitch to congratulate everyone and greet the fans.

"i'll tell you later. come on gorgeous!" leah kissed your cheek and wandered off after lia as your jaw dropped. "what happened?" you grabbed alessia with wide eyes who shrugged. "its leahs story! i'll probably miss details and tell it wrong." the blonde tugged her hands away and followed after kyra as you groaned.

"leah!" you huffed in annoyance, hurrying after her and hating how much she'd peaked your curiousity.

"leah you can't leave it there, finish the story!" you whined catching up to her as lia just smiled in amusement not even needing to know the context as your girlfriend just tutted and slung an arm over your shoulder, kissing your cheek again with a grin.

"nah we can gossip all you want on the drive home, right baby?"