#I need you to understand I thought I lost this. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

natsaffection · 3 days ago

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Redline. Pt 3 | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!RacingDriver!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), reflecting trauma, kinda sexual tension

Word count: 7,5k

A/N: part three!!! In the next one, we’ll focus more on the chemistry between Natasha and you. 🫢

Part 2

The rhythmic thud of a punching bag filled the space, the only sound aside from your controlled breathing as you threw another strike, then another. Your muscles ached, fire burning beneath your skin, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. This was the only thing that made sense anymore, pushing yourself past the limits, past the doubt, past the thoughts you didn’t want to deal with.

Until the doors slammed open. The sound cut through the room like a gunshot. There was no controlled amusement this time. No smirk, no teasing remarks. Just pure, simmering rage. The kind that made the air feel too heavy, like the walls were closing in.

Natasha.

Yelena had followed behind her, though she kept a safer distance, arms crossed as she watched the impending execution unfold. Natasha’s gaze locked onto you, sharp as a blade against your throat.

“You missed the meeting.” she said, her voice quiet, far too calm for how angry she was. You rolled your shoulders, wiping sweat from your brow. “I was training.” Wrong answer. Natasha’s expression darkened, her jaw tightening as she took two slow, measured steps forward.

“And?” The single word was sharp, cutting, as if she was daring you to keep going.

You clenched your fists, keeping your ground. “And I thought it was more important than sitting in a room while PR tells me how to smile for a camera.”Natasha inhaled through her nose, slow, controlled, like she was restraining herself from snapping you in half.

“You thought?” Her voice was too smooth, too dangerous. “Let me make something very clear, because it seems you’ve already forgotten. You don’t get to think. You don’t get to decide what matters. I do. And when I say you show up, you show up. Do you understand me?”

You held her stare, the defiance still there, but your body tensed. Natasha saw it. Felt it. The resistance. The fight to not give in and she wouldn’t allow it.

“You think training gives you a free pass? That you can just ignore my orders and do whatever the fuck you want?” Natasha stepped closer, crowding into your space, forcing you to either hold your ground or back down. “Let me tell you something, dorogoy (sweetheart). You work for me. Not the other way around. I don’t care what you used to be, who you were before, or how good you think you are. In my world, you either fall in line or you get the fuck out.”

Your breath hitched. The air between you was suffocating. It wasn’t just the words, it was the way Natasha said them. The control in her voice, the absolute certainty that she meant every single thing. There was no bluff, no space to argue, no ground left to stand on.

You swallowed, your muscles still coiled with the need to fight back. But Natasha saw it..the way your jaw tightened, the way your fingers curled slightly, the way you were still resisting. And Natasha smirked. Slow. Cruel.

“You don’t like being told what to do, do you?” she murmured, tilting her head slightly, voice dipping into something almost amused. “I can see it..right there. You’re dying to argue. To push back. To prove something.”

She leaned in, lowering her voice just enough that it sent a shiver down your spine. “But you won’t. Not this time.”

Natasha studied you for a second longer, watching the way your body still fought not to react, still fought not to break.

“Now..” Natasha exhaled, her voice slow, taunting, the smirk still lingering. “Be a good girl and go shower.”

Your stomach twisted. You wanted to argue, wanted to throw back a response, wanted to not let her win. But you had already lost. You knew it. Natasha knew it. And she wasn’t going to let you forget it.

You swallowed hard, your jaw still clenched, body still trembling with frustration, exhaustion, and something else you didn’t want to name. You didn’t say a word, and you ou just grabbed your towel and walked away. Natasha smirked, watching you go. She had won. And you both knew it.

Yelena let out a slow breath, shaking her head slightly. “You know, she’s still adjusting, right?”

Natasha didn’t look at her. “I know.”

Yelena tilted her head. “And you could’ve gone easier on her.”

Natasha finally turned, meeting her gaze with a look that was pure Romanoff steel. “And what would that teach her?”

Yelena sighed, pushing off the doorframe. “You’re impossible.”

Natasha smirked. “And yet, she’ll be in the meeting on time now, won’t she?”

Yelena shook her head, muttering under her breath as she walked away. Natasha glanced back at the empty space where you had stood, where you had fought back, where you had finally..finally realized what it meant to work for Romanoff Racing. This wasn’t a team. This was Natasha’s empire. And you? You were learning exactly where you stood in it.

You arrived at the meeting on time. Not a second early. Not a second late. Exactly when you were supposed to. You weren’t about to give Natasha another excuse to put you through.

The tension in the room was thick, even before you stepped inside. Conversations were already in motion, staff members talking in low voices as data flashed across the massive LED screens. The polished glass table was covered with neatly arranged folders, stacks of reports, and the ever-present presence of Romanoff Racing’s insignia stamped on everything.

You took your seat near the middle of the table, arms crossed, jaw tight, resisting the urge to sink into your chair. The moment you settled, the meeting continued.

A PR executive stood, clicking through slides on the massive screen. Media coverage. Headlines. Reactions from the unveiling event. You already knew this would be bad. But fuck. Hearing it all at once was worse than you expected.

“Public reception has been…mixed.” the PR rep started carefully.The first slide displayed headlines from the biggest news outlets:

“Your Comeback: Redemption or Desperation?”

“Natasha Romanoff Bets Big on Fallen Driver, Will It Pay Off?”

“Dreykov Laughs Off Romanoff’s Signing: ‘She’s Damaged Goods.’”

You cringed. There it was. Right there. Every reason you had avoided coming back. The PR rep continued, voice calm, practiced, as if they weren’t presenting a full breakdown of your entire existence. “Online engagement has been high. Social media discussions are up 230%, and you’re currently the fourth most searched name in the industry.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose, not sure if that was a good thing or not. The slide changed again, screenshots of tweets, live TV commentary clips. Some were supportive. Some were brutal.

“She should’ve stayed gone. She’s never gonna be the same.”

“Romanoff must be insane. There were better drivers available.”

“This is a PR stunt, right? No way she’s actually racing again.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. You had heard worse. You had survived worse. But it still felt like a goddamn gut punch.

A press clip played on screen, Dreykov himself, sitting in front of flashing cameras, reporters hanging onto his every word.

“Romanoff’s choice? Interesting. Bold, I suppose. It’s always nice to see an old name come back, even if it’s… well. I just hope she finishes a full season this time.”

The words hit harder than they should have. A slow, mocking grin stretched across Dreykov’s face in the video, and you had to force yourself not to react. Because that? That was a very public, very intentional slap in the face. The clip ended, and the PR rep hesitated before clicking to the next slide—Walker. Because of course, they shoved a mic in his face the second the event ended.

You didn’t even need to see it. You already knew what kind of bullshit was about to come out of his mouth. “Am I surprised? A little. But hey, I wish her the best. I mean, she was great..once. Let’s see if she still has it, huh?”

The clip cut out. Silence settled over the room. You exhaled slowly, pressing your palms against your thighs to keep yourself from curling your fingers into fists. You weren’t surprised. You should’ve expected all of this. But it was one thing to think about it. And another thing to hear it out loud.

The PR rep cleared their throat. “Obviously, their strategy is to undermine the credibility of your return. They’re not outright attacking, but they’re implying doubt, planting the idea that you’re a risk.”

You almost laughed. Implying? They weren’t implying shit. They were saying it straight to your fucking face.

Natasha had been silent this entire time. But when she finally moved, it was just a shift in posture. One smooth, measured movement. Enough to make the entire room go still.

“Let them talk.”

Your eyes snapped toward her, but Natasha didn’t look at you. Didn’t look at anyone. She just watched the screen, unimpressed, unaffected.

“Let them doubt her.” Natasha continued, her voice almost lazy. “Let them laugh, let them underestimate her. It makes our job easier.”

The way she said it, like she had already won. Like none of this mattered. You wanted to believe that. You really did. But then—the conversation shifted. One of the PR executives sat forward, folding their hands. “That brings us to the next point. The press conference is in three days. We’ll need to start preparing her for it immediately.”

Your entire body tensed. You had been expecting it. You knew it had to happen eventually. But still, fuck. The PR rep continued, completely unaware of the way your stomach had just twisted itself into knots. “We’ll go through standard media training, responses to common questions, body language adjustments, phrasing techniques to redirect the narrative in your favor-”

You barely heard the rest. Because you already knew what the hottest topic was going to be. Your crash. It didn’t matter what they rehearsed, what Natasha’s team prepared for. The moment you stepped in front of the cameras, someone was going to ask. Someone was going to force you to talk about it.

And you didn’t know if you could. Natasha must have noticed the way you stiffened, because her eyes flickered toward you, studying you. You kept your gaze straight ahead. Didn’t react. Didn’t let yourself flinch. You weren’t going to give Natasha the satisfaction.

The meeting ended with a sharp nod from Natasha. No unnecessary closing remarks, no wasted words. Just business as usual.

Chairs scraped against the polished floor as people stood, gathering their notes and murmuring amongst themselves. You moved on instinct, standing as well, ready to get the hell out of there before anyone could expect you to give some kind of reaction to the media storm they had just dissected.

You were already halfway to the door when, “Sit down.”

Natasha’s voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the room like a blade. You froze. Slowly, you turned, your fingers twitching at your sides as you met Natasha’s gaze.

Everyone else was still filing out, but the room suddenly felt too big. Too quiet. You hesitated for only a second before forcing yourself to sit back down, your posture stiff, tense as hell. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask why. Because you already knew.

Natasha was still seated at the head of the table, watching you. Then, in one slow, calculated movement, she stood. She walked toward you, not with purpose, not in a rush, just pure control in every step.

You barely kept yourself from shifting under her gaze. Natasha reached the table, but instead of sitting in her chair, she pushed herself up onto it, one hand resting against the polished surface as she settled onto the edge, directly in front of you. Close. Too fucking close.

Green eyes studied you, not rushed, not impatient..just watching. You clenched your jaw. You hated that stare. The way Natasha could see things you didn’t say. The way she could strip you down to nothing without even opening her mouth.

The room was so silent now that you swore you could hear your own heartbeat. “You’re afraid of the press conference.”

You exhaled through your nose. “I’m not afraid.”

Natasha’s smirk was slow, cruel. “Liar.”

Your fingers twitched against the table. You didn’t respond. Didn’t argue. Because what was the point? Natasha already knew. And she was going to make damn sure you knew it too. She tilted her head slightly, eyes flicking over you like she was studying something fragile, something on the edge of breaking. “What are you afraid of?” Natasha asked, voice quieter now. Softer.

You swallowed. Where the fuck did you start? The press? The questions you knew they were going to ask? The fact that you didn’t have an answer for them? The fact that no matter how much you pretended otherwise, you still weren’t sure you belonged here? Or worse, what if they were right? What if you had come back for nothing? You inhaled slowly, voice tight when you finally spoke. “I already know what the questions will be.”

Natasha raised a brow. “Do you?”

You scoffed bitterly. “You do too. Everyone does. The crash. What happened that day. What went wrong. How I felt when I woke up in the hospital. How it felt to lose everything.” Your jaw tightened. “How it felt to…fight to get back here. If I even deserve to be back here.”

You stopped yourself before your voice shook. But Natasha caught it. She didn’t move. Didn’t react. Just watched. Your fingers dug into the fabric of your pants, gripping hard enough that you felt your nails pressing into your skin. “And then there’s them.” you muttered, voice lower now. “What my parents will think when they see me sitting in front of cameras again. What they’ll say when they hear the same questions, when they have to relive the same goddamn day all over again.”

The words came out faster than you intended. You hated yourself for admitting it. But Natasha didn’t look smug. Didn’t look satisfied. She was just listening. And somehow, that made it worse. Because if Natasha wanted to, she could take every single thing you just admitted and use it against you.

A long, slow silence stretched between you. Then, Natasha leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, eyes locked onto you like a challenge. “You survived all of it.” she murmured, voice smooth, even. “And you’re telling me a few cameras are what’s going to break you?”

Your stomach twisted. Because it wasn’t that simple. Natasha made it sound so easy. Like she hadn’t spent years avoiding this moment. Like the weight of the past wasn’t crawling up your spine every second you thought about stepping in front of the press.

“You..don’t get it..” you said, voice quieter than before.

Natasha hummed, the sound almost amused. “You think I don’t?” She tilted her head slightly, her voice dipping into something darker. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to be picked apart by the world? To have people who don’t know a damn thing about you decide who you are, what you’re worth?”

You clenched your jaw but said nothing. Because fuck. Natasha wasn’t wrong.

“You survived the fire.” Natasha continued, her voice almost too soft now, too careful. “You survived the months of rehab, of rebuilding yourself. And now, you’re sitting here, trying to tell me that a couple of journalists with microphones are the real problem?”

You hated how your throat felt tight. How your nails pressed harder into your palm. How Natasha was right. Again. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet Natasha’s steady, unyielding gaze. “And what if I don’t have an answer for them?”

Natasha smirked. And for the first time, it wasn’t cruel. It was patient. Amused. Like you had just asked a stupid fucking question. “Then you do what I do.” Natasha murmured, tilting her head slightly.

You frowned. “And what’s that?”

Natasha’s lips parted slightly, her smirk widening just enough to make something in your stomach twist. “You give them the answer you want them to hear.”

You exhaled slowly. Because fuck. That was probably the most Romanoff answer possible. Natasha straightened, finally standing, stretching her arms slightly before glancing down at you. “You’ll be fine.” she said, voice effortless, confident. Like it was already decided. And in a way..maybe it was.

You weren’t sure you believed her. But something about the way Natasha said it, so sure, so steady, made it feel a little less impossible.

You didn’t say anything after Natasha’s last remark. You just nodded, slow, measured, your jaw still tight like you were holding something back. Natasha took it for what it was, the closest thing to acceptance she was going to get. She let the silence stretch for another second before leaning back, tilting her head slightly. “You can go.”

You didn’t hesitate. You stood, pushing the chair back, muscles still tense from the entire conversation, and walked toward the door without looking back.

Natasha watched you leave, the faint trace of a smirk still playing at the edge of her lips. Because you could fight it all you wanted, but you were getting closer. Whether you realized it or not.

The garage was usually a place of noise. Machines humming, tools clinking against steel, mechanics shouting orders across the floor. The sound of progress, power, precision. But tonight? Tonight, it was silent.

Except for one person. Natasha had been walking through the complex when she noticed it, a figure near the car. She stopped just outside the garage entrance, leaning against the wall, keeping to the shadows as her eyes locked onto the scene in front of her.

You. Standing next to the GT car you would be driving soon. The car was sleek, lethal, polished under the dim lights of the garage. It was a machine that belonged to champions. A machine that demanded control.

And you were just standing there. Not touching it. Not inspecting it. Just watching it. You had headphones in, music spilling softly from them, blocking out the world. Your face was unreadable.

But your posture? Tense. Stiff. Natasha could read it like a book. This wasn’t excitement. This wasn’t confidence. This was doubt. Natasha didn’t move. Didn’t call out to you. She just watched.

Because this was the truth, wasn’t it? Not the version of you that stood in meetings, that threw sharp words back at her, that pretended like you weren’t thinking about every single thing that could go wrong. This was real. This was you, standing in the garage at midnight, alone, staring at the one thing that could either save you or destroy you.

Natasha tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing. This was a crucial moment. And you didn’t even know you were being watched.

The next days came too fast. You barely slept. You had tried, laid in bed, stared at the ceiling, told yourself you were ready. But the truth? Nothing could’ve prepared you for this.

The press room was a sea of flashing lights, cameras, journalists packed together, waiting, ready. The air was thick with the low murmur of voices, the tension palpable even before the conference had begun. At the center of it all was a long, immaculate table with microphones set up, the Romanoff Racing logo flashing behind them on a massive LED screen.

And sitting at the head of it: Natasha. She was dressed perfectly, as always. Not a single detail out of place, her tailored suit sleek, her expression cold and unreadable. And beside her? You.

You had barely spoken since arriving. Barely breathed. Because the second you sat down in that chair, facing the crowd, you felt it. The weight. The expectation. The waiting.

The journalists wanted blood. And you were the easiest target in the room. Natasha shifted slightly beside you, adjusting her mic, and you could feel the glance she gave you. You didn’t look. Didn’t let yourself move. Because if you did, you might crack.

A moderator spoke into the microphone, giving the usual formalities. “Welcome, everyone, to the official Romanoff Racing press conference. We’ll start with pre-approved questions before opening the floor.”

You barely processed the first few questions. They were for Natasha-business-related, team-focused. She answered smoothly, effortlessly, as if she had already predicted every single thing they would ask.

Then..the shift. A journalist leaned forward, their voice cutting through the room. “A lot of fans were shocked to see your return to racing. What made you decide to come back?”

Your throat tightened. You expected this. You knew it was coming. But fuck, hearing it out loud…The microphone was too close, the lights too bright. You could feel the hundreds of eyes staring at you, waiting. You forced yourself to inhale.

“I never stopped thinking about racing.” you said, keeping your voice calm, steady. “It’s a part of me. It always has been.”

The journalist nodded, but their expression sharpened. “And yet, after your accident, you disappeared. No press, no interviews, nothing. Why now?”

Your fingers curled slightly under the table. Before you could answer, Natasha spoke. “She’s here because she’s a racer.” Natasha said smoothly, cutting through the noise like a blade. “And racers belong on the track. Next question.”

The journalist hesitated, like they wanted to push back, but they didn’t dare. Another question came, and another. Some were easy. Some were loaded.

And then..the moment you had been dreading. A woman in the second row leaned forward, microphone raised. “Y/n, after your accident, there was a lot of doubt about your ability to return to racing. Some experts believe you’re not the same driver you once were. Do you think you’re still capable of competing at the highest level?”

Silence. Your breath hitched. There it was. The one question you didn’t want to answer. The one moment that had haunted you for years, now laid bare in front of the world. You swore you could feel the room lean in. Waiting.

You opened your mouth, and nothing came out. Your pulse thundered in your ears. The flashes of cameras, the expectant looks, the fucking memory of it- The way the car had flipped. The fire. The medics pulling you out. The moment you stopped breathing.

Everything crashed down all at once.

Your hands pressed against your lap, digging into the fabric of your pants, trying to ground yourself, trying to breathe. But Natasha saw it. Of course, she saw it. She shifted slightly beside you, not visibly, not obviously, just enough that you could feel it. A reminder. A warning.

“She doesn’t-”

“No, wait.” you said, your voice firm. The room went dead silent. Natasha turned her head slightly, her sharp green eyes snapping to you. It wasn’t a warning. Not quite. It was more like..curiosity. Like she was waiting to see what the hell you thought you were doing.

You exhaled slowly, turning your gaze back to the journalist. You forced your voice to stay steady. “You want to know what happened after the crash?” you asked, leveling your stare at him.

“You think I lost something in that crash?”

Somewhere, a camera shutter clicked rapidly, someone shifting in their seat, but no one spoke. You could feel Natasha watching you, but you didn’t look at her. You kept your focus straight ahead.

“I lost the ability to move my legs for two months.”

A murmur rippled through the room. But you didn’t stop.

“I lost thirty pounds of muscle in eight weeks. I lost my ability to walk without help. I lost my grip strength. I lost my reaction time. I lost everything that made me a driver.”

Your fingers curled slightly, nails pressing into your palm, but your voice never wavered.

“I spent half a year relearning how to do basic human functions. And then another half a year relearning how sit properly in a car. And every single day, someone told me I couldn’t.”

You scanned the room, taking in the faces of the journalists who had written the headlines, the ones who had picked apart your downfall like vultures.

“Do you have any idea what it feels like to wake up and have your own body feel like a prison?”

The air was thick, suffocating. Natasha, the woman who always had something to say? Was silent.You let them sit in it. Let them feel the weight of the hell you had to survive.

“I built myself from the fucking ground up. And now? Now I’m here.”

You sat back, jaw set, gaze unwavering.

“So if you’re asking me if I think I’m still capable?Watch me.”

A few journalists shifted in their seats, uncomfortable. But you weren’t done. You leaned forward slightly, resting your elbows on the table, keeping your expression unreadable. “They were wrong. And now? I’m here.”

You let that hang in the air. You let them absorb it. Then, you leaned back, perfectly composed. “That answer your question?”

The journalist swallowed hard. “I- yes.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but she didn’t. Because what else was there to say?

Another beat of silence. Then, Natasha smirked. Not mockingly. Not cruel. Just slightly impressed. She turned back to the room, one eyebrow raised. “Well, now that we’ve cleared that up, next question.”

And just like that, the press conference moved on. The press conference wrapped up soon after, but the weight of what had just happened lingered in the air. You had taken control of the narrative. You had spoken for yourself. And for the first time since stepping into Romanoff Racing, you hadn’t let Natasha speak for you.

The journalists left in a flurry of movement, camera crews packing up, murmurs spreading across the room as headlines were already being written. You didn’t move right away. Your hands were still pressed against your lap, knuckles faintly white. You weren’t shaking. But you weren’t steady, either.

Natasha stood slowly, adjusting the cuffs of her tailored suit, her every movement calm, practiced. She didn’t turn to you right away. Instead, she let the tension settle, let the weight of the moment hang between you. Yelena was the first to break the silence.

“Well. That was unexpected.” she muttered, throwing a grape from the snack tray into her mouth. She glanced between you and Natasha, one eyebrow raised. “And you’re still alive. That’s a miracle.”

You finally looked at Natasha. She was already watching you. There was something in her eyes, sharp, calculating. And yet, she wasn’t mad. She tilted her head slightly, stepping closer, lowering her voice just enough that only you could hear.

“You surprised me.”

You weren’t sure if that was a compliment. You swallowed, shifting slightly in your seat. “I wasn’t trying to.”

Natasha hummed, amused. “You’re learning how to play the game.”

You clenched your jaw. “I’m not playing a game.”

Natasha’s smirk deepened, and fuck, that was a dangerous look.

“Sure you’re not.” she murmured, her voice too smooth, too knowing. You hated how your stomach twisted at the way Natasha looked at you, like you were more interesting than before. Like you had just stepped into a new level of control, and Natasha was enjoying it.

Yelena cleared her throat, clearly done with the tension. “Alright, before one of you murders the other or something worse happens, what’s next?”

Natasha finally looked away from you, as if she had decided this conversation was over.

“We keep control of the media. We don’t react to Dreykov’s team. We move forward.”

She turned back to you, her green eyes flashing with something unreadable. “And you? You prepare for your first race.”

Your breath hitched. Because fuck. That was next. No more press. No more talk. It was time to get back into the car. For real.

——

The racetrack buzzed with energy- a chaotic storm of activity. Mechanics shouted instructions over roaring engines, and the stands were already packed, a mass of color and noise. It felt familiar, yet foreign at the same time.

You took a deep breath as you approached the Romanoff Racing GT car waiting for you in the garage. It gleamed under the bright lights, looking sleek and dangerous, built for speed, built to win. Your heartbeat picked up, nerves mixing with adrenaline as you stepped toward it.

Natasha was already there, headset on, posture straight, her presence radiating authority. She didn’t speak immediately, just observed as you settled yourself into the racing seat, pulling the harness tight over your shoulders.

Then, her voice came through clearly over the team radio. “Radio check, Y/n. Do you copy?”

You adjusted your helmet slightly, pressing the comm button on your steering wheel. “Loud and clear.”

There was a slight pause. “Good. Systems check?”

Your eyes flicked over the dash, scanning the familiar indicators. The lights blinked back at you, everything perfect, everything waiting. “Systems all green.” you responded evenly.

“Copy that.” Natasha replied smoothly. You could hear the background noise behind her, the engineers confirming fuel, tire pressure, engine temperature, and everything else that mattered. But Natasha’s voice remained steady, almost reassuring in its calm authority. “Standby for track clearance.”

You exhaled slowly, feeling the vibration of the engine beneath you, your grip tightening around the wheel as your pulse quickened. Your heart was hammering now, anticipation building.

“Alright.” Natasha finally said, voice lowering just enough to feel like she was speaking directly into your ear alone. “It’s just you and the car now. Focus. Trust yourself. Let’s show them what you can do.”

Those words settled something inside your chest. You felt steadier, more certain, as you flipped the ignition switch. The engine roared to life, raw power vibrating through the cockpit, through your bones, filling your veins with fire.

Mechanics cleared away, giving you space as you slowly guided the car from the garage toward the track entrance. Your breathing steadied with each passing second, your world narrowing until it was nothing but the track stretching ahead.

The final instructions came through your headset. “Track is clear. Take it out.”

You didn’t hesitate. You pressed the throttle, and the car surged forward, cutting through the air with a precision and power you hadn’t felt in years. And just like that, everything else fell away.

It was just you, the car, and the track. The car hummed beneath you like a living thing, every shift of the throttle sending a pulse of raw energy through your bones. It had been a while since you’d driven something this powerful. And fuck..you felt it.

You eased into the first few turns, warming up the tires, testing the brakes, feeling out the balance of the machine you had just been handed. The steering was sensitive, the throttle was brutal, and the sheer speed of it all?

You let out a slow breath as you took another corner, muttering under your breath. “Goddamn, you’re fast.”

You adjusted your grip on the wheel, rolling your shoulders as you pushed just a little harder into the next straight. The car responded immediately, roaring under your hands, begging to be let loose.

You smirked slightly. “I hear you.”

The radio crackled in your ear. Natasha’s voice, smooth and controlled. “How’s it feeling?”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as you took another turn, still feeling out the car’s behavior. “Like a wild animal.” you muttered. “One wrong move, and I think it’ll kill me.”

You heard a chuckle from the radio. “Good.”

Of course, Natasha fucking Romanoff would say that. You rolled your eyes, shifting your weight as you lined up for the last sector, pushing just a little more. The car gripped beautifully, the back end barely twitching as you found the perfect exit.

The lap wasn’t fast, but it wasn’t supposed to be. You were getting used to it. Letting the car tell you what it wanted. Listening. You reached the final straight and slowed, bringing yourself to a stop at the grid, right before the traffic lights.

The engine rumbled beneath you, waiting. You flexed your fingers against the wheel, inhaling deeply.

The first light flickered on. Then the second. Then the third. You tightened your grip. Everything in your body coiled, ready to launch.

The fourth. The fifth.

And then- green.

You slammed the throttle down. The first few laps had been clean. You had found your rhythm, felt the car beneath you, learned its language. You had danced with the machine, not fought it. Every turn, every straight, every shift..perfect.

The moment you pulled out of the pit lane, Natasha’s voice was in your ear.

“We’ll start simple. Build heat in the tires. Weave down the straight.”

Your hands moved before she finished speaking, the car already shifting left and right, smooth, controlled. You could hear the faint sound of engineers in the background, data being recorded, but your focus was on the car, on the way it responded, on how the weight transferred with each movement. Natasha didn’t react. She simply continued.

“Turn 3, keep the throttle steady before braking. No coasting.”

You followed the instruction exactly, the front tires gripping as you carried speed into the corner, braking later than your instincts wanted, but exactly how she would have demanded.

“Better.” she murmured, voice clipped, all business. You kept going, each sector executed with precision, every command from Natasha met with immediate response. She was directing, you were following.

And then, you did it before she could say it. The upcoming chicane was tight, demanding a quick flick of the wheel, a perfectly timed shift in weight. Before Natasha could give the instruction, before her voice could even breathe into your ear.

It lasted less than a second, but it was there. A pause. A hesitation. Then the radio crackled. “Good.”

No approval, no compliment. Just that single sound, laced with something unreadable. She picked up again, her voice neutral. “Don’t get cocky. Turn 9, brake harder or you’ll compromise the exit.” And just like that, the rhythm returned.

You didn’t push. You didn’t acknowledge what had happened. You just followed orders again, steady and controlled, as if nothing had changed.

But then, the car twitched. Just a little. A fraction of instability. The back tires twitched in a high-speed section, and for a second, your body reacted before your mind could. You barely even had to correct it, the car settled almost immediately, but it was already too late.

The sound in your head, metal screaming, tires screeching, the gut-wrenching silence that had come before the crash..It slammed into you, full force.

Your chest locked up. Your breathing hitched, and before you knew it… You were slowing down. Your hands gripped the wheel too tight. Your heart was hammering. The track around you warped, the air too thick, the inside of the cockpit too fucking small.

Natasha’s voice cut in, sharp, controlled, but tinged with something harder. “What are you doing? Keep pushing.”

Your fingers twitched over the radio switch. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Natasha’s voice came again, this time lower, firmer. “Y/n, talk to me.”

No. Your stomach twisted. The sounds in your head were too loud, too consuming, too goddamn real. So you did the only thing you could think of… You cut the radio. A sharp click, and silence filled the cockpit. Natasha was gone.

In the control room, the moment the radio went dead, Natasha stood up so fast her chair nearly toppled over. Her team froze. The tension in the room turned suffocating. She whipped her head toward one of the engineers. “Tell me she did not just cut me off.”

The man stammered, eyes flicking to the radio log. “…She cut you off.”

Natasha’s jaw locked. Her fingers curled into fists. The cameras showed your car stopped dead on the track. Not stalled. Not damaged. Just stopped. Natasha’s chest burned with rage. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. She had calculated everything… pushed you just enough.

Had she miscalculated? Had she pushed too fucking far? She turned sharply, already storming for the exit. “Unbelievable.”

Yelena grabbed her arm. “Wait.”

Natasha spun on her, fury in her eyes. “She just stopped on the fucking track, Yelena! I’m going down there!”

Yelena, for once, didn’t smirk. She looked at the monitors, at you. “She’s panicking, Nat…”

Then, she got an idea. She pulled out her phone, scrolling fast. “She always has headphones in before a race, right?”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Yelena didn’t answer. Instead, she connected her phone to the main speaker system. The engineers looked confused, but Yelena smirked as she hit play.

And suddenly, music flooded the track. The second the music blasted through your headset, your mind snapped back into reality. The engine was still roaring beneath you, the car vibrating with power, but the sound, the fucking sound..didn’t belong here. It didn’t belong in the cockpit, in the race, in your head. It was your playlist, your music, your ritual before a race, and now it was bleeding through your carefully controlled silence like a blade.

Your breath caught. Then it hit. Yelena. Your grip on the wheel tightened. Your pulse pounded, heat climbing up your spine, something sharp and furious breaking through the fog that had been suffocating you just moments before. You flicked the radio back on, voice ice-cold, clipped.

“Turn that off.”

The pit crew was silent for a moment before Yelena’s voice came through, casual as ever, utterly unfazed. “Oh hey, there you are. Took you long enough.”

Your jaw locked. Your body was still in overdrive, still burning, still balancing on the razor-thin edge between control and complete fucking chaos. “I said turn it off!”

Before Yelena could respond, before you could breathe, another voice crashed into your headset like a gunshot. “You think this is a fucking joke?”

Her voice hit like whiplash, slicing through the cockpit, leaving no space for you to breathe. “You shut me out? On my track? In my car?”

Your grip on the wheel tightened. ��Do you have any idea how many people would kill for this opportunity? How many drivers I could’ve picked instead of wasting my time on you?”

Your stomach twisted, your chest tight with frustration, with rage, with the need to fight back, but you couldn’t.

“You’re wasting my time.” Every word was sharp, biting, dragging through you like a blade. “You’re driving like you’re afraid, like you don’t belong here. And maybe you don’t.”

Your jaw locked. “You don’t get to turn me off when things get uncomfortable. That’s not how this works. That’s not how I work. You either keep up, or you get the fuck out of my car.”

The rage in your chest boiled over. Your breath came hot and sharp, your heart hammering against your ribs as the words ripped out of you before you could stop them. “Fuck you.”

And the radio went silent again.

"S-She turned you off again."

Natasha's head snapped toward the screen, her eyes wild and boiling. She shoved back from the desk, her chair nearly toppling over as she pushed to her feet. A girl? A fucking girl was giving her this much trouble? On her track? In her car? A slow, low growl rumbled from deep in her chest, her nails digging into her palms. "Fix. It."

One of the engineers hesitated. "We, uh- we can override the headset, but she can shut it down again.."

Natasha's nostrils flared, her breathing coming short, clipped. "Then override it again. And again. And again! I don't give a shit how many times it takes! Get me back in her head!!"

The static crackled back into your headset, “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Her voice was razor-sharp, dripping with controlled rage. “You’re in my car, on my track, acting like a fucking brat?”

You knew the trick, it wasn’t without reason that you had been one of the best mechanics for years. So, you turned the radio off again.

The engineers in the control room flinched as Natasha ripped the headset off, her movements violent, lethal, uncontrollable. “Done. I’m fucking done.”

Her chest heaved, eyes burning with something between rage and disappointment. Yelena, watching from the side, chewing on a protein bar like she wasn’t witnessing an absolute meltdown, tilted her head. “You sure?”

Natasha shot her a look that could’ve set the entire control room on fire. “I don’t repeat myself.” She grabbed her phone, already dialing management. “Get the contract ready. I want it on my desk. Now.”

No hesitation. She turned, already storming toward the exit. She was done. Done with the attitude. Done with the defiance. Done with you. Then, A beep. A new sector time update. An engineer swallowed hard, staring at the screen. “Uh..boss-”

Natasha didn’t stop. Didn’t care. Then—Another beep. The numbers changed. “She just broke Walker’s lap record.” Natasha stopped. Yelena smirked. “Oh. That’s interesting.”

Natasha turned, slowly, like she couldn’t quite believe what she just heard. Another update. “She just broke the second record.” Her heartbeat roared. The control room was silent. Everyone watching. Waiting. The third sector. Another record.

Natasha’s jaw locked. Her hand clenched around the phone, the unfinished call abandoned. Because now? Now she wasn’t leaving. Now? She was watching.

You were going faster. Faster. Faster than anyone had gone before on this track. Your hands flexed over the wheel, your body moving on pure instinct. Every turn, every shift, flawless. You weren’t driving to prove something anymore. You were driving because fuck her. Fuck Natasha’s doubt. Fuck Walker’s legacy. Fuck every single person who thought you were done.

Lap after lap, the speed increased. Natasha barely had time to react. You were coming in too fast. Way too fast. Her breath hitched. Her instincts kicked in. Her hand shot toward the console, her finger hovering over the radio switch, ready to step in, to stop you from making a mistake that would end this entire session in a wreck. She had seen this before. This was the moment where drivers panicked. Where their talent collapsed under pressure.

“Y/n-”

You didn’t panic. You didn’t flinch. You owned it. The weight transferred seamlessly, the balance perfect, the tires gripping the apex at the last possible second—And Natasha watched as you took the smoothest, most precise fucking corner she had ever seen.

Her breath hitched. Yelena, beside her, let out a low whistle. “That was kinda sexy.”

Natasha didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t speak. Because for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she had just created a monster. Or if she had finally found the driver she had been looking for.

The tires screeched as you pulled into the pit lane, the scent of burning rubber and overheated brakes clinging to the air. Your pulse was still racing, every inch of your body vibrating with adrenaline, sweat sticking to your skin beneath the fireproof suit.

The cockpit ripped open. Natasha. Storming. Fuming. Burning. Before you could even move—before you could even reach for the harness, she grabbed you. Yanked you out of the car like you weighed nothing. Your boots hit the pavement hard, but you barely had time to react before..

Her hands fisting into your fire suit, dragging you closer, shoving you up against the side of the car. Her grip was tight, possessive, unforgiving. And when she spoke? She was livid.

“You do not turn me off!”

Your breath hitched. “You do not shut me out!”

Her voice was low, dangerous, vibrating with barely restrained rage. Your chest tightened. You tried to speak. “Natasha, I-”

“Shut up!!”

Her fingers tightened, her nails digging into the fabric of your suit. “I don’t give a fuck what’s going through that reckless little brain of yours. I don’t care what you think you’re proving. You work for me.”

Her breath was hot, her lips barely inches from yours, her eyes a dark, consuming fire. “And you do what the fuck I tell you to do!”

You clenched your jaw, your stomach twisting in something between anger and the unshakable feeling that she was enjoying this. And then, her smirk. It was barely there, just the faintest tilt of her lips, but you felt it.

“You wanna prove something?” Her voice dipped lower, smoother..too smooth. “Then do it on my terms. Not by acting like a brat who can’t handle being told what to do.”

Your body tensed. Your fingers twitched, fighting every goddamn instinct to shove her away, to push back, to match her fire with your own. You opened your mouth. “I-”

But her grip yanked you forward before the words could come out. “No!”

Your breath caught in your throat. “You don’t get to speak right now!”

Her voice was a whisper now. Sharp. Slow. Dangerous. The heat between you was suffocating. The world outside didn’t exist anymore. Just her hands on your suit. Her body, pressing you back against the car. The anger crackling between you like a live wire.

Then, a voice cut through the chaos. “Y/n?”

Your body froze. Your head snapped to the side. And there he was. Your father. Standing at the edge of the pit. Watching everything. Your stomach plummeted. Natasha didn’t let go immediately. No. She let her fingers linger for just a second longer, her eyes flicking over to your father with a slow, lazy amusement.

But instead of stepping away, she straightened your fire suit. Her touch slower than necessary, smoothing down the fabric, fingers ghosting over your shoulders, your collarbone. Her hands brushed down the front of your torso, flattening the creases with a touch so deliberate, so calculated, it made your entire body go rigid.

And when she finally spoke? It was for your ears only. “If I knew Daddy was coming to watch, I would’ve made you struggle a little more.”

Your pulse spiked. Natasha hummed, smirking like she had just won something. She took a step back. Calm. Controlled. Untouchable. She pulled out her phone as she passed Yelena, not even breaking stride as she spoke into it, her voice bored, detached. “Take the contract off my table.”

Then she hung up. And just like that, she was gone.

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha smut #natasha romanov x reader #dom!natasha x reader #nat x reader #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha #natasha romanov smut #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov

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robertreich · 19 hours ago

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Friends, Musk is trying to downplay the chaos he’s creating by saying it’s much the same as the cost-cutting efforts of the Clinton administration. “What DOGE is doing is similar to Clinton/Gore Dem policies of the 1990s,” he posted on his X platform. Rubbish. I cut costs in the Clinton administration. The contrast with what Musk is doing couldn’t be sharper. As secretary of labor, I took the Department of Labor down from 18,500 employees to 16,600 — but did it without any layoffs. No chainsaws. No meat-axes. And we were careful to improve the services we were providing the public. For example, when people lost jobs in an industry that was shrinking, we devised a way to get them job-training and job-search assistance in addition to unemployment insurance. This helped move them into new jobs faster — which also saved the government over $1 billion a year in unemployment payments. We plowed that $1 billion back into job-training and job-search assistance, making the whole economy work better. In Musk’s attack on the federal workforce, thousands of federal workers have been fired without warning. Or they’ve been offered fake “deferred resignation” buyouts that were never authorized by Congress and may not be legal. Entire agencies have been gutted without legislative authorization, forcing judges to intervene. Our “Reinventing Government” effort was authorized by bipartisan congressional legislation. We worked carefully over several years to identify areas where government could be more efficient, notifying Congress of what we were doing. But the Republicans who control Congress today have allowed Musk to race ahead without them, even though the Constitution states that the legislative branch approves spending and federal law prohibits the president from cutting programs Congress has authorized without its permission. Clinton sought that permission, and Congress accepted $3.6 billion in cuts he proposed. We also involved federal workers, because they knew better than anyone what could be improved and how best to do it. We introduced performance standards, we encouraged our workers to embrace the internet, and we gave out awards to employees who came up with ways to cut red tape and improve service. “There was a tremendous effort put into understanding what should happen and what should change,” said Max Stier, president of the Partnership for Public Service, which seeks to improve the federal workforce. “What is happening now is actually taking us backwards.” We were deliberative and careful. Musk is the opposite. Musk sees government workers as the enemy — as costs to be cut. We saw government workers as assets to be developed, our partners in getting better services to the public more efficiently. Musk also calls people who benefit from government programs the “parasite class.” Presumably that’s why he’s eager to cut back Medicaid. But Medicaid’s beneficiaries aren’t parasites. Half of them are children. Oh, but if we’re talking about people who depend on government, Musk is the biggest “parasite” of all. Over the years, Musk and his businesses have received at least $38 billion in government contracts, loans, subsidies, and tax credits, often at critical moments, helping seed the growth that has made him the richest person in the world. That he views public servants as his enemy and the people who benefit from public programs as “parasites” tells you all you need to know about Elon Musk. When you hear Musk say his effort is similar to what I and others did in the 1990s, know he’s lying. When you see him call people who benefit from public programs “parasites,” know he’s a hypocrite. Thoughts?

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sully-s · 2 days ago

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Open in a different window to zoom in. So this is just a deep dive behind all the stuff I put in my last post I rolled back my picture before I did all the lighting and color changes to make certain details more visible. Fun fact I almost scrapped this whole picture at this stage because A. I was just burned out; this piece took me forever. B. As I kept getting more and more "neat" ideas to stuff in, I lost any real focal point, especially with the color scheme. After hours of trying to fix it in PS and failing, I was about to give up. I was like fuck it make it a night scene. Let me tell you all a world of lighting makes lol.

Anyways, enough about my struggles, let me give you the tour.

I love the idea that this corkboard was originally Phoenix's mood board in the beginning it just had his childhood pics from like the yearbook and that one time Larry got a polaroid camera. Then, a new year clipping about Edgeworth being Demon Prosecutor which led Phoenix to make his thesis about court drawings just so he could watch and see with his two eyes how much Edgeworth changed. - Then, later, he added Mia because she was his mentor. then Vinny (from the movie "My Cousin on Vinny") because like Vinny, Phoenix never understands court procedure but has very good instincts; and last Elle Woods who also went to law school for a boy basically his spirit lawyer lol. - Later, after Maya joined, she thought it would be funny to replace Phoenix's real reason to Steel Samurai. Also, it was fun because Will Powers was their client, so he should be their reason. Phoenix let them stay because it made Maya happy, and Phoenix knew that with Mia's death, she needed it. - I was going to add a sticky note from Miles that he approved, but I do like that Miles will never admit out loud or in writing that he enjoys the show. - A year later, Pearls tries to replace all the Steel Samurais with her drawings of Maya. Which Phoenix encouraged her to make during Maya's disappearance because facts. - Tid Bit: I was sad to cover up Will Powers' signature I really liked how it came out

Moving away from the mood board idea, I like that the cork board just became Phoenix's catch all. So his Law Degree which isn't the original it's just a sad printed-out version of what should've been his fancy embossed one. I like the idea that Phoenix never went to graduation. (Can't be bothered he's on a mission to save his childhood bff.)

Lastly are postcards from Edgeworth, his way of making up for all the years he couldn't write back to young Phoenix. - Also, this picture takes place some time after the 3rd game but before the disbarment.

Calendar whiteboard that I forgot to add the last row too so I guess in Japaniforina the months are only 25 days long.

I spent a frustrating amount of time trying to figure out the logistics of this paper trail. It really doesn't need to make sense It just has to make the room messier. - You can imagine Phoenix is looking over phone records or court stenographer's record.

So Edgeworth is a nerd; we all know this. But it annoys me just a tad that his nerd-isum is always just Steel Samurai (like I get it, it's canon), but all geeks have many fandom loves, okay. - So I just love the idea that Phoenix and Edgeworth (who are in a relationship at the time of this pic ) watch Better Call Saul, and they both bought each other a little plushie of the character they joke is them. -Edgeworth bought Saul for Phoenix (because of Saul's heart, not because he does shady practices), And Phoenix bought Kim (because she a really good lawyer who seems cold and is a workaholic who would break the rules for their Saul (used phoenix's badge in the third game )) - They keep each other's plushies in their offices, and if one of them stops by when the other isn't in, they put a sticky note on it. - Which we can see that Phoenix did need reminding because, as you can see, the date is 18th, and no mention of a dinner ;)

7. Now the whole reason I drew this picture was too show off my headcanon that Phoenix has a Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law action figure that you know Gumshoe got him after Edgeworth vs. State happen because of Polly. And we all know that man would be a fan of old Hanabara cartoons. - I've loved this stupid tid-bit of a headcanon that it's been haunting me for years. That's it; that's all I really wanted to say with this piece, and look where it got

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #my art #fanart #shop talk #Thanks For Coming To My Ted Talk

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nerdygirlramblings · 8 hours ago

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someone's in a rut 🤭 and we meet Ren's family (part 1)

a/n: part of this chapter inspired by Broken Beyond Bearing by @lostintransist and by comments from @pyxrin

cw: poorly executed accents, omegaverse biology, heat/rut cycles

Days begin to blur together. A run followed by infiltration and exfil trainings on the moon (what the others called the rubble-strewn field). Or weight training and asset retrieval in the brick, the windowless building in the hangar, before sparring. Grift work, your own term for information retrieval, before the shooting range. Never the same thing two days in a row. On rare occasions, either Soap or Gaz had you along while training recruits. It was the closest thing to working with your old squad.

And each time, just as you find your footing with the advanced field training, Price introduces new elements: time restraints, 'enemy' combatants. You have never felt as lost before, so unsure of your place. The only thing that keeps it from being completely disheartening isn't Gaz's reassurances or Price's praise or Soap's compliments. It's Adam. It's stopping in to requisition a windcheater in your size and hearing how you made it out of the brick faster than Ghost or how Soap struggled for a long time with grift work. It's confirmation from an outside, and thus unbiased, source that your progress is fine. That they won't regret asking for you.

Until Price calls you into his office. All you can think about is how you didn't know about the standardized step size and the trouble it caused on the moon. Or how you went three rounds without finding the needed intel before Price called time. That Soap teasingly pointed out, "Yer thinkin' tae hard," like saying it will make you get out of your own head even though it's all you know how to do. Crowded pubs and loud, dark clubs flash in your memory, each one a failed attempt to manipulate a mark.

You're sure he's going to put you back into the rank and file. Who needs a woman, and an omega at that, who can't master the basic things the task force needs to do. You're terrified and heartbroken before you even get into his office.

The desk seems more imposing than ever, and Price's face, for the first time, is unreadable. Even his scent is locked down, no dying ember smell wafting around. He's smiling, but you've been taking pseudo acting classes from him for more than a fortnight. The smile could easily hide his intentions.

He clears his throat, and you pull your gaze from where you'd been staring at your hands. For the first time since you met the man, Price seems nervous. He reaches up, scratching his beard and running his hand over his scent gland. "Er, we 'ave some leave coming, me an' the others, and I wan'ed ta see if ya'd like to stay here or go home?"

A long moment passes before you respond. "I'm not sure I understand, sir. You take leave tagether, but I'd go home?" The furrow between your brows deepens. Before he can clarify, you ask what's been eating at you. "Is this yer way 'a transferrin' me off the team?" Even you can hear the plea in your voice. Please don't let me go.

"Oh, Ren, no! No. Tha's not what this is," he rushes to say. The blush that creeps up his neck is a surprise. Is he embarrassed?

"'S just, well, we try not to use suppressants unless we're on a mission. Fucks too much wi' the body's natural rhythm, yeah? Throws off anyone on 'em too long." You nod in understanding. If you didn't have such a bad reaction to them - foggy thoughts and slow movements - you'd prefer to be on suppressants all the time. Instead, when your heart hits, you take yourself to medical for a heat-induced isolation. They're horrendous on the system, but it's a short-term problem while you're in the service, though your omega purrs that a pack would remedy that problem.

"So, er, we made the decision years ago to take our leave together when, er, one of the alphas has a rut." He's fully blushing now, and you get it. He's just told you either he or Ghost - he didn't specify, and betas like Gaz and Soap don't have ruts- is going to lose themselves to their base instincts soon.

You're quiet through all these revelations, and he plows ahead, only the faintest hint of ozone in the air to alert you to his distress. "Simon's rut is in another week or so, so we'll take leave from this Wednesday ta the following Friday ta give everyone a cushion on either end for prep and recovery." The room feels warmer, and you know it's because your own internal temperature is spiking, your omega excited about the idea of Simon's knot.

"So, er, ye'll all be gone, sir?" you clarify, forcing your omega to think of other things.

He nods, a hint of smoke in the air. You can smell his distress dissipating, replaced slowly by ease and contentment. "Yes. We 'ave a place on the edge 'a the Lakes. We'll head there and be back after the rut. Adam said yer dad's due with a litter soon?"

The idea that Adam shared that bit of your family with Price puts you on edge until he adds, "Adam suggested ya take leave when we do but go an' see yer family." He rushes to add, "If ya want."

Now it's your turn to be embarrassed. Once again, it's Adam to the rescue. It warms you down to your center that Adam made such a thoughtful recommendation to Price and that Price took it. If you hadn't heard it yourself, you'd think he was takin' the piss.

"Yes, sir," you stammer, lost at what else you could say to this plan. "That would be lovely. I know my family pack will be happy ta have me home."

taglist: @sirbonesly @z-wantstowrite @thriving-n-jiving @cecelia97 @theycallmevalen @boogeysmoth @cryingpages @riley13 @luxylucylou @lucienofthelakes @ilyztwo @chaosundcoffee @lostintransist @thegreyjoyed @honestlymassivetrash @thebumbqueen @maliamaiden

#cod #poly!141 #poly!141 x reader #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #omegaverse #omegaverse 141 #omegaverse tf 141 #a/b/o #a/b/o 141 #a/b/o tf 141 #john price #johnny mactavish #kyle garrick #simon riley #nerdygirl says

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bakawomans · 2 days ago

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And I'm finally here with a lot of translated facts about Helga ( wow, there are 16 facts ) and along with her Dorms Room design ^w^ Please enjoy reading and feel free to ask questions <3

Despite the fact that her age is listed as 18 in the documents, Helga is actually 211 years old. This is due to the influence of her special magic on her. (And she still remains human, with her own quirky traits, which confuses many representatives of magical races.) In the Diasomnia, everyone (except Lilia) completely missed this information; almost all the students, even her classmates, are absolutely unaware of this nuance in her biography.

The Night Raven College sent her an invitation several times, and each time Helga couldn't understand what was going on and why she was receiving an invitation to Night Raven College. Eventually, she reached the stage of "fine, you convinced me, I'll go and laugh at their system's screw-up," and yes, she stayed in college to continue joking about the situation. No one was able to explain to her why this happened.

Helga does not use sarcasm and irony - she speaks in them, and even she is not always able to understand whether she just made a joke or not. Naive freshmen are slightly intimidated by this.

For the reasons mentioned above, Helga wears a uniform with male side of fastenings because, in her opinion, "well, this school thinks I will fit in here, and who am I to argue?". Yes, she finds it amusing, she enjoys it, and she gets a lot of "hee-hee" from the whole situation.

Unlike many, she did not avoid Malleus but consciously thought about meeting him to ask a couple of questions about the complex magic related to her family. A little later, she asked him if she needed to pretend to be afraid of him, as she got the impression that she was not in some local trend.

She hardly feels fear about anything, as she lost all her particularly close people long ago, became enlightened, and life became extremely clear to her (well, it seemed that way to her), and to scare her, one would really have to try hard, and even then, it’s not a fact that it would help.

She does not give up trying to teach Malleus how to use social media. She considers Vil the best head of the dormitories among all the current ones. She is quite good at alchemy and preparing various substances.

On the door of her dorm room in Pomefiore, there is a curse placed by Vil. After her enrollment, Vil himself offered to place a curse on her door. Helga believed there was no great need for this, as she was quite capable of taking care of herself and deterring unwanted guests if necessary; however, she accepted the help with friendliness and gratitude. Later, Vil became one of her few close friends in college, a role he maintained for many years after graduation.

Helga claims that she does not particularly enjoy the company of those of royal blood. When Lilia asked her if Malleus was an exception in this case, Helga replied that she does not perceive Malleus as a "realistic" representative of the ruling dynasty (meaning the absence of tantrums, whims, etc., as she has had close experience). Soon, Lilia changed the subject with a mysterious smirk but asked her to definitely message him in the chat if Helga decided to voice this thought to Malleus.

Helga really dislikes braiding her long hair and especially hates unsolicited advice about how it would suit her better that way. She claims that her dislike for braids began in early childhood. "Have you ever thought about the fact that hair does not possess consciousness and cannot understand how to unravel itself from a braid or a complicated hairstyle into its natural state?" Given that her hair is indestructible, poor Helga has to untangle all those knots by herself every time, as she couldn't even get angry enough to cut a lock or a tangle. Since then, she rarely wears braids or does not use the strands of hair involved in braids when casting her special magic.

Helga collects earrings; however, she does not particularly like earrings with a bunch of small gemstones due to the often used settings in such jewelry that easily catch hair. Considering the traditions of jewelry gifts, giving her something she would like is quite a quest. She will wear almost anything that at least matches her aesthetic taste, but to truly love…

Helga's hair feels warm to the touch due to the energy of the sun from the golden lily. However, at certain intervals, she needs to spend a long time in the sun to "charge her hair with energy" (as the golden lily, even after its rebirth, is still essentially a flower).

Helga's primary emotion most of the time is calm, but it can easily transform into a sarcastic 'I don't care about whatever in the world' meme. It is difficult to get her out of this state, and at some point, people start to catch themselves thinking that they are curious to see other expressions on her face.

In college, Helga joins the equestrian club, and she generally handles horses quite well (she also doesn't understand the concept of a lady's saddle, despite the reasons for its creation and everything else. As soon as the discussion about horse equipment starts, she will definitely comment on how, thank goodness, that ugly contraption has gone out of fashion).

It sounds quite funny, but before enrolling in the Night Raven College, Helga already had her own small job (something like a sole proprietorship), as everyone needs to make a living. To say "by profession" would be too grand, but in fact, Helga is a relatively well-known lace maker in narrow circles, having become a very skilled artisan over the years. Even after entering college, she continued to quietly fulfill orders in her free time, as, unlike the kids with parents, money didn't just fall into her pocket, unfortunately.

In Helga's life, there were three people she could call her mothers to some extent (she learned about the existence of the third one much later). Despite spending a completely different amount of time with each of them, she is grateful to all of them for the help they provided her as she grew up (although in one case, there turned out to be much more bitterness than positive emotions). Her attitude towards them changed throughout her own growth, and eventually, she was able to look at the situation from different angles, having cooled down and accepted everything that happened to her as an unchangeable fact. History does not tolerate the subjunctive mood.

#disney twisted wonderland #oc #twisted oc #art #twst oc #fanart #twisted wonderland #malleus x oc #twisted wonderland malleus #disney twst #pomefiore

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revelboo · 18 hours ago

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Auggah i cannot hold my children. Unless they mass displace, but they too baby to know how to properly do that with precision. Imagine mass displaced shenanigans with sparkling makes them blokee size? Cradling your babies inside your palms. Cupping them and staring at them while fussing and suddenly understanding how your alien partner sees you. Uugshshbs. My fictional babies. They don’t even properly exist and im already so attached and weeping for them. The lost light angst piece doesn’t help either. Twin kitten sparklings from cygate and megs sparkling. Honestly just Megatron in general with a protoform of a sparkling. Its so tiny in his servos and he can see aspects of your features so carefully placed and formed from choosing. The moment he watches as the little one goes online and he falls in love for the second time in his life. Aishhshsjsnsjh. Wheeljack as a sire makes go wild too. Honestly any or ang bot with their little sparkling makes weepy. Im getting baby fever for fictional mega robot aliens on a friday afternoon. Ooakahb. Revel im getting sick.

Does Soundwave’s tiny kitchen help any? At some point, Shockwave just starts hanging around out of morbid curiosity about the mess the other three are in. No one invited him, he’s like a stray they fed one time and now he just lives here

Everything Is Alright Pt 139

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• “Normally sparklings aren’t bigger than their carrier,” Megatron mutters, optics narrowing. But then nothing about this is normal. Aware of why you’re uneasy as he clears his vents with a little huff. Because you’re so fragile, something a sparkling isn’t going to understand and now he’s worrying about it. This shouldn’t even be a problem, but being accidentally mated to a human just keeps throwing him unexpected curves. And it’s not like he has that much experience with sparklings. Doubts Starscream does, either. Soundwave at least knows what he’s doing. “We may need to keep you separated from the sparklings until they’re aware enough to understand and recognize that you’re their carrier. And delicate.”

• Wings flaring when your face crumples, he’s half afraid you’re about to start crying again, but you’re silent. Clearly not liking Megatron’s suggestion. And he’s annoyed that the warlord thinks he even has a right to voice his opinion on you and his sparkling. “There’s always a possibility that the spark won’t develop fully because it’s part human. We might very well end up with a human sized Cybertronian,” he mutters, servos gently pressing you to his chassis alongside his cockpit. Soothing himself with the feel of your heartbeat as he frowns to himself. A tiny Seeker is a helpless, Seeker.

• “Size is irrelevant,” Soundwave growls, knows most Cybertronians tend to dismiss or look down on mini bots and cassettes figuratively and literally, and it’s always bothered him. If the sparkling is cassette sized, he’ll still love it. Watching you look from him to Starscream and back to Megatron, your expression bothers him. Makes him want to take you back from the Seeker. Hide you away again and keep you there. Refuse to share you with them while you’re sparked with his young.

• They’re talking at least without brawling and that’s progress. Resting your cheek against Star, your heart aches. You hadn’t even really wanted kids, never really thought about it, but now that it’s happening, you’re aware that you’re probably not going to have those milestones most parents get. That from the sound of it, Megatron intends to keep you away from your own sparklings for your safety. And you get it because you’re concerned about being hurt accidentally, but you still hate it. “And Shockwave designs the protoform?”

• “He will,” Megatron says, jaw clenching, because that’s one more problem. Sooner or later, they’ll need to request he build a protoform and then there’ll be no keeping the fact that humans can be sparked a secret. Knows he should probably warn at least the Decepticons with humans that it’s possible, but they’ll have to realize you’re sparked. Might start questioning why he’s so involved in your life and wellbeing. Why you matter to him. Because you’re the biggest threat to the Decepticon cause right now. One ridiculously fragile human that can likely be accidentally offlined by your own sparkling, and wiping out most of the Decepticon command as collateral damage in the process. Groaning, he rubs a servo against his helm. Why had he saved you again?

• Flicking out his wings when Soundwave reaches as if to take you away, Starscream rumbles a warning that you’re still his. Even if Soundwave sparked you. Can’t even muster the energy to be annoyed with you for letting the other mech bond and spark you. Knows it was most likely his fault, maybe it’s your way of retaliating for him severing that partial bond and almost costing you your life. Lashing out because he was afraid of losing you. Because he was upset with you for loving Soundwave to begin with when you’re his. And trying to hurt someone else when he’s hurting is something he knows too well. Something he learned under Megatron’s fists, but he doesn’t want to be like him. Doesn’t want to keep sabotaging himself because he’s afraid.

#transformers x reader #starscream x reader #megatron x reader #soundwave x reader #soundwave #starscream #megatron

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the-mind-of-stien · 1 day ago

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How dare you leave this in the tags

Anyway,

Harping on the thought that they were once one whole being, think how hard it is to appear so powerful to either one of their teams.

Nightmare needs total control for his work to be carried out. Dust and horror would have already fled IF he didn't. Killer stays in line, not out of respect or reverence, but because that's his purpose now.

Imagine he flinched if someone rose their hand.

Imagine he genuinely smiles when daydreaming.

Imagine he allows a tear to spill when a storm arrives.

He has just shown weakness. He now is exposed. They now have a chance to use this against him.

But what about dream?

He needs to appear as an angel. He knows the people's plight and he has a plan to fix it. He also needs to appear competent enough to make decisions, organize things, communicate with allies. Without this image, he looses control on the many protected areas.

Imagine he screams at blue.

Imagine he let's a sparky comment go to ink.

Imagine he has no answer.

He has now shown that he is not fit to lead and is not as prepared as he needs to be. People are afraid, afraid of him, afraid of what happens if they follow him.

They look in the mirror and see themselves for who they really are. Dream is naive and proud, nightmare is scared and lost. They see eachother, as the past and the present, in themselves. And they weep, calling out for the other to come save them.

They do not know how to function without eachother. When they were first separated, they were ways on the brink of death. Nightmare had to figure out how to manage a new, broken body. Dream had to learn very quickly how cruel the outside world was (how what the village did to both of them was abuse) and who he could trust. Neither of them knew what they were doing. (They probably went without basic need for so long that they passed out because there was no one to remind them or bring them anything).

Think of the soul problems they'd have and share.

I understand that they aren't technically monsters, but they do have a skeletal shell. They still have souls. So using monster logic, it could be said they have similar problems.

For starters, the crushing loneliness; nightmare has already been broken. His bones are (probably) decaying and HIS magic has been replaced with the corruption. Add the fact that his soul is aching and probably somewhat breaking (legitimately) from the separation, and its a good flavor of angst.

Dream not only saw his brother die, but everyone they knew. Good or bad, he was still a kid witnessing a gruesome mass death. It wouldn't be a stretch to say he probably fears death. (So might NM because of how close he's come nowadays and because he felt himself dying as the corruption took over his body). Dream was also imprisoned in stone. His body is just as achy as NM and probably has some chronic pain from his joints now being overused. He already had the affects of loneliness because he knew the village didn't like him, but he also hated being separated from nightmare. Now having that connection completely severed opens the flood gates. At times, hatred, anxiety, despair, take over Dream and burns his soul. Episodes like this have to be passified with help from blue and ink.

But what if they could feel eachothers problems through a soul bond? They are twins. They'd have that connection.

Everytime dreams soul burns nightmare goes catatonic. Everytime nightmares soul breaks dream looses functionally. It's a cycle of chronic pain and chronic depression.

The cure is just out of reach.

I neeeeddddddd people to draw more parallels with Dream and Nightmare. I think they're more similar than a lot of people (including themselves) think. I want people to specifically highlight their similarities and differences

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chainelunaire · 1 day ago

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Hi, can you write a virgin Dabi headcanon? Or like his reaction to getting his first blowjob by the reader?

(this is kinda heavy and not smutty at all)

dabi's so repulsed by the idea of sex, it's funny (it's very much not).

growing up in a home where he had not witnessed gentle heartwarming love between his parents, then being traumatized by near death experience, which then resulted in a constant body horror in every sense of the word, and Then for years trying to survive on streets while simultaniously keep training hard - yeah, i think he kind of haven't had enough time or energy for anything other than his Great Goal.

(from here i believe it can go two ways, one him being so closed off physically, and the other is for another post, if ever interested)

his mind is set on revenge, his entire soul is dedicated to a great cause, and while this all is true, it is also true that he clearly understands how scary (read, ugly in the eyes of others) he looks. he lives in this new body designed for him specifically not so long, yet he already knows every little disgusting detail about it, and every day he's finding a new one. deep deep inside he is terrified to the core. not only is he experiencing a major body dismorphia issues, but this also comes with a fact that this body was quite literally sewed together, replacing the burnt parts with flesh he doesn't want to ever question where came from. this body fails him every day. he lost his nails not once, but many times. he expericenced almost every infection known to mankind due to constantly open wounds. he frequently steals clothes, because they end up getting stained, in some parts slimy, and he's a clean freak, he kind of needs to be to survive. once he left a small piece of his ear on a pillow in one of lov's hideouts and was freaking out after. because the police could figure out his identity (not quite, he later realised, since they were not really his ears), and because he was really fond of the lost earring. compress later gifted him a new one. you get the picture.

he himself made the decision to cut off anything that will bring him any pleasure in life (sex included). it's a plethora of reasons why he doesn't want any of it, the main being is that of course, he doesn't believe anyone would genuinely want him in that way, and the second one, very vulnerable and naive, is that he realises that that will make everything harder for him. he's living this life on a hell mode already, he doesn't really need any more disappointment. so he build his later life so that it would be easy for him to let go in the end. and believing that someone found him attractive enough to have sex with him without any ulterior motives would make it harder (not that it'd ever happen, of course!). he's smart enough to understand that.

so he, of course, has much more important business going, and so you know - he's not interested. no one would be interested in that. no one in their right mind would want that, because there's nothing to want.

and you would think it'll take forever for him to fall for you, but it's easier than it seems. him still being that depending on what others think of him, still wanting the so long delayed approval and attention, it really won't take much of you for him to like you. he's so sensitive to kindness, especially when it's not towards him personally (that would make him alarmed, if anything) but rather casual small things, it really does something to his hardened heart. make no mistake, him liking you does not equal trusting you, that's a different story for another time. for now, he tries to hide it and he does it really well. so well in fact that for a long time you're quite sure that he wants you dead. he kind of does. but he still likes you.

fast forward to the subject of sex: he tries his best to avoid it at any cost. by that time, being in a relationship and trusting you enough to simply entertain the thought of it, he still thinks it's better if he dies on the spot rather than try. all of his insecurities come alive and well the exact time he thought he got rid of them.

the thing is, he doesn't necessarily want sex in itself, but he surely wants love. he wants to be loved so much and to him you seeing his body and running away in horror is a very real fear. he knows he won't be able to survive this, his mind would be completely broken. he's self-aware enough to understand that even knowing he's not the most sane person in the room. he will be able to live without sex, he was living like that and he was fine, but he won't be able to move on if he'll see the disgust on your face. if you'll find out what he truly is, it will crush him.

he will make it incredibly hard for you. he doesn't want to be a walking emotional rolling coaster, but he can't help it. he's terrified. one day he thinks that it's not a big deal let's go and later in the evening he'd disappear for a week. one moment he kind of wants to catch up and at least learn something on the matter and second later after opening the first link on google he's embarrased, disgusted and wants to set himeslf aflame. in general, he kind of wants to cry the whole time. he's angry at his dad, his mom, psychos that sewed him together, you, who's still by his side being annoyingly patient, but most importantly, he's mad at himself. he's already doing great mental gymnastics in favor of his own life, which he hadn't consider his for more than a decade. turns out, it could be very painful to realise how much you were robbed of, even after claiming for years that you didn't even want it.

needless to say, it'll take more than one shot for you, but eventually he will come around, probably on a random tuesday. tries to be nonchalant about it, but he is so chalant actually. after so much talking about everything he was capable of muster, after so much reassuring and constant showing of love and respect, he could one day wake up and suddenly realise that that fear while not fully gone, but he's at least capable of trying through it. you always knew he would be a sweetheart, him, however? not so sure.

in the end, you are right.

by that time, he's a lot more calm and collected. tells you to be serious and stop giggling, his ears red as a flame when you start laughing full chest - sometimes you are nervous too, he realised later in your relationship, even though he still doesn't understand why, anyone would want you. learnt to accept the fact that complete darkness won't save him in the end, but still asks for a very dim light. he doesn't really care about himself, but he tried to learn more so it would be good for you at least. compensates the lack of experience with observing every reaction he can get out of you (and he has a mental list from all the time before too). he's slow - because he's shy and inexperienced and afraid, - annoyingly so, but he's surprisingly precise and selfless. he would never be rough, especially the first time. needs gentle encouragement, which is perfect - not only he gets to hear your voice more, but his thinly veiled praise kink is enjoying the attention too. cracks some joke about begging the god not to lose his second earring in the middle of it, and you actually laugh so hard he needs to stop because now he's laughing too. the whole time not once has he found in your eyes something he was so afraid of finding. you look at him with nothing but love and adoration, hold his face in your hands, your palms warm and soft and tender, and his chest is tight with pain and with the lightness of it all. at some point he thinks that he really was right, it was easier to just die than to experience it all. he wants to cry, again. he can't really explain why, so he lays in your arms silently, letting you hold him, caress his hair and skin until you fall asleep. it will take all of his willpower not to run away in the middle of the night, he stays because he doesn't want to hurt you like that.

interestingly enough, in the morning without doing anything at all he feels significantly better. he can't help but smile when he enters the kitchen, seeing you preparing the breakfast and brewing hot black coffee. none of you mention the night before, yet you both are smiling at each other when you start to eat.

in this scenario, he'll need quite some time and hard work to only warm up about the idea of a blowjob. he'll forever be disgusted of the body he's currently living in, the best he can hope is to grow neutral about it, which is very real possibility with time. yet, he probably realises he's not ready to take this step now. he's not even sure if he ever will.

#bnha #mha #bnha x reader #dabi x reader #dabi #mha x reader #bnha headcannons #bnha imagines #bnha requests #dabi x you #dabi headcanons #todoroki touya #todoroki touya x reader #dabi angst #bnha oneshots #boku no hero academia #my hero academia

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makimaglazertilldeath · 3 days ago

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Perfect Isn’t Enough

Yandere popular girl x loner reader

Seraphina Laurent is perfect. Everyone knows it.

Top of the class. Flawless beauty. The kind of girl who doesn’t just exist in school—she owns it. People orbit around her, desperate for a glance, a touch, a second of her time. She gives it in careful, calculated doses, just enough to keep them hooked.

But you don’t care.

And that makes you a problem.

You don’t stare when she walks into a room. You don’t scramble to impress her. When she speaks to you—soft, honey-sweet—you barely glance up, answering with as few words as possible.

At first, she thought it was ignorance. Maybe you were too much of a loner, too detached, too apathetic to understand who she was. So she tried again. A passing compliment, a light touch on your arm, a lingering glance. Subtle things, meant to pull you in.

You didn’t bite.

Her friends told her to let it go. "They're just weird. Who cares?"

But Seraphina does care.

Because no one ignores her.

So she watches you. And the more she watches, the worse it gets.

She notices things. How you always sit by the window, head tilted slightly, lost in thought. How you move through the halls like you don’t need anyone. How your eyes—sharp, steady, and utterly unimpressed—sometimes flick to her, like you know.

And then she realizes.

You saw through her.

Not Seraphina Laurent, the perfect, adored girl. But the real her. The cracks beneath the mask. The way her smile tightens when things don’t go her way. The flicker of calculation in her eyes.

You know.

And you don’t care.

That’s just not acceptable.

She starts small. A missing book. A rumor whispered in the right ear. A teacher suddenly docking your grade, unfairly so. Just enough to see if she can make you react.

Nothing.

And that’s when she realizes—this isn’t enough.

You won’t come to her willingly. So she’ll just have to drag you in.

The school is quiet when she finds you alone.

You’re in the library, the dim glow of a desk lamp casting long shadows as you flip through a book. You don’t react when she pulls out the chair across from you, don’t even look up.

This is just pissing her off.

"You’re avoiding me."

You sigh. Close your book. "I don’t think about you enough to avoid you."

A lie.

Her lips curve. "Don’t you?"

Your gaze finally lifts to hers. Tired. Bored. But there’s something else there, too—something that makes her fingers twitch in her lap.

Amusement.

The realization makes her stomach twist.

You think this is funny. HOW DARE YOU—

"You don’t like me," she muses, tilting her head.

"Not particularly."

She hums. "That’s fine. I don’t need you to like me."

That amusement in your eyes deepens. You lean back in your chair, stretching lazily, like this is all some minor inconvenience to you. "Then what do you need, Seraphina?"

Something about the way you say her name makes her shiver.

She leans in slightly, eyes narrowing. "I want your attention."

You blink. Then, to her horror, you laugh.

"God, you really are desperate, huh?"

She stiffens.

You rest your chin on your hand, studying her like she’s the entertainment. "All that popularity, all those people falling over themselves for you, and you’re still this pressed over me?"

"The weird loner, who's always quiet and never interact with anyone? The person who never bother to socialize?"

Her nails dig into her palm. "You don’t understand."

"No, I do," you say, grinning now. "And that’s what’s funny."

She hates this. Hates the way you look at her—not with fear, not with awe, but with pity.

But somehow it made her close and rub her thighs together

But that’s okay.

Because she’ll wipe that smirk off your face soon enough.

She rises from her seat, smoothing down her skirt, forcing a pleasant smile. "You’ll come around."

Your grin widens. "Oh? Is that a threat or a promise?"

Seraphina leans down slightly, just close enough that her voice is a whisper against your skin.

"It’s inevitable."

And then she walks away.

Not because she’s given up.

But because she’s already won.

This is so buns 🙏😔

#yandere x reader #Yandere popular girl #yandere girl #female yandere #wlw #popular girl #yandere oc #oc x reader

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f4llen4st4r · 3 days ago

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I Still Make Coffee For Two — Joel Miller

wc: 2632

Warnings: mentions of death, jacking off, joel is fucking depraved

Synopsis: You kept a bitter secret from him.

He gazed up at the sight above him– you in a pearl-white silky nightgown, your beauty so pure and angelic that it took his breath away. The gown shimmered like moonlight, flowing around you as if it were a gentle breeze, caressing his skin. He watched, entranced, as the fabric seemed to dance with an otherworldly grace, wrapping him in its soft, delicate embrace. It was as if he were floating, suspended in time, lost in the allure of your presence—your heavenly beauty radiating a peace that seemed to transcend the very air he breathed.

The weight of her was familiar, warm. She straddled his waist, fingers dragging through the silvered strands of his hair, her lips quirked in that lazy, teasing smile she always wore when she had him right where she wanted.

"You're staring," she murmured, voice still thick with sleep. The moonlight spilled through the thin curtains, casting her in a soft glow, making her seem unreal, something too perfect to touch. But she was there, wasn’t she? Her fingertips traced the rough edge of his jaw, over the scar above his brow, lingering like she always did, as if memorizing him all over again.

"Can't help it," Joel rumbled, his hands running up her thighs, gripping at her hips. "You’re somethin’ worth starin’ at."

She laughed—God, that laugh—and leaned down, pressing a kiss to his lips, slow and lingering. It was the kind of kiss that spoke of quiet mornings and love buried deep in the bones, something only they could understand.

Then she was gone.

Joel's eyes snapped open to the dim glow of a dying fire, the bed empty beside him, cold. His chest rose and fell too fast, the ghost of her weight still heavy on his body. He pressed a hand over his face, willing himself to breathe, to shake off the cruel trick his mind had played on him.

The house was too quiet without her. The absence of her humming while she made breakfast, the soft patter of her bare feet on the wooden floor—little things that had once made this place feel like home. Now, it was just a hollow shell, every corner haunted by what used to be.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, running a hand down his tired face before pushing himself up. The floor creaked beneath his feet as he made his way to the kitchen, moving through the motions like muscle memory. Water poured into the pot. The stove clicked to life. Coffee grounds filled the air with their familiar scent.

Two cups.

He hesitated, staring at them. One for him, one for her. Just like always.

But she wasn’t here. Not anymore.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose and turned away before his chest could tighten any further. He poured the coffee anyway, leaving the second cup untouched beside his own.

Because some mornings, like today, he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

Because some habits weren’t meant to be broken.

Because he still made coffee for two.

–

Later that evening, as he sat by the fire, he caught sight of the small, leather-bound book resting on the shelf. Her diary. She had given it to him before she passed, pressing it into his hands with a weak smile, whispering that it held pieces of her—pieces she wanted him to have.

Tonight, he couldn’t ignore it. The dream had been too vivid, too cruel, making him ache for something real, something more than just memories slipping through his fingers like sand. He needed to relive her, to find the parts of her he never knew, to hear her voice in the words she had left behind.

With a deep breath, he reached for the book, his fingers trembling as he cracked it open. The scent of her lingered on the pages, the ink slightly smudged in places where she must have pressed too hard. He turned the first page, his breath catching in his throat as he read the first entry—a story of them, of a day he had long forgotten but she had cherished enough to put into words.

May 24th: We sat by the lake today, your arm around me, fingers drawing lazy circles on my back. You thought I didn’t notice, but I did. I always did. You told me about your childhood, about the summers spent fixing cars with your dad. I think that was the moment I realized I loved you—not because of what you said, but because of the way you looked at me, like I was the best damn thing that ever happened to you.

Joel let out a shaky breath, his fingers tightening around the leather binding. He turned the page.

July 17th: You kissed me until I was breathless, until I forgot my own name. I never told you, but that night, I prayed time would stop. That I could stay in that moment forever, wrapped up in you. The way you touched me, slow and reverent, like I was something precious—I never felt safer. And when you whispered my name, when you told me you loved me, I swear my heart nearly stopped.

Joel squeezed his eyes shut, his throat burning. He traced the words with his fingertips, as if touching them might bring her back. A strangled sound escaped his throat, something between a chuckle and a sob. He ran a hand over his face, overwhelmed. This was her—raw, unfiltered, still alive within these pages.

The entries continued, each one a glimpse into the way she saw him, the way she loved him. And then, deeper into the pages, there were things she had never spoken aloud—her desires, her longing for him, the quiet confessions she had been too shy to say in person.

August 22nd: I want you to take your time with me. To kiss every inch of my skin, to whisper things in my ear that only I get to hear. I want to memorize the way your hands feel when they roam over me, the way your breath hitches when I tease you. I want to be yours in every possible way. I hope you know that.

Joel’s breath hitched. His fingers curled around the page as heat crept up his neck. He could almost hear her voice saying those words, almost feel the ghost of her touch on his skin. He swallowed hard, leaning back against the chair as an ache coiled deep in his stomach. He missed her. God, he missed her. The way she felt beneath him, the way she sighed his name in the dark, the way she knew him in ways no one else ever had.

Joel's thoughts spiraled deeper into the memories, each word on the page igniting a fire within him that he thought long extinguished. He closed his eyes, allowing the sensations to wash over him, each recollection intensifying the ache he felt. He could almost taste her skin—sweet, warm, and inviting—and he craved the intimacy they once shared.

Breath shallow, he let his fingers drift from the page to the soft fabric of his jeans. The image of her, completely at his mercy, consumed him. He could picture the way her lips parted as he brushed his thumb against her collarbone, how her eyes fluttered closed in sheer pleasure. The memory of her legs wrapped around his waist and the way her body responded to his every touch pulled him into a yearning frenzy.

Joel's eyes drifted closed for a moment, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as the memories came flooding back. The way You had looked at him, eyes dark and hazy with desire, the soft curve of your lips as you whispered his name. He could still feel the heat of your skin beneath his fingertips, the way your back arched when he touched you just right.

He turned the page, his heart pounding in his chest as he read on, each word a bittersweet reminder of what they had shared. The way you had written about him, about them, was almost too much to bear. He could feel himself growing hard, his jeans feeling tighter by the second as he lost himself in your words.

Joel's hand drifted down to his crotch, palming himself through the denim as he read on, his breath coming faster now. He could picture you so clearly, your naked body splayed out beneath him, your skin flushed and glistening with sweat. The way you had moaned when he had entered you, your nails digging into his back as he had taken you hard and fast, just the way you liked it.

He unzipped his jeans with shaking hands, his cock springing free as he wrapped his fingers around it, stroking himself slowly as he read on. He could feel the heat building in his groin, the pressure mounting with each passing second. He was so close, so fucking close, and he could feel himself losing control.

Joel's hips jerked forward as he fucked into his own hand, his grip tightening around his shaft as he chased his release. He could hear your voice in his head, could feel your body beneath him, and he knew that he was going to come soon. He let out a low groan, his head falling back against the chair as he finally found his release, his hot seed spurting forth and coating his hand and stomach.

For a long moment, Joel sat there, his chest heaving and his skin slick with sweat. He felt a profound sense of loss, a deep ache in his chest that he couldn't quite explain. He missed you, missed you with a ferocity that took his breath away, and he knew that he would never stop missing you, no matter how much time passed.

“I want you, just you,” he could hear you say, and in that moment, he couldn’t help but chase the feeling, losing himself in the daydream, every sensation heightened as he held onto the memory of your love, the taste of longing on his tongue.

In the solitude of his room, desperate and consumed by pleasure, he let himself spiral, surrendering to the echo of her presence, a haunting melody that wrapped around him like a soft, warm embrace. He wasn’t just chasing a release; he was trying to bridge the gap between their souls, to reclaim a fragment of what they had so passionately shared.

For hours, he read, devouring every word, clinging to each syllable like a lifeline. And by the time he reached the last page, tears had slipped silently down his face, tracing lines into his weathered skin.

You were gone. But here, in these pages, in these words—you were still his.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Joel swallowed hard, his heart clenching around every sentence, every emotion you had left behind for him to find. He read on, desperate to hold onto you in the only way he could now.

Because tonight, he needed you more than ever.

Joel sat in the quiet of the room, the weight of time pressing down on him. He had already read the diary countless times, the familiar words of her handwriting etched in his mind. But something had drawn him back to it today. Perhaps it was the need for one more piece of her, one more thread of her voice in his life.

As he flipped through the pages, his eyes landed on one he hadn't seen before. It was wedged between two familiar entries, almost hidden, as though it had been there all along, waiting for him to find it. He frowned, confused. How had he missed this? He reached for it, fingers brushing against the delicate paper, and began to read.

"I knew this was coming. The time was always going to run out, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. He couldn’t see it. Not like this."

His breath caught, the words hitting him like a blow to the chest. She had known. He had thought he’d caught glimpses of it, the quiet sadness in her eyes, the way she sometimes seemed to withdraw, but he had never pushed. Now, reading this, the truth of it hit him in a way he wasn’t ready for.

"I couldn't let him watch me fall apart. I couldn’t let him see the way my body was slowly betraying me. I needed him to remember me, not as I would become, but as I was in those last moments, still holding on to something, to love."

A lump formed in Joel's throat. The quiet strength she had shown, the way she had tried so hard to shield him from the inevitable—it all made sense now. He had thought she was holding it together for him, but it was more than that. She had been hiding it, hiding her fear, her sorrow, her knowledge of what was coming.

"I didn’t want my last memory for him to be one of pain. I wanted him to remember the good things, the laughter, the way we held each other. I wanted him to carry me with him in a way that wouldn’t shatter him when I was gone."

His eyes blurred with unshed tears, but he didn’t wipe them away. He just kept reading, absorbing her words, the final truth she had kept hidden. He had never known, never even suspected how much she had borne alone. And now, after all this time, it felt like she was still protecting him—even from beyond the grave.

"I hope, in the end, he will forgive me for keeping this from him. But it was the only way I could let him go. I needed him to be strong, to remember me in a way that would give him peace when the world turned without me in it."

Joel closed the diary slowly, his hands shaking. The silence in the room felt deafening. He had always known she loved him, but now, in the quiet aftermath of her words, he understood the depth of her sacrifice. She had known her fate, and she had chosen to shield him from it, to keep the burden of her death from crushing him.

Joel's chest tightened as he reread her words, the weight of her sacrifice crashing over him. His hands shook, and before he could stop himself, the tears started to fall. His breath hitched as her name escaped his lips, broken and raw.

“I miss you...”

The words shattered him. He could feel her absence like an open wound, the love they had lost now drowning him.

“I miss you so much...”

His body trembled as the grief consumed him, just as she had known it would. And in that moment, the world felt unbearable.

He cried into the cup, the warmth of the coffee now feeling like nothing more than a distant comfort. The tears kept coming, soaking into the table as he leaned his forehead against the rim, wishing with every part of him that she were still there, that he could reach out and hold her once more. The grief was a flood, relentless and deep, and all he could do was sit there, broken, his sobs filling the empty space where her voice used to be.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal joel miller #pedro pascal #tlou #tlou smut #pedro pascal smut #joel miller masterlist

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dr-flipflops · 6 hours ago

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*Will heading back, when he runs into Kayla a couple meters from his Nico- wait, HIS Nico, ohhhh goooods. Fuck this*

Will*awkwardly*: Hey--- Kayla Kayla*Frowning disapprovingly*: Will Will *small patheticness*: Hi? Kayla *iciness*: Hey. Will *sigh*: yeah, yeah, get on with it. Kayla: *smacks him over the head with a clipboard* Will: Uh- OW Kayla *glaring*: Serves you right, the hell are you doing here??? Will you need to look after yourself too!! Will: BUt Kayla *the queen points up the finger*: Nuh uh William Andrew Solace, nuh uh. I saw you this morning- You got up at the ass-crack of dawn like the rest of us, but instead of chilling out till camp woke up, you got up and started those crazy laps of yours, Will, you're too hard yourself, and I know that you have CRAZY stamina and are tireless but *punctuates each word with a smack of the clipboard*

ALL. YOU. HAVE. EAT-EN. TO-DAY. IS. A. FUCK-ING. BANANA. Will pouts sorely rubbing his head: Hey-! Kayla: No Will. You're literally on your break and looking after Nico di Angelo, and in about 5-8 minutes, you're on roster again. Will, take a damn break you idiot. Will sighs, serious times:sarcastic Kayla, I would love to, course I'd love to have some space alone to myself to let my thoughts consume me about how I lost yet ANOTHER bunch of people close to me. OF COURSE I would LOVE to drag my brain out of constant work and focus to have a moment to think. *laughs, but its a bit demonic and crazed*. I can't Kayla, I can't. Making sure that these people, who rely and trust me to ensure that they DONT FUCKING DIE, is the only thing keeping me from tearing down everything. I need this to consume everything, I NEED this- people NEED ME. All I can do now, is be able to be on the line to look after everyone. So yes Kayla, I will get up every morning to make sure that I can run as fast as I possibly can because every. Second. Counts. Yes, I will skip meals because I do not need them as much as other campers do to make that people eat. To make sure that the daughter of Hebe, Antala over there, has the vitamins she needs to stop her body from falling apart. To make sure that the son of Nike over there, Alex, has a shoulder to cry on, and meals that remind him of his family.

To make sure that Nico feels comfortable to talk to me about his issues despite his obvious feelings of dislike towards me, and that he heals the way he is supposed to, so that he knows that he and everyone else here has someone in their corner, so that he knows he has help. I will spend every minute here and you know it. I will look after patients who need my attention, squeeze out every drop of sleep and energy I have left to make sure that no-one else dies, to prevent more cases like Miles, Jeo, Mike, Phillip, Yash, and so so many more. I will use my breaks to attend to Nico, and you cannot stop me. You know you can't Kayla. Kayla: I understand Will, its like me with my archery, I would do it till my fingers bleed to make sure I would not miss another target, that I would not have another slight fumble result in the death 3. But Will remember- *soft* We need you too.

*Kayla turns away, and Will stands there for a moment, body tensed up, jaw and hand clenched tight, he knows he spilled too much, but he was so, so TIRED, he couldn't bring himself to care much. He forced himself to relax, to turn with a smile on his face. To meet the eyes of Nico who was watching everything without waver and tears. Will whipped around, and walked calmly to Nico as if nothing had happened, a smile, scarily accurate to his genuine one, plastered on*

Hey Neeks, I know I took forever, my apologies, I fear my darling sister was very intent on lecturing me about taking a break *chuckles* but hey, I got the honey! :D

*Flashback to three days in the infirmary, but was the days Nico hates Will and they are not besties*

*Will lays on the infirmary bed, starting blankly at the ceiling above. Damn the thing needs to get repainted. Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed Nico stir in the other bed, blinking slowly at also noticing that Will was awake*

*Will doesn't look at him and asked his question quietly*

I know you don't care if I live or die, you've said so yourself, so why'd you do? Why did you stop me from sucking out the poison?

@nico-sees-dead-people

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hooked-on-elvis · 18 hours ago

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TRIGGER WARNING: GRIEF

I know it's a hard topic, but I needed to share my thoughts. One of my first cousins gave birth... to a stillborn son. I just received the terrible news and my heart is shattered. Now, after talking to her and here in the solitude of my bedroom, I thought about Gladys Presley.

Sometimes you just don't understand people based on what they tell you they've have been through only, until something similar happens to you or to your loved ones. I just wanted to dedicate this moment to appreciate the strong women around this world, such as my cousin, such as Gladys Presley, who experienced this kind of traumatizing experience no mother should ever go through, without losing their faith in life and the kindness in their hearts.

Gladys was a strong woman, and a lovely, warm person too. She lost a son but, thanks God, another one brought unimaginable joy to her days. I understand her and the depth of a mother's love for her children better now because I am feeling incredibly shattered for my cousin losing her baby boy, I can get a better notion of what it may feel like... and it feels like hell. I understand Gladys always lived in fear of losing Elvis for a good damn reason. Sadly, sometimes we just don't get for real how strong some people are.

Linda Thompson shared a post a couple of days ago on her Instagram account where she wrote "... as Elvis and Khalil Gilbran believed, 'The deeper the sorrow carves into the heart, the more joy it can contain.'" That's why Gladys was so careful, sweet and tender to her baby boy Elvis. Not because of some bullshit some people say about 'obsession' or shit like that. She just had so much love inside her... love she needed to give. She loved Elvis for two, and Jesse Garon was never, ever forgotten. She talked about Jesse to Elvis, and Elvis grew up missing deeply a brother he never knew outside the womb. That's the depth of a mother's love. It reverberates through time. It's intoxicating, inspiring... and it never ceases, it never dies.

#elvis presley #elvis history #the presleys #gladys presley #grief #elvis #elvis the king

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34saveme34 · 1 day ago

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anyways about today's episode!

FIRST OF ALL!!! MY FAVOURITE PART!!! THE HORROR ELEMENTS!!!

guys,,,, sobbing. my day was shit and this was exactly the kinda episode I needed

I love shitty found footage horror so much and this was exactly it. they were so stupid and perfect throughout the whole thing. Mario feeling like a genuine threat too, especially with coming through the monitor the ring style, crazy stuff. I love when the crew takes advantage of the amount of edge Mario capable of because he IS dangerous and it's good to be reminded of that. It also shows why you can't have him as a true arc villain, because with enough runtime, he COULD get bored enough to destroy so much it becomes permanent. It's scary and I love that about him.

Also the animation was on point, so was the pacing, I barely ever felt lost, besides the found footage doing it's found footage thing but that didn't stop me from understanding it. And the BEGINNING.......... wonderful WONDERFUL cold open, immediately hooked, really good episode. Characters I think I said were also on point. Though it would be fun if we had episodes like this, as in horror parody episodes that involved other characters. Like a slasher movie parody type deal. Imagine Saiko in that aaaougggghhh it would go HARD I say HAAARD only problematic one to include that in is Melony because it feels like if she can't do anything it's an arc villain amount of scary which ougghghh even though I'd love Melony in a good horror parody episode

now uhmn. the Big thing, which I saw other ppl talk about, it's just not the main aspect of the episode for me

I think the 34 moments felt a liiiiiittle bit more earned because uh. they had denial. I think it's like mandated for them

first of all the catch scene, 3 rolls his eyes then lets go of him

then, when they get inside the fridge

realise they're trapped together and both go "EWWW" which I found funny, I actually had to rewind that part because it went by so fast I barely realised what I was hearing

also when 4 was saying "at least we'll got out knowing we tried our best" I really thought they were gonna do the hugging thing like 4's dying project version of them were doing in the Mario pc virus episode, I think it would've been a funny call back and would've made the picture Mario took of them WAAAY more embarrassing

also I really like ppl saying that 3 is a bad influence on 4 <3 they're so right, considering Mario is one of his besties, he of course would be into morally gray men #mar34

the humour was also on point honestly, very fitting for all the characters, like 3's self awareness jokes which he seemed to gain these days, I'll note that for fanfics, the jokes about how to stop Mario, 4 taking it on himself to bless salt with some bootleg cross which- 3's reaction was crazy, he has NO chill /VERY VERY aff

#smg4 #smg34 #nicc-thinks

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555aturn · 3 days ago

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Whispers of Zaun⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

chapter one

summary- As the apothecary navigates another day in Zaun, tending to customers, reminiscing about lost loved ones, and adopting a stray black cat named Hex, she finds solace in the quiet routines of her shop. But when a bloodied Sevika appears at her doorstep in the dead of night, it marks the beginning of an unexpected entanglement-one that neither of them is prepared for.

warnings- talks about death, injuries, and blood (nothing too graphic i promise my sweets) SLOW BURN

minors do not enter!!!

word count- 2.1k

The shop was always quiet on Thursdays. Only a couple of customers trickle in and maybe one or two women hoping to escape the evil men that remain in their lives. I was putting away my tarot cards when the bell rang at the entrance of my shop, indicating someone had come in. I sigh and walk towards the front, walking through the beaded curtain that separates me from my home and my business.

It was Ran, one of Silco’s henchmen. Ran is actually one of the few people from Silco’s squad I tolerate; they're always very nice and have great manners… unlike the rest of the bunch.

“Ran! Darling, what do I owe the pleasure?” I stood behind the wooden countertop. “Ah well, I wish it was just to chat, but Silco said he wants a few potions.” Ran said while messing with their jagged black hair.

“Hm, of course… duty calls. What does he need?” I asked. Ran handed over a thin brown paper with a lengthy list of things he wanted. I sighed.

“Well honey, would you like some tea while you wait? A new shipment of lavender came in.”

Ran nodded, and I smiled, opening a fresh pack of lavender. As I handed Ran the steaming mug I took the list from my pocket and got to work.

The familiar motions of measuring herbs and bottling mixtures usually kept my mind steady, but today, my thoughts drifted.

Maybe it was the scent of lavender—Vander always said it reminded him of simpler times. Or maybe it was just the weight of Zaun pressing in, the way it always did when things got too quiet.

It has been about a year since Vander died and Silco officially ran the lanes. It was tragic, Vander’s passing, and he gave the people of Zaun hope. I haven’t been to The Last Drop since he died. The memory of him still haunts me; but, I can’t hear his laugh anymore, and I’m starting to forget what color eyes he had. Vander and his kids used come to my shop, and we’d catch up. Vander was older than me by almost ten years, but he helped me get up on my feet when my dad died. My dad was all I had, and Vander reminded me of him.

Powder and Vi once knocked over a whole shelf of edible glitter dust, and it was the best day ever. I closed early, and we spent the day cleaning up. A tear slid down my cheek at the memory. I hear rumors that Vi and Powder are dead or that they fled Zaun together but something always washes over me whenever I think about the two young girls. Like a warm sheet, it cocoons by body almost like Janna wants me to know they are alive. I hope it’s true.

“Alright, so I’ve got everything Silco asked for. I packaged the peppermint, lavender, and chamomile in separate bags, and the blood harrow philtre is this glass bottle. You must be careful with this vial, Ran; it is a venomous liquid, understand?” Ran nodded, and I handed over the items to them.

“That will be 7 valors, please.” Ran handed me the paper notes and waved me goodbye.

I sighed as I sat on my burgundy sofa that’s placed to the left of my wooden counter. All that thinking back on the past made me want to smoke a cigarillo. That is one nasty habit I picked up after Vander’s death. I reached into my skirt pocket for my lighter and then into the drawer of the table adjacent to the sofa.

I took a long drag and leaned back, my right arm finding solace on the back of my sofa while the other was occupied with holding my cigarillo. I have grown to love the bitter taste of the tobacco that lingers in the back of my throat for the rest of the day.

Three more customers in need of my services came by the shop, now it’s closing time.

It is unfortunate with Silco roaming around and him having me in his clutches, but, with me being one of his ‘allies’—that is what he called it. I had some special advantages as well. He set me up with a connection to Piltover so I can get regular shipments for products or ingredients. Last year I got a bathtub. It was definitely one of my selfish requests, but I was chatting with one of my clients from Piltover, and I was amazed when she mentioned she took baths regularly.

I turned the faucet to where the water would be lukewarm. I reached under my sink for the bag of rosebuds I keep for occasions like this. I took a handful and sprinkled them into the water, then I undressed.

I slipped into the warm water and let out a sigh of content. The floating rosebuds made the bath water a very light pink color, which made the bath all the more soothing. Having a bath almost makes me forget the struggles I’ve been through and how the city I live in could be destroyed at any moment. The many scars that litter my body bring me back to the brutal reality.

Even after a nice long bath, my mind refuses to settle.

Sleep can’t seem to want me tonight. I begrudgingly slip out of bed to sit outside on the curb to smoke another cigarillo. I sat there zoning out for a long ten minutes, as I was about to stomp it out; something soft brushed against my leg. I froze up and looked down. It was a black cat; the feline couldn’t be more than a year old.

“Well, hello, sweet baby, what are you doing out so late? It’s not safe.” I cooed at the creature as if it could understand the words I am saying. “You should come inside.” We fell asleep cuddled up to each other.

Two weeks have gone by since I have officially or unofficially adopted the cat from the curb. I found out the feline is a female. So I named her Hex. Hex likes to terrorize and hiss at almost every customer that walks through the door. Since she is so little, no one seems to mind.

Hex has settled into my shop as if she's always belonged here, weaving between shelves and perching on the counter like she owns the place. She's become my little shadow, a comforting presence in the quiet moments. But quiet never lasts long in Zaun.

Last week, two of Silco's men came by, demanding twice the usual order.

Something must not be going his way at headquarters. The thought almost made me smile—nothing pleases me more than a powerful man being knocked down a peg.

The day has only just started. The morning has always been my favorite. The undercity is never truly silent, but the early hours are as close as it gets—just the distant clatter of pipes, the hum of chem-lights, and the rhythmic drip of condensation from overhead metal beams.

I go grab a candle to light at the entrance of the shop, a habit from old Zaun, a quiet offering to the wind. Then I got to work.

Dried herbs rustle as I sort them into neat bundles. Glass bottles clink as I arranged them on shelves. The air fills with the scent of lavender, dried citrus, and something earthier: Zaun-born remedies, meant to soothe the people the chem-barons would rather forget.

Hex watches from her perch, tail flicking in lazy approval. I giggled at the feline. “All chipper because no one has come yet, hm? Did you scare away all my customers?” I jest with the cat. I must have spoken too soon because my bell jingled. One of my regulars, Seraphine, a bubbly young woman who comes in at least once every other week.

“Seraphine! My dear, welcome back.” I walked out from behind the counter to hug her. “Hi! Sorry I didn’t come by later. I have plans…a date, actually, which is why I’m here.” Seraphine said to me with a pearly white smile.

“A date? Oh my goodness, darling, that’s marvelous; good men are hard to come by here.” I smirked at her knowingly. Gosh, I have had my fair share of horrible men. Thank Janna; I like women too.

“Yeah, I know; he’s from Piltover.” Seraphine squealed at the top of her lungs. Hex hissed at her. I was shocked, my eyes wide. “Wow, honey, that’s something…So what do you need from me for this date?” I walked back behind the counter. “Well, miss, I was hoping you had some sort of pheromone perfume or something. I want this man to be obsessed and head over heels for me.” She said with another big smile.

“Well, hun, I have just the thing.” I said with a wink as I disappeared into the back. “Use it wisely, dear; remember, a little goes a long way. I handed her a red elixir in a heart-shaped glass vial. “Don’t put it on yet; wait at least five minutes before you see him.” I said with a warm smile.

“Thank you so much!” Seraphine jumped up and down and gave me a hug. “Of course, dear, it’s on the house, you'll pay me with the whole story next week. I want all the details!” I say as she practically runs out the door, her bubblegum pink hair bouncing as she goes.

Today had been good, so I rewarded myself with another lavender bath. Once I got to bed Hex jumped up, she curled up beside me, her tiny body warm against mine, and we drifted off together.

Until there was a heavy knock at my front door.

I threw a robe over my body, since I was only in a pair of panties, and walked to my door. I looked through the peephole; shockingly enough, it was Sevika. Silco’s right hand. I reluctantly opened the door. She was bleeding.

“What do you need?” I said, moving out of the way to let her through. Gosh, she was so tall.

“Hmpf, well, I am obviously bleeding.” Sevika said in a gruff, matter-of-fact tone.

“No shit, you’re ruining my clean floors.” I muttered to myself as I gathered the proper materials to bandage her wound and some remedies to help with the pain.

Shimmer was always a last resort for me. I hated the thought of using it. Silco had me keep it for him at the shop. His men frequently took it.

Sevika has sat herself on one of my chairs and thrown her red cloak onto the floor, coincidentally soaking up her puddle of blood. Was she trying to be helpful? I shook my head and kneeled beside her. The wound was, in fact, more than that. There was a huge gash on her flesh arm. Very deep from the looks of it.

“What caused this?” I asked as I started pouring rubbing alcohol into the gash. She didn't answer my question, just clenched her jaw and stared at the floor. Whatever had happened, it wasn't just another job gone wrong.

“Fuck—” Sevika cursed as I tightened her bandage. “Alright, you’re all, uh, patched up; you can sleep on the sofa; it pulls out—” “I’m not staying.” Sevika cut me off. “But you’re in no condition to go anywhere else just for the night.” I insisted, and Sevika rolled her eyes but made her way over to my sofa on the left side of the store. “Here, let me help.” I said as I pulled out the second half so she could properly lay down. “Would you like some tea?” I asked her and yawned. “I don't wanna take any of your potions.” Sevika scoffed. “It’s not a potion, just chamomile tea to help you sleep and help with the aches. I can give you hibiscus in the mornin for the swelling.” As I finished my sentence, Sevika was already snoring. Guess she didn’t need it. The only other sounds that could be heard was Sevika’s prosthetic arm making soft whirring sounds and Hex purring at my feet.

I unfolded the fuzzy blanket I had on the sofa and laid it over her. I just realized I never really interacted with Sevika much before this; yeah, she was Silco’s right hand, but she has only come to the shop twice and didn’t say a word to me. Until tonight, I wondered why she came to the shop and not to Silco directly.

#sevika smut #arcane #sevika #sevika x reader #lesbian #wlw #witches #witchy!reader #arcane zaun #wlw post #potions #silco #arcane silco #ran arcane #hex cat #sevika x y/n #sevika x you

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lightsoutmatthews · 1 day ago

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"I´m just so tired." - Joseph Woll

summary: student teaching is draining all the energy from you, luckily your boyfriend is there to support you every step of the way.

Pairing: Joseph Woll x female!reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: none, mostly fluff maybe a little angst

authors notes:

this was inspired by my own student teacher placement a few months ago, luckily I had a much better experience than the reader

--------------------------------------------------

You leaned your head against the cool material of the front door as soon as you stepped foot into the apartment. The quiet that loomed over the place a strong contrast to the chaos and loud noise you had experienced at school the entire day.

You knew your boyfriend was still at the rink, getting some work done with the trainers after lunch with some of his teammates. At the moment you were thankful for it. Speaking being the last thing you wanted to do right now.

It was the second to last week of your placement as a student teacher in a middle school a few blocks from where you lived, and you were exhausted. You knew it would be a stressful time, especially, since this was the first time you would stand in front of a class after being in university for years but the responsibilities your mentor teacher put on you aside from basically running her class the last two weeks were piling up and becoming too much.

You were looking forward to spring break in a few weeks, you and Joseph having booked a quick getaway to a sunny island during the NHLs four nations break, you just had to get trough the next weeks. Keeping your head up, accepting everything that would be thrown at you from the school administration, university and your mentor teacher.

Thinking about how she asked you to plan an outdoor day for the seventh grade in the middle of winter a freezing city like Toronto made your head hurt. “Just to get the students active, you know.” She said, an almost evil grin on her face. “It will be a fun goodbye for them.” She added, smirking even more.

Where you would find an outdoor activity where the students wouldn’t complain about freezing 15 minutes in you didn’t know but you had to come up with something over the weekend.

Slowly you put your bag down next to the wardrobe in the hallway and took of your shoes and jacket before letting out a loud sigh. There were some chores you still had to do, things you put off for days because you were so busy planning lessons all day when you were not at school, but you simply could not motivate yourself to do it right now. Just the thought made you want to cry.

Instead, you slumped down on the couch, closing your eyes, trying to keep the tears from spilling. This wasn’t the first time you thought about quitting the whole thing, maybe teaching wasn’t the job you actually wanted to do for the rest of your life. But then you saw the smile on the students faces when you did a fun activity with them, or when you took the time to acknowledge their needs and helped them to understand what you talked about and there was nothing you would rather do in your life than see this for the rest of it.

The tears started to spill over the rims of your eyes when you thought about how you should not rest and rather start to look up activities for next week, but it was like you lost all ability to move. Your head pounded and shivers ran over your arms even though it was fairly warm in the apartment.

The quiet being too much and not enough at the same time. You were longing for the arms of your boyfriend who would rub your back and tell you everything would be alright. Unfortunately, you had no idea when he would be home.

Time passed like it was frozen, minutes felt like hours. The tears kept running down your cheeks, quiet sobs leaving your mouth every now and then.

You didn’t even register when the front door opened, multiple voices filling the living space. With closed eyes you took a deep breath. Dealing with Josephs teammates was the last thing you wanted to do right now, as much as you loved them, but you were ready to put on the face of the perfect hostess, just like always.

“Guys, I´m sorry but you need to leave.” The words barely reached your ears. Confused mumbles from the hallway before a familiar voice quietly said something you could not quite make out. Shortly after the apartment was quiet again, apart from the sounds of your boyfriend hanging up his jacket.

His footsteps heavy on the wooden floor of your apartment. His scent – a mix of his usual body wash and a hint of cinnamon – filling your nose before he was in your line of sight. The worry on his face was unmistakable.

You registered that he was speaking to you, but you ears felt they were filled with cotton balls. Tuning out most of his words.

His soft touch on your arm made you jump, which made him back off immediately. “Sweetheart.” He mumbles; his words finally being registered by your brain. When you didn’t reply he simply sat down on the couch and gave you space.

The both of you sat in silence for a bit, you still silently crying. You knew it was killing him to not pull you into his arms and try to calm you down. His twitching hands being an indication that he was close to breaking and reaching out to you, but he knew you better than to get into your space when you didn’t want it.

When you eventually reached your hand out and interlinked his with yours, he grabbed your arm and pulled you into his chest, wrapping his strong arms around you in a comforting cocoon. His right hand softly brushing over your back, the other one holding you close to his chest. “What happened at school today?” He whispered, his mouth close to your ear.

It took you a few deep breaths to calm yourself down before you managed to speak, your hands were trembling, and your breathing was short from the minutes of crying. “I´m just so tired, Joe.” An even more worried frown mixed with a hint of understanding appeared on his face, while you buried your face in his shoulder, trying not to break out in tears again.

He grabbed your face with both hands and softly made you look at him. When he wiped your tears away and softly started rubbing your cheeks your heart melted at the tender action. “Oh, sweetheart.” He whispered. “Please tell me what happened, how can I make it better?” His fixer personality trait coming through again made you hiccup whimper.

“It´s all too much.” You mumbled. “My mentor teacher is the meanest woman I have ever come across, she has me running her class for the past two weeks while she relaxes in the teachers’ lounge during the lesson. Now she wants me to find an outdoor activity that lasts for multiple hours for next Thursday, in the middle of freaking winter in Canada.” You slammed your hand on the couch, one of the decorative pillows falling to the floor because of the force. “I´m supposed to learn from her, not be her stand in.” You spit before slumping down on the couch again.

“At the same time, I´m so behind on household chores, I haven’t folded laundry in four days, I haven’t taken the trash out or dusted. When I get home in the afternoon, I am too tired. I feel bad for leaving it all hanging, I don’t want to burden you with it during your busy schedule.” He leaned back and looked at you with wide eyes. His hands grabbing yours, to stop them from shaking in the same motion.

“Baby, what do you mean you don’t want to burden me with it?” The offended tone of his voice made your gut wrench. You didn’t want to answer him, but you did it anyways.

“You hockey schedule is so busy, especially now, with you having to play so many games with Anthony out. I don’t want to disrupt your recovery time with stupid tasks like taking the trash out or dusting the shelves.”

He started to rub his neck. You pulled back your hands and started to knead them as you looked anywhere but his direction.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He grabbed your hands again which made you turn back towards him, giving him your full attention. “Tasks around the house are not stupid tasks. And I live here just as much as you do, so asking me to do stuff like cleaning or taking out the trash is not disrupting my recovery. It´s what I should do, it´s what I should do more even. I´m sorry it all fell back on you. Especially, since you´re having such a hard time.”

He pulled you back onto his lap and softly rubbed the back of your neck. “You´re my girlfriend, not my maid. You don’t have to cook and clean for me, especially not when you have more important things to do, and your studies are more important.”

His sweet words made your blush and wanting to cry at the same time. He was too good for this world, too sweet compared to the other relationships you had been in before. This was still so new to you.

He softly tipped your head up and placed a lingering kiss to your lips. “I love you, never forget it.” He whispered against them.

“I love you too.” You whispered back but let out a loud sigh at the same time. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to tell him what was on your mind. Your buried your head in your hands over his shoulder, heavy breaths leaving your mouth as you thought. His hands going back to rubbing softly over your shoulders.

The action was comforting. You wished you would be able to spend the rest of time being comforted by him. He made you feel at ease with everything. Like you were able to conquer the world with him by your side.

“I still need to find this outdoor activity. I haven’t taken my mind off this since leaving school.” Another loud sigh left your mouth.

You heard Joseph rustle. When you looked up from leaning on his shoulder, he had pulled out his phone and was frantically typing on it. For a moment you were taken aback. You had just told him you were struggling with finding an activity and he was texting?

When he looked up and saw your hurt face his changed into a smile with his signature giggle. “I´m listening, and I´m solving your problem. Not texting anyone unimportant, I promise.” He pulled you back against him and placed a kiss to your head before he went back to his phone.

“Does the activity have to be outdoor outdoor, like actually outside? Or is an outdoor sport enough?” You squinted your eyes, confusion written all over your face.

Still, you took a moment to think, your mentor teacher did not specify what kind of outdoor it had to be. “Just get the students active.” Was all your mentor teacher said. So, you guessed an outdoor sport inside would technically work. Even though you had no idea what his plan was.

“I mean, technically that should work. What are you thinking?” He didn’t answer, just smiled and went back typing.

After about five minutes he stopped and looked at you with a confident and happy expression. You raised your eyebrows, curious about what he was about to tell you.

“So, how would you feel about coming out to Ford Performance Center with your students.” Your eyes widened in surprise. “Wait actually?” You yelped. He chuckled and placed his phone on the living room table to give you his full attention again.

“Yes, sweetheart, actually.” He laughed. “I texted some people from the team, asking if we could make it happen, and they said it was no problem. The Marlies are on the road so you can technically be on their ice as long as you want. Their words, not mine.”

You swung your arms around his neck, plastering his face with kisses. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I will write an email to the school immediately so they can get the permission slips set up and sent to the parents over the weekend.”

He wrapped his arms around you tightly and laughed, throwing his head back. “It´s nothing.” He waved it off, but this was everything to you. He not just listened to the problem and your worries, he actively went and solved it.

You scrambled off his lap to get to your desk to get everything ready, but he held you down before you could get up. “One more thing.” He said, a cheeky smile on his face.

“How would your students feel about shooting some pucks at an actual NHL goaltender, and skating with a couple of other Leafs?”

#joseph woll #toronto maple leafs #joseph woll imagine #toronto maple leafs imagine #nhl imagine #joseph woll x reader

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