#Memory Lane Part 2 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

natsaffection · 4 months ago

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Redline. Pt 4 | N.R

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

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), sexual tension, intentional crash

Word count: 10,3k

A/N: Okay…just 2 more chapters to go! Today, we’re focusing more on the dynamics between everyone. Aaand..don’t come at me for the ending!🧎🏻‍♀️

Part 3

The heat from the track still lingered in the air as you walked beside your father, the gravel crunching under your boots with every slow step. Neither of you spoke at first. The pit lane was behind you now, the silence stretching between you, heavy with everything unspoken.

Your hands were shoved deep into your fire suit pockets, your pulse still uneven from the confrontation with Natasha, her words, her touch, her smirk still lingering like a brand on your skin. You glanced at your father, jaw tight. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, his gaze stayed on the track ahead, the smooth asphalt, the sharp curves, the very place that had nearly taken you away from him once. “I wanted to see you race.”

Your chest tightened. “Dad-”

“Your test race was good.”

That stopped you. Your brows furrowed slightly, your steps faltering. Of all the things you expected, that wasn’t it. You turned to him, your voice careful. “You think so?”

His lips pressed together, his expression unreadable, Romanoff-like in his control. Then, after a moment, he nodded. “Very good.” The words should have made you feel proud. But there was something else beneath them. Something heavier. Something hesitant.

Your stomach twisted. “But?” His sigh was slow. Controlled. Measured. “But I still have doubts.”

The honesty stung more than it should have. You swallowed, looking back at the track, your fingers curling inside your pockets. “You don’t think I should be here.” It wasn’t a question. Because you already knew the answer.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his jaw before finally looking at you. “It’s not about what I think, Y/n. It’s about what this does to you.”

Your throat tightened. “I can handle it.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes studying you, seeing through you like he always did. “Can you?” The words hit deeper than you wanted them to. Because even after everything, even after clawing your way back, after surviving the rehab, after proving to the world that you were still here, there was still that one small part of you that wasn’t sure.

You blinked hard, looking away before he could see it. “Mom doesn’t think I can, does she?” His jaw tensed. That was all the confirmation you needed. “She hates it.” The words sat between you, heavy and unmoving. You exhaled sharply, your fingers flexing at your sides. “Of course, she does.”

He sighed. “Y/n-”

“No, I get it.” Your voice came out flat, bitter. “She spent a year watching me relearn how to fucking walk. She spent a year seeing me break down because I couldn’t even lift my own body weight anymore. She was there when the doctors told me that my career was over.” You swallowed hard, the memory of it clawing at the back of your mind. “So yeah. I get it.”

Your father sighed, stopping in his steps. You followed suit, keeping your gaze locked on the track ahead, refusing to let him see the way your hands were shaking. “She was scared.” His voice was softer now, edged with something tired. “She still is.”

“So are you.” He didn’t deny it. That said enough. Another long silence stretched between you, the weight of everything unspoken pressing hard against your ribs. Then, his voice changed. “Romanoff.”

You blinked, turning toward him. “What about her?” His gaze was unreadable again, calculating. “She’s difficult.” You huffed out a humorless laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jacket. “Is she treating you right?” The question made your breath hitch. Not because it was strange. But because it was the first time he had acknowledged Natasha at all.

You looked away, exhaling slowly. “She’s…” You hesitated. Because how the hell were you supposed to explain Natasha? The woman who pushed you to your limits. The woman who made you want to scream and fight and prove her wrong every second you were on the track. The woman who, despite everything, had kept you here. “She’s tough.”

“Tough isn’t the same as fair.”

You clenched your jaw, voice quiet. “She’s fair enough.” Your father hummed slightly, unconvinced. Then, he exhaled, looking at you for a long moment before finally nodding. “Be careful with her.”

Something in your chest tightened. Because he wasn’t talking about racing anymore. You knew that. And so did he. Looking back at the track, at the curve ahead, the stretch of asphalt that had nearly ended you once. Then, you exhaled, forcing the tension in your shoulders to ease. “I will.”

——

The moment the call came, you didn’t hesitate. You were in Natasha’s office within seconds. Not a second early. Not a second late. You weren’t going to give her another reason to tear into you.

The confrontation from the track still burned in your mind, the fire in her eyes, the way she had dragged you out of the car, ripped into you with the kind of rage only Natasha Romanoff could wield. You had pushed back. But she had pushed harder. And now? Now, you weren’t about to give her another excuse to throw you around like a chess piece.

You knocked once and firm, “Come in.” came through the heavy wood. Stepping inside, you braced yourself for another heated lecture, another round of Natasha pushing you to the brink. Instead, you stopped. Your brows furrowed as your eyes landed on the sleek leather couch, where a row of carefully curated outfits lay waiting. Dresses. Suits. Something in between. Sleek. Expensive. And entirely unexpected.

Natasha stood behind her desk, arms crossed, watching you like she was waiting for a reaction. You exhaled, tilting your head. “Are we throwing a fashion show now?”

She didn’t blink. “Try them on.”

It wasn’t a request. Your lips parted slightly, but before you could ask, her expression hardened, not angry, not quite daring, just expecting. So, you swallowed down the million questions burning at the tip of your tongue and moved toward the outfits. You weren’t stupid. You did what you were told.

The first outfit was too stiff. The second? Too formal. The third? Too boring. But the fourth? That one was perfect. Sleek black fabric hugged your form in all the right ways, polished, sharp, clean. It wasn’t a suit. It wasn’t a dress. It was somewhere in between. Powerful. Something that made you feel like you could stand next to anyone and not be overshadowed. You turned toward the mirror, adjusting the sleeves slightly before stepping back into the office.

Natasha was still at her desk, eyes scanning through a document. But the second she looked up, she stood. Green eyes flickered over you, sharp and unreadable, the weight of her gaze making your skin prickle.

“Can I touch you?”

Your breath caught slightly at the way she said it.. low, direct, careful. Your fingers twitched at your side. You nodded once. “Yeah.”

She stepped closer, movements effortless, controlled. One hand lifted, fingers barely grazing the fabric at your shoulder, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle. Then, she tugged the hem slightly, adjusting the fit. Her touch was warm, steady. Not rough like before. Not burning with frustration or anger. Just precise. Her fingers brushed along the edge of your sleeve, lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

You swallowed, voice quieter than intended. “What’s this about?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she turned, walked back to her desk, slipped her pen into place with slow precision, then met your gaze again. “We’re leaving in an hour.”

Your stomach twisted. “Leaving?”

“Family dinner.”

The words settled heavily between you. You blinked, processing, feeling your pulse tick up slightly. The Romanoffs?? Everyone knew them. They weren’t just a wealthy family, they were a dynasty, a legacy built on power, wealth, and absolute control. And now, you were about to walk into their world. Natasha watched your reaction closely, smirk deepening slightly. “You know them.”

It wasn’t a question. You hesitated, keeping your voice careful. “Everyone does.”

Her head tilted slightly, amusement flickering across her face. “Are you a fangirl?”

Your jaw locked. “No.”

Her smirk widened, slow and knowing. “Hesitation says otherwise.” You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to keep steady. “Should I be worried?” Natasha considered that for a moment, then smiled. “That depends.”

You swallowed, hating the way she always made you feel like she had all the cards, like she had been three steps ahead of you since the moment you walked in. She picked up her phone, already moving toward the door, already in control of the next move. Then, just before stepping out, she glanced back at you, something dangerously amused in her eyes.

“Don’t be late.” she murmured. “Wouldn’t want Mommy to think you don’t belong.” Your breath hitched. She saw it and she loved it. Then, she was gone. Leaving you standing there, pulse hammering in your ears, knowing full well that this wasn’t just dinner.

The car ride was tense, but not in the usual way. This wasn’t the quiet before a storm, the steady focus before a race. This was heavier and charged with something deeper, something unspoken.

You sat in the back of one of Natasha’s luxury cars, the engine purring smoothly as it cut through the night. The interior smelled of leather and something distinctly hers. She sat beside you, legs crossed, posture straight, eyes fixed on her phone, the soft glow illuminating her features. She hadn’t spoken much since leaving the city, only issuing short, clipped commands to the driver.

Across from you, Yelena was the only one who seemed completely unbothered. She stretched out in her seat, arms folded behind her head, feet casually propped up against the console like this was just another errand. But it wasn’t. You were on your way to meet the Romanoffs. Not just Natasha. Not just Yelena. The whole dynasty.

Their empire stretched across industries that mattered. Finance. Defense. Technology. Racing. There wasn’t a single major sector that didn’t have a Romanoff signature buried somewhere in its foundation. And Natasha? She wasn’t just part of it. She was born into it.

You exhaled slowly, fingers twitching against your knee. Yelena caught the movement instantly, smirking. “Nervous?”

You met her gaze, forcing a casual shrug. “A little..”

She let out a short laugh. “If you screw up, they might not let you leave.”

Your stomach dipped. Natasha didn’t react, not outwardly. But the corners of her lips twitched slightly, like she was holding back amusement. Yelena grinned, clearly enjoying herself, but before she could respond, Natasha finally spoke. “Enough.”

Yelena rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath, but didn’t push further. The car continued its smooth ascent, winding up the private road leading to the estate. The further you drove, the more surreal it became. The Romanoff property was massive, gated, guarded, the kind of wealth that didn’t just sit pretty but protected itself. Pristine landscaping stretched for miles, leading up to the mansion itself. A fortress of glass and steel, sleek and modern, an architectural masterpiece.

When the car pulled up to the entrance, the doors were already open. Natasha moved first, stepping out smoothly, slipping her phone into her pocket as she approached the woman waiting at the entrance. Melina. Natasha’s mother.

You had seen pictures of her before, but seeing her in person was different. She was graceful, poised, elegant, but there was something colder beneath it. Something sharp. A woman who had built herself into something untouchable. She spoke to Natasha first, her voice low, unreadable. Then, her gaze flickered to you.

For a second, she said nothing. Just studied you. Her eyes swept over you like she was calculating something, measuring. Then, a smile. Melina’s lips curved slightly, gaze sharp but not unkind. “Ah. So you’re the one who’s been giving my daughter so much trouble.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Natasha exhaled quietly, a breath through her nose. Not quite a sigh. Not quite amusement. Before you could scramble for a response, another voice cut in “Ah! There she is!”

You barely had time to react before a broad, shouldered man emerged from the house, grinning widely. Alexei. Natasha and Yelena’s father. You recognized him instantly, not just from pictures, but from history. A legend in his time. Ex-Racer. A force in the business world. A man who had built part of the Romanoff empire with nothing but sheer, stubborn will.

And yet, this was not the intimidating powerhouse you expected. Because the man was smiling. A full, wide, beaming smile. Like he had been waiting all day to meet you. He stepped forward without hesitation, eyes gleaming. “So! You’re the one who thinks she can handle my Natasha!”

Natasha’s exhale was louder this time. Melina took a long sip of her wine. Yelena, standing beside you, was grinning like a damn idiot. You scrambled for words. “I..uh-”

Alexei clapped a massive hand against your shoulder, nearly making you stumble forward. “She is small, but she looks tough! I like her!” You blinked. Natasha muttered something in Russian under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. Melina sighed, already turning toward the dining room. “Come, before Alexei scares her off.”

The dining table was massive, stretching across the length of the room, its polished surface reflecting the warm glow of the chandeliers above. The entire setting felt surreal, like stepping into a world you weren’t meant to belong to, but here you were.

Seated between Natasha and Yelena, you could feel the weight of the Romanoff name pressing in from all sides. Melina sat at the head of the table, poised, watching. Across from you, Alexei cut into his steak with the ease of a man who had nothing to prove.

“So,” Alexei started, taking a massive bite, speaking around it like it was just another casual topic, “the championship race is coming up. You’re up against Walker, yes?”

You swallowed, gripping your fork a little tighter. “Yeah.”

Melina sipped her wine, tilting her head slightly. “Dreykov will be watching closely.” Natasha didn’t even look up. “Let him.”

Yelena smirked, leaning on her elbow. “I heard Walker’s already pissed about the competition.”

Alexei snorted. “Good! He should be worried.” Then, his sharp eyes flicked toward you. “Do you think you can beat him?”

The table went silent. Your pulse ticked up. Everyone was watching you. You met Alexei’s gaze head-on, steady, unwavering. “I know I can.”

Silence stretched, thick and expectant. Then, Alexei grinned. “Good answer.”

Natasha, beside you, didn’t react. But you felt her shift slightly. Like she had just gotten her answer too. Melina set her wine down with quiet precision. “You do realize this race isn’t just about you.”

Your jaw tightened. “I know.” She studied you, expression unreadable. “Do you?”

Alexei leaned forward, voice dropping just slightly. “If you win, Dreykov loses control of the narrative. If you lose? He buries you.”

Natasha didn’t hesitate. “She’s not losing.”

Melina remained still, unreadable. “You’re in a unique position, Y/n. Most drivers only fight for themselves. You? You’re carrying a legacy that isn’t even yours.” Your fingers curled around your napkin. “Then I’ll make it mine.”

Silence. Natasha finally looked at you. Really looked. Like she wasn’t expecting that answer. Like she might have just decided something. Like she saw something shift in you, something she wasn’t sure was there before.

The weight of her gaze settled deep, assessing, considering, then she leaned back, just slightly, the tension in her shoulders easing. And she smirked. Not just amusement. Not just approval. Something more. Something like certainty. Like she was finally seeing what she needed to see.

As the meal continued, you found yourself answering Alexei’s now more benign questions, he asked about your hometown, clearly trying to be friendly. It was awkward, but well-meaning. In return, you posed a timid question or two of your own, asking Melina how long they had owned the estate. Her answer involved a brief, fascinating tale of an old friend from the KGB days. With each exchange, the initial fear in your chest uncoiled a bit more.

Natasha eventually rejoined the conversation, albeit in a mild way. When you complimented the stew, saying it was delicious, she interjected quietly, “It’s Melina’s special recipe. We had it a lot when I was young.”

You glanced over, surprised to hear Natasha offer personal information so easily. Her lips twitched in a faint semblance of a smile, perhaps at a memory. Melina tilted her head, giving Natasha a fond look. “Natasha used to help me chop vegetables for it.” she added.

To your astonishment, Natasha didn’t scowl or roll her eyes. Instead, she let out a small huff that might have been a very reluctant laugh. “Only because you made me.” she protested under her breath, but there was no real heat in it. The tension that had clouded her features had ebbed away, replaced by something almost approachable.

You witnessed this shift with quiet amazement. The dinner that had begun with your stomach in knots was slowly turning into something you never expected: an insight into Natasha’s world, into a family that was far more complex than the intimidating facade they projected.

They aren’t all like Natasha. In fact, Natasha herself wasn’t even always like the stone-cold version of her you had seen out in the field, not here, not with her parents tempering her.

Melina caught your eye once more and gave you a nod paired with that small, reassuring smile. It silently said, you’re doing fine. In that moment, you felt a rush of gratitude and something almost like belonging. You straightened up a bit, no longer curled in on yourself, and even dared to genuinely smile back.

Finally, as plates emptied and the evening air settled coolly around you, the dinner came to a close. Alexei pushed back his chair, satiated and in high spirits from the meal and conversation. Melina began stacking a couple of plates, and you automatically stood. “Oh, let me help with that.” you offered, ever polite, eager to show you weren’t just a burden.

Melina shoed you away gently. “Nonsense, you’re our guest!” she insisted, but her tone was kind. Natasha stood as well, collecting the remaining glasses with efficient movements. “I’ll help.” she said, giving you a brief nod, not quite warm, but not cold either. Something more neutral. Maybe even respectful.

Alexei chortled. “I’ll escort our guest to the sitting room.” He looped an arm (carefully) around your shoulder to guide you out, treating you now like a comrade rather than a suspect.

As you left the dining room, you glanced back over your shoulder. At the end of the table, Natasha and Melina stood quietly stacking dishes, mother and daughter in a rare moment of stillness. Melina leaned in, saying something low to Natasha. You couldn’t hear the words, but you saw Natasha roll her eyes, and then smile. An actual smile. Small, fleeting, but real.

Melina chuckled softly in response, bumping her shoulder affectionately against Natasha’s. The sight stayed with you: Natasha Romanoff, so cold and fierce in the field, standing there allowing herself a moment of lightness with her mother.

You turned forward again as Alexei led you down the hall, a multitude of new impressions swirling in your mind. I was wrong about them, you thought with a mixture of relief and wonder. The Romanoffs aren’t an unbreakable wall of ice; they’re a family, with warmth sparking in unexpected places.

The drive back to Natasha’s track was silent, the weight of the evening pressing down on you like a storm cloud. The Romanoff estate faded into the night behind you, the dark road ahead stretching endlessly. Eight days. Eight days until the first real race, the one that would determine your starting position for the championship. The thought settled uneasily in your chest, coiling like a slow-burning fire.

Yelena hummed along to some song playing softly on the radio, seemingly unbothered by the tension lingering in the air. Natasha sat in the passenger seat, silent as ever, fingers scrolling across her phone, but you knew she wasn’t distracted. She never was. She was thinking, calculating, already planning your next move before you even took your next breath.

The faint glow of the track’s floodlights appeared in the distance, growing brighter as the car pulled into the lot. The closer you got, the heavier your limbs felt. The test race still lingered in your muscles, your body stiff with the memory of every sharp turn, every acceleration, every mistake. The second the car came to a stop, you reached for the door handle, desperate for fresh air, for movement-

“Not so fast.”

Natasha’s voice cut through the night, sharp and unwavering. You froze mid-step, turning to see her already out of the car, arms crossed, gaze locked onto you with that same unrelenting intensity. The air around her was different now. Heavier. You straightened instinctively. “What?”

She stepped closer, closing the space between you. “Training starts tomorrow. Six a.m.”

Your jaw tensed. “Tomorrow?”

Her brow lifted. “Did you think you were getting a break?” Exhaling through your nose, you clenched your fists at your sides. “No.”

A quiet hum. Head tilting slightly, Natasha’s expression remained unreadable. “Good. Because you don’t get one.”

There was something about the way she said it, like a warning and a promise all at once. Eight days until the race. And Natasha wasn’t wasting a single second. She turned on her heel, already walking toward the garage, leaving you standing there, pulse thrumming in your ears. Yelena strolled past, patting your shoulder with a smirk. “You should probably set an alarm.”

Day One: 5:59 a.m.

The alarm had barely registered before a hard knock echoed through your door. “Training started a minute ago.” Natasha’s voice was sharp as a blade. “Move.”

There was no time to think, no time to hesitate. You threw on your gear, barely pulling your shoes on before being dragged into the gym. It wasn’t just a warm-up. It wasn’t just conditioning. It was a full-throttle, no-mercy assault on your body.

Natasha stood in front of you, arms crossed, while one of the team’s personal trainers pushed you through a relentless circuit, strength, endurance, core. Every time you thought you could catch a breath, her voice sliced through the haze.

“Too slow.”

“Your reaction time is pathetic.”

“You think you can keep up with Walker like this?”

By the time you collapsed onto the mat, sweat dripping down your face, Natasha crouched beside you, looking far too composed for someone who had just watched you suffer. “You’ve got seven days left.” she murmured, eyes dark. “If you want to survive, stop acting like a rookie.”

Day Two:

Six a.m., and you were thrown onto the simulator. Split-second decision-making drilled into you until your reflexes burned. By noon, you were out on the track, repeating the same sector over and over. Every mistake? Restart. Every hesitation? Restart. Natasha’s voice cut through the radio like a blade. “You missed the apex.”

“Too aggressive, back off.”

“Again.”

Again.

Your body moved on autopilot, muscles screaming, exhaustion creeping in. When she finally called you back in, you pulled into the pit, stepping out of the car, legs trembling. Natasha barely glanced up from her tablet. “Get some sleep.” Even. Unmoved. “You’ll need it.”

Day Three:

The training room was dim, the only light coming from the massive screen flickering with images of drivers. Dreykov’s team. Rivals. Threats. Natasha stood in front, hands on the table, voice measured. “Know them. Study them. Every habit, every weakness, every mistake they’ve ever made. Learn their tells. If you don’t, they’ll rip you apart.”

She turned, gaze flicking toward you. “You want to be better than Walker?” Her voice dipped lower, deadlier. “Then you don’t just beat him on track. You get inside his head. Make him doubt. Make him hesitate.” You swallowed hard, nodding. Natasha’s lips curled, just barely.

Day Four:

Tires screamed against the asphalt as you pushed through another lap, the track lights blurring into streaks of color. Natasha stood on the pit wall, headset on, arms crossed. Watching. Tracking every movement, every sector time. She saw it now. The shift. The way you moved. The way you didn’t hesitate anymore.

The radio crackled. “Better.”

Not praise. Not exactly. But something. And from Natasha? That was enough.

Day Five:

A miscalculation. A slight overcorrection. One second, you were flying through the straight, next, the car twitched. The back end stepped out. The world tilted. Your breath hitched, flashes of your past crash slammed into your skull. You hesitated. And that was your mistake.

The car skidded onto the run-off area, tires screeching. You caught it, but by then, it was too late. Lap ruined.

“Get back in the pit.”

You swallowed, bringing the car in, already bracing yourself. The second you stepped out, Natasha was there. She wasn’t yelling. That was worse. “You hesitated.”

Your mouth went dry.

“Do that in the race, and you’re done.” Her voice was sharp, but there was something else beneath it. Something almost…dangerous. “Fix it.”

Hours later, your body felt like lead as you walked back to your room, exhaustion sinking into your bones after another brutal day of training. Every drill, every lap, every order had been pushed to the extreme by Natasha, like she was determined to break you. And now? You could barely move. You had one thought in mind, collapse into bed and sleep for the next century. But before you could open the door, her voice cut through the silence.

“Be ready by nine.”

You stopped mid-step, eyes narrowing. Natasha stood at the end of the hall, arms crossed, looking completely unaffected by the relentless day she had put you through. “For what?” you asked, already dreading the answer.

“Photoshoot.”

You blinked. “…You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I joke?”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Please tell me this is just a few shots for the team.” Her lips twitched. That was never a good sign. “FIA. Sponsors. Press. Magazine covers.”

You exhaled sharply, head tilting back. “I can barely stand, Natasha. How do you expect me to pose for a camera?” She stepped forward, stopping just in front of you. Close enough that you could feel her heat. Her eyes flickered over you, assessing, calculating.

“You’ll manage.” And with that, she turned, walking away without another word, leaving you standing there, completely and utterly trapped.

Day six:

The next morning, you found yourself in a massive, high-end studio. Bright lights. White backdrops. Rows of expensive cameras and flashing bulbs. Everything screamed control. And in the middle of it all, Natasha, commanding the entire room. She stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching every single detail.

Every movement, every adjustment, every pose, she dictated all of it. When the crew hesitated, she fixed it. When the angles weren’t perfect, she adjusted them. Her presence was everywhere, in everything. And you hadn’t even stepped in front of the camera yet. This wasn’t just a photoshoot. This was a fucking mission.

Your first set was classic, controlled. You stood against the sleek backdrop in your race suit, arms crossed, chin high. The photographer and Natasha called out instructions.

“Look strong. Confident. Eyes sharp.”

“Fix your posture.”

Natasha’s voice cut through the room like a blade. Your jaw tightened. She was standing just off-camera, her gaze laser-focused on you.

“Shoulders squared.”

You adjusted. “Chin up.” You exhaled slowly, adjusting again. “Now hold it.”

You held it. The cameras flashed, one after another, capturing every angle. You could feel her watching you. Not just monitoring. Not just observing. Watching. Studying.

Next came the full team shots. You stood in the center, surrounded by the entire Romanoff Racing crew, mechanics, engineers, strategists. A wall of power. A force. The Romanoff insignia blazed behind you. The photographer adjusted his lens.

“Closer together. Stronger stance.”

You stepped forward, shoulders squared. The flashes erupted, capturing everything. You could feel the weight of it. The responsibility. The legacy you were now a part of.

Now, it was Natasha's turn and Jesus Christ. She stepped onto the set, a black suit, tailored to absolute perfection. She didn’t pose. Didn’t adjust. She just existed. And the entire room bent to her. The camera didn’t just capture her, it obeyed her. Her stance was effortless, natural, lethal. Her eyes sharp, lips pressed together in a look of absolute control.

And when she leaned against the car, one hand resting on the frame, the other tucked into her pocket, expression unreadable, you had to look away. Because holy shit..

Your fingers twitched at your sides. Your stomach flipped. And suddenly, you weren’t breathing right. You forced yourself to focus on something, anything else. The camera flashes. The set crew. But your eyes kept drifting back.

And then, she turned her head. And caught you. Your breath hitched. For one unbearable second, neither of you moved. She didn’t smirk. Didn’t say anything. Just looked. And then, she moved on. Leaving you standing there, heart pounding.

Then came the part you weren’t prepared for. You. And Natasha. Together. The photographer waved you forward. “Alright, side by side. Look strong, look dominant.”

You took your place beside her. And immediately, something was off. “Closer.” the photographer instructed.

Natasha shifted beside you, her shoulder brushing yours. Your breath caught. Your muscles tensed. The camera clicked. Natasha glanced at you, brow furrowing slightly.

“Break. Ten minutes.” The team scattered. You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to move. Before you could step away, Natasha’s voice stopped you. “What’s wrong?”

You froze. Your back was still to her, but you knew she was watching and waiting. You rolled your shoulders, forcing a casual shrug. “Nothing..” you muttered. “Just exhausted.”

Lie. Natasha wasn’t stupid. She saw right through you. Her eyes flickered over your face, searching, calculating. You knew you were caught. So you wiggled your shoulder slightly, brushing it off.

Natasha’s lips pressed together. She didn’t believe you. But she didn’t push. She just watched and something in her expression..something unreadable, something almost amused, made your stomach twist.

The photographer called you both back onto set, your stomach tightened again. “Alright, last round of shots. This time, we go for dominance!” the photographer instructed, adjusting the lighting. You swallowed hard. Natasha stepped up beside you. Close. Not too close. But close enough. “Cross your arms.” the photographer said.

You did. Natasha did too. Side by side. Like two weapons, locked and loaded. Another click. Another flash. “Now turn toward each other slightly.”

You’re kidding..You hesitated, just for a second. But Natasha didn’t. She shifted, her posture unwavering. Her sharp green eyes locked onto you, steady and unreadable. You mirrored her. Straightened your spine. Tilted your head slightly. The camera flashed again.

“Alright, I want something more intense. Y/n, look straight at the camera. Natasha, glance at her.” Your pulse jumped. But you did it. Held your stance. Held your breath. Just a few more minutes..! You were sweating at this point.

Natasha turned her head slightly, just enough to follow the instruction. The way her gaze landed on you, like she was assessing. Calculating. Waiting for you to break.

The shutter clicked. The camera caught it. And suddenly, you felt it too. This wasn’t just a team photo. This was a power move. A statement. The air between you was too charged. You could see it now. And so could everyone else in the room.

The photographer stepped back. “That’s the one.”The crew murmured in agreement. You exhaled slowly. “Alright.” Natasha said, stepping away first. “That’s enough.”

And just like that, the spell was broken. The crew started packing up, cameras shutting down, the studio buzzing with movement. Natasha, as always, was already ahead of everyone. She stood at the monitors, scrolling through the raw images with the lead photographer.

You were halfway through unzipping your race suit when you heard her voice. “Y/n, come here.”

You hesitated. Took a breath. Then walked over. The screen displayed a row of thumbnails, hundreds of photos from the shoot. The first few were standard. You in your race suit, alone. The team standing beside you. You adjusting your helmet. You leaning against the car.

Then came Natasha’s. The black suit. The sharp gaze. The effortless power. You looked away but when Natasha clicked on the last image. The one with both of you. Your stomach tightened. It was..intimidating. You stood tall, shoulders squared, your expression unreadable. And Natasha? She was beside you, turned slightly, looking at you instead of the camera.

It wasn’t a casual glance. It was calculated. Deliberate. Like she was analyzing every move, every breath, every inch of control you had. It looked… powerful. More than that, it looked like something else. Something dangerous.

You swallowed. Natasha didn’t look at you. She just studied the screen, tapping her fingers against the console. “This one.” she said simply.

Your voice was quieter than you intended. “…Yeah.”Natasha finally turned her head, just slightly. Your eyes met. And for a moment..just a moment, it was too much. Then she smirked. “Good.”

She clicked the screen off. And just like that, it was over. But the image? It stayed with you. Long after the photoshoot ended. Long after the cameras shut down.

And long after you left the studio. The car was quiet. Too quiet. The low hum of the engine was the only sound filling the space, but you barely heard it. Your mind was somewhere else.

Still stuck on the photoshoot. On the way the camera had captured everything, the power, the intensity, the control. On the way Natasha had looked at you in that last shot. It wasn’t just a glance.

You stared out the window, barely blinking, your thoughts spiraling as the scenery blurred past. Natasha was speaking. Something about the schedule for tomorrow, about things you should have been listening to.. But you weren’t. You couldn’t. Your chest still felt too tight, your breath too shallow. “Y/N.” Your name snapped you out of your daze. You blinked, turning your head.

Natasha was watching you. One hand on the steering wheel, the other resting against the gear shift, her gaze sharp even in the dim light of the car. “You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?”

You opened your mouth, closed it and Natasha sighed. “Alright. We’re done for today.”

You frowned slightly. “What?”

“You’re off until tomorrow. Go rest. Clear your head.” You blinked again, trying to process her words. You were so used to the pressure, to the relentless push, to her orders keeping you on edge. But this? This was unexpected.

“Don’t look so surprised.” she muttered. “You earned it.” Her words settled in your chest, but you didn’t know what to do with them. So you just nodded. And for the rest of the ride, you sat in silence, still thinking, still feeling, still stuck in that moment.

Day 7:

Every drill was brutal. Every lap was ruthless. Natasha barely spoke, except to push you harder. Every limit you thought you had? She crushed it. By the time night fell, you thought she was done with you. Thought you could finally sleep. But Natasha found you later.

Fast asleep on the team’s lounge couch, still in your fireproofs, completely knocked out from exhaustion. She had stood there for a moment, watching. Then, without a word, she grabbed a blanket from the other side of the room and tossed it over you before leaving.

Day 8:

Final day. Final test. One last session to prove you were ready. The team stood by the pit wall. The car hummed beneath you, waiting. You took a breath. Natasha’s voice came through the comms.

“Last chance. Show me what you’ve got.”

And then, you drove. Fast, precise and unforgiving. You felt it. The shift. The control. The instinct overriding doubt. And when you pulled in, stepping out, Natasha was waiting. This time, she didn’t criticize. She just gave you one long look.

“You’re ready.”

——

The paddock was electric, alive with tension and expectation. Mechanics moved like clockwork, final checks being done, engineers poring over data, and drivers locked into their pre-race rituals. The weight of the moment pressed heavy on the entire grid.. this wasn’t just another qualifying session. This was the moment that decided who would start at the front. The moment that separated the contenders from the pretenders.

You sat in the cockpit, fireproofs clinging to your skin, harness so tight across your chest it felt like it was crushing your ribs. The scent of burned rubber and fuel lingered in the air, the familiar hum of engines warming up in the background. Your fingers flexed over the wheel, every part of your body wired, ready.

Across the pit wall, Natasha stood with arms crossed, headset secured, her green eyes locked on the track, calculating every possible scenario before the race had even started. She hadn’t spoken much that morning, not because she wasn’t paying attention, but because she was watching. Waiting for the moment to set the tone. Now, as you sat on the grid, the lights glowing red above you, her voice crackled through the radio.

“Listen to me.” Everything else fell away. “Today, you stop thinking like a rookie. Today, you stop waiting for opportunities to come to you. You take them. You fight for them. You rip them from their hands, and when they push back, you push harder. Do you understand me?”

Your breathing slowed. Your grip on the wheel tightened. “Understood.”

“Good. Because no one is going to move aside for you. Least of all Walker. He’ll do whatever it takes to hold that front row. Don’t let him.”

Your jaw locked at the mention of Walker. Natasha’s voice sharpened. “And if he tries anything, you make sure he regrets it.”

There it was. That edge. That lethal promise in her voice. The engineers gave the final signal. Time to go. You pulled onto the track, engine roaring as you weaved left and right, warming the tires, feeling out the car. The formation lap passed in a blur.

Lined up. Heart pounding. The lights above flickered on. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Green.

You launched off the grid, every fiber of your being focused, locked in. The tires gripped, the engine screamed, and the car shot forward. Walker was already moving to cover the inside line, expecting you to challenge immediately. You didn’t. Not yet. The first few corners were chaos, cars battling, elbows out, everyone jostling for position. You stayed aggressive, ruthless, refusing to back down when the space got tight.

P6. P5.

The radio crackled. Natasha’s voice was controlled but firm. “You’re faster. Stop waiting. Move.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. The next car ahead made the mistake of defending too early into Turn Seven. You sold the dummy, flicked the wheel the other way, and sent the car down the inside, clean, fast, brutal.

P4.

Natasha’s voice hummed in your ear. “Good.” P3 came soon after, the overtake executed so smoothly it almost felt effortless. But nothing about this was effortless. Because now, you had Walker in your sights. And he knew it.

Walker had picked up the pace, trying to pull away, but you were there, suffocating him. Every time he took a defensive line, you mirrored his movements, staying just inside his blind spot, making him feel the pressure.

Natasha’s voice cut through, sharp and knowing. “He’s breaking. Give him a reason to make a mistake.”

Turn Nine. Walker braked late, too late. His tires locked for a split second, and that was all you needed. Inside line. Full send. You were alongside him. Natasha’s voice held its breath. Next corner was yours.

You braced..then impact. Walker clipped your rear tire, sending your car into a violent snap-spin. The world tilted. Gravel exploded around you as the car skidded through the runoff, the steering kicking back violently in your hands. Natasha stood up, “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Her heart slammed against her ribcage, blood boiling as she watched your car skidding through the dirt. The pit crew held their breath. The race officials didn’t say a word. The safety car was on standby, waiting to see if you’d move.

Then, your car jerked forward. The engine roared back to life. Natasha froze. Then, sharp—“Y/n, report.” A beat of static. Then, your voice, steady but burning. “Still here.”

She exhaled sharply. “Get back on track. Now.” You were back. But you were P8 now. Too far back. Too much time lost. Your hands gripped the wheel. “I have an idea.”

Silence. Then, slower. “What idea?” You exhaled.

“It’s risky..”

“Everything in this sport is risky. Talk.” Your breathing was sharp, pulse hammering, your grip locked onto the wheel so tight your knuckles ached.

“If I overtake three cars before Turn Ten, I can keep it flat through sector two and make up time. But I need to go off-line in Turn Six.”

The moment you said it, the radio went dead. It was only for a second, but the silence was heavy, suffocating. Natasha wasn’t answering. Not immediately.

You could picture her in the pit wall, headset tight around her head, eyes narrowed at the screens, jaw locked, fingers gripping the radio as she weighed the calculation in her mind. If you missed the move by an inch, if the grip wasn’t there, if the car snapped on you at that speed, race over.

“Don’t fuck it up.”

Lap 15

Turn Six approached like a wall, a barrier you either broke through or crashed into. You didn’t lift. You went wide, off the racing line, into the part of the track where no one dared to find grip. The car trembled beneath you, the tires barely holding, but they held.

The move was insane. The pit wall erupted. The commentators lost their minds. The entire grandstand stood up. You didn’t hear any of it. Because the second you pulled off the move, the radio clicked. Natasha’s voice cracked through, lower now, almost breathless. “…You’re insane.”

A grin pulled at the corner of your lips. “Told you.”

P5. P4. P3.

The radio clicked again. Natasha was fully locked in now. No hesitation. No restraint. She was with you. “Walker is 1.8 seconds ahead. Three laps left. Close it.” And you did.

Final Lap

Walker was right there and desperate. His lines getting messier, his defense more aggressive. He knew you were coming, knew you were faster. But you knew something else..He was afraid.

Natasha’s voice cut through, sharp as a blade. “If he tries to block, don’t lift.”

Turn 12. Walker braked early, too early. He was trying to bait you, to force a mistake. But you weren’t falling for it. You threw the car inside, right on the limit, the tires barely holding, but it was enough. Walker tried to squeeze you off, but it was too late. You were gone.

P1.

The checkered flag waved. The radio was silent. For a long, long moment..nothing. “Now that…” A pause. “Was a fucking statement.”

You leaned your head back against the seat, exhaling hard, body vibrating from the adrenaline, the exhaustion, the everything. You had done it. You had won. And Natasha..Natasha had trusted you. You barely heard her, too overwhelmed by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding against your ribs, the raw rush of adrenaline and exhaustion making your body tremble against the seat. The realization hit all at once.

Pole position.

You had fought for it, clawed your way from the gravel, risked everything, and won. The car slowed on the cool-down lap, but your hands were still shaking, your breathing still uneven. The reality of what just happened was sinking in, and for the first time in a long time, you felt it.

Pride. A slow, satisfied smirk pulled at your lips as you finally spoke into the radio, breathless but grinning. “P1, huh?”

A small pause. Then, Natasha’s voice, quieter now, something different in it. “P1.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, just letting the weight of it settle in. “Ha!!”

Natasha didn’t respond, but you could sense her smirk, even through the static. She let you have this moment. She didn’t cut it down, didn’t make a comment about how it was just qualifying, that the real race was still ahead. No, she let you feel it.

Because you had earned it. Natasha was already pulling off her headset, stepping away from the pit wall as the team erupted into cheers, shouts, and frantic celebrations. She had done her job. Now it was yours. And she wanted to see it. She moved through the chaos, eyes locked on the car rolling in. The mechanics were already lined up, waiting for you.

The moment you stepped out, adrenaline still coursing through your veins, they swarmed. Shouts, cheers, hands grabbing at you, pulling you into crushing embraces. You did it. You laughed, breathless, still high from the race, from the moment, from everything. One of the engineers grabbed your helmet, ruffling your hair before clapping you hard on the back. Someone else was already holding up the pit board. P1.

You looked at it, at the reality of it, and your chest swelled with something powerful. You turned, scanning the pit wall, searching. And then, you saw her.

Natasha stood a few feet away, arms crossed, just watching. She hadn’t rushed into the celebration, hadn’t thrown herself into the crowd of mechanics. No, she was just there, eyes sharp, lips pressed together in something unreadable. For a split second, you thought she was going to walk away.

Then, finally, she nodded. A small movement, barely there. But you saw it. And fuck..it meant everything.

——

The energy of the paddock still buzzed behind you as the car pulled away from the circuit, leaving behind the celebrations, the flashing cameras, and the press that would no doubt be dissecting every second of today’s session.

The atmosphere in the car was… different. Not tense. Not suffocating like usual. Lighter. For once, Natasha wasn’t drilling into you, wasn’t immediately picking apart every turn, every sector time, every moment that could have been improved. She wasn’t reminding you that qualifying was just the beginning, that the real fight was still ahead.

Sitting in the passenger seat, you sank into the leather, exhaustion finally settling in. Your body was still buzzing with adrenaline, muscles sore, heart still beating in the aftershock of what just happened. But this was the first moment you had to actually process it.

You had pole position.

You unlocked your phone, fingers instinctively scrolling through the flood of notifications. News articles. Tweets. Posts.

“Y/N Y/L/N Takes Stunning Pole After Dramatic Comeback.”

“Against All Odds—Romanoff’s New Signing Sends a Warning to the Grid.”

“Walker Struggles Under Pressure as Y/L/N Dominates Qualifying.”

That one made you grin. You scrolled further, seeing clips of your overtakes, of the moment you took pole, of the radio call with Natasha. People were already analyzing it, already picking apart the dynamic between you and her.

“Romanoff’s reaction to Y/L/N’s pole position is so telling.”

One clip showed Natasha standing on the pit wall, her face blank, except for the small, almost imperceptible nod.

The comments were relentless.

“That’s the highest form of Romanoff praise. If you know, you know..”

“She’s pleased. Trust me. She won’t say it, but she is.”

You had spent so long trying to prove you deserved to be back. Fighting against the doubts, the whispers, the endless questioning of whether you were still capable.

And today? Today, you gave them their answer.

You turned your head slightly, glancing at Natasha in the driver’s seat. She hadn’t said a word the entire drive, hadn’t given you that usual look like she was waiting to correct something. She was just driving. Calm. Focused. She caught you looking and raised a brow. “What?”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “You’re being…nice.”

Natasha exhaled through her nose, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she kept her eyes on the road. “Don’t get used to it.”

Your lips twitched. “No?”

“Not a chance.”

You chuckled, shaking your head, the tension that had always sat between you and her finally settling, not disappearing, but shifting into something else. Something you weren’t sure how to name yet.

Then, Natasha’s voice cut through the silence again, lower this time, like a warning. “Enjoy today.” A beat. “Because tomorrow?”

She glanced at you, and for a second, the warmth was gone, replaced by something else entirely. “The real war starts.”

The first race of the season.

You sat in the passenger seat as the team drove toward the circuit, headphones in, music drowning out everything else. The low hum of bass vibrated through your ears, steady, grounding. The world outside blurred past, flashes of the approaching grandstands, the towering banners, the overwhelming storm of people already waiting for the main event.

Your fingers tapped rhythmically against your thigh, muscles tense beneath your race suit. This was the moment you had spent years clawing your way back to. And today, you had one job.

The second you stepped out of the car, the onslaught began. Flashes. Cameras. The swarm of media surged forward, microphones shoved in your direction before you even had the chance to breathe.

“Y/N, a quick word before the race!?”

“How are you handling the pressure of pole position?”

“Walker says you don’t have what it takes to hold first place, any response?”

The voices came all at once, words overlapping, the chaos pressing in around you. Your fingers twitched at your sides, the air tightening-

“That’s enough!” Natasha stepped in front of you in an instant, her presence slamming into the conversation like a force of nature, sharp green eyes locking onto the nearest journalist, unflinching. The words cut through the noise like a whip crack. Then, she turned to you,

“Go. Get ready. I’ll handle them.” You hesitated for only a second before nodding, stepping away and heading toward the paddock entrance, leaving the storm behind.

The garage was alive with controlled chaos, engineers running final checks, the steady hum of the team speaking through headsets, the unmistakable scent of fuel and anticipation thick in the air.

You exhaled slowly, rolling out your shoulders as you made your way toward your race suit stand, where one of the crew members was already waiting with your gloves. “Helmet’s prepped.” another said, handing it to you.

You took it, fingers grazing the visor, feeling the familiar weight settle into your grip. Another mechanic helped with your strap devices, securing it into place while you adjusted your gloves, making sure every strap, every fastening, was locked in. The tension in your chest coiled tighter with every second.

“Radio check.”

You exhaled once, pressing the comms button on your wheel. “Loud and clear.”

Natasha’s voice followed instantly, sharp and precise. “Copy. Comms are stable. Crew, confirm status.”

One by one, the voices of your engineers came through, confirming everything was set. The team was ready. The car was ready. You were ready.

The pit lane outside was roaring with noise, the grandstands full, the grid already lined up with cars rolling into position. And you were about to join them. This was it. The pre-race ceremony had begun, but you barely processed it. The national anthem played, the teams stood by their cars, the broadcast captured the entire starting lineup.

Pole position. Your car, first on the grid. It wasn’t the final step. It wasn’t the win. But it was the beginning of something.

“Y/n.”

You didn’t turn your head, just listened. Then, smooth, like she already knew what the answer would be- “You ready to fight?” You exhaled slowly, letting the tension in your chest morph into fire. “Always.”

The engine roared beneath you, a low, guttural vibration that thrummed through your bones. The grandstands blurred into a sea of colors, the sound of thousands of fans mixing with the distant hum of commentary and static-filled radio chatter.

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened. This was it. This was the real fight. You focused on the lights above you, glowing red, lined up like a countdown to war.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Lights out.

Your tires gripped hard, the acceleration pinning you into the seat as you launched off the line. Walker was already alongside you, his front wing barely inches from your rear tire, trying to force you wide into Turn One.

Not a chance. You braked late, hugging the inside, refusing to give an inch. The car behind you lunged forward, but you held firm, forcing Walker to the outside.

“Good start, Y/n. Hold the inside.”

Natasha’s voice was clear, sharp, cutting through the chaos like a blade. Turn One, clean. Turn Two: Walker tried again, but you covered it, forcing him back. By the time you hit Turn Three, you had defended your position.

P1.

Walker was relentless. He stayed glued to your rear wing, waiting for an opening, a mistake, anything. Your heart pounded, every nerve in your body locked onto every sound, every movement, every vibration of the car beneath you.

The radio crackled. Natasha’s voice, calm, but watchful. “Don’t let him push you. Control the pace. Make him react to you.”

You adjusted, shifting your lines slightly, feeling out the car, forcing Walker to mirror your every move. Turn Eight and he went for it. He dove inside, too deep, too aggressive. You saw it coming before he even committed. A quick switch-back, flicking the car to the outside as he overshot the apex, and just like that- He was behind you again. The pit wall cheered, but Natasha? She only said, “Nice. Now keep your head down.”

Lap 12

The degradation was kicking in. Your tires were screaming through the high-speed corners, the grip beginning to fade, every lap getting harder to hold. The radio crackled. Natasha again. “Box this lap. We’re switching to mediums.”

Your fingers flexed over the wheel. “Copy.”

Coming out of Turn 14, you peeled off the racing line, diving into the pit lane, the speed limiter engaging as you barreled toward the box. The team was already waiting. You rolled in perfectly, stopping on the mark. Four tires. Fresh set. 2.3 seconds. Fast

You slammed the throttle the second you were released, shooting back onto the track, merging just as a car flew past.

P5.

Natasha’s voice was back in your ear. “You’ll regain track position when they stop. Just keep your pace up.”

Lap 18

The car felt lighter, the grip returning, your confidence growing. P3. P2.

Walker was right there again. Natasha’s voice cut through the radio. “He’s losing grip. He’ll defend aggressively. Watch for a late move.”

Turn 11 and walker went defensive. You faked the inside, forcing him to commit, then switched lines instantly, diving outside instead.

Your tires barely held, the car sliding on the edge of control and you were through. P1 again. The radio erupted with team cheers, but Natasha’s voice was the only one you focused on. “Good. Now put some distance between you.”

Lap after lap, you could feel Walker’s presence behind you like a shadow, clinging too close, pushing the limits of what was allowed. You knew him, knew the way he played the game, but this? This was different…

Something about the way he moved, the way he positioned himself right at your rear wing now, sent a flicker of unease through your chest. You gritted your teeth, forcing the feeling down as you powered through another turn, your car gliding over the asphalt like second nature.

Your hands gripped the wheel tighter as you closed in on him, calculating your every move, your breath steady despite the heat in your chest. But Walker? He was too close. Too aggressive, as usual. You could feel him right on your rearview, waiting for a moment to overtake, but you wouldn’t give him that. Not now. Not today.

Then, in a blink, he made his move. You saw him inching forward, his car too close for comfort, and that was when the panic flashed across your mind. Why was he doing this? What was his game? You didn’t have time to think about it long before your tires lost traction, and you could feel the weight of the car shift.

“What the hell is he doing!?” Your voice was sharp through the radio, frustration rising as you saw him get closer, too close for comfort. But there was nothing you could do. Before you could react, before you could even process it, he hit you.

The force was hard. You didn’t even have time to brace. It came from behind you, the rear tires suddenly lifted off the track as your car was jerked sideways. You fought for control, your hands desperately working the wheel to correct it, but the back end of your car was already out of your control. The track seemed to tilt beneath you. The wall loomed ahead, too close, too fast.

Your breath hitched. No, no, no, you thought, your heart racing. “N-NO!” The impact was swift. Your car slammed into the wall with such force that it felt like your body was being thrown against the harness. The crash sent a sharp shockwave through your entire body, and the world went blank.

The sound of your desperate voice on the radio hit Natasha like a punch to the gut. She was already watching, tracking Walker’s every move, every inch of the track. But nothing, nothing could prepare her for the moment she heard you. The raw fear in your voice was unlike anything she had ever heard from you before.

Her body reacted before her mind could process the fear in her chest. She shot to her feet, the chair behind her crashing to the floor as if it didn’t exist. She grabbed the radio, her hands trembling as she slammed the button down.

“Y/n, come in!” She was breathless, her voice tight with panic.

Nothing.

“Y/N! Answer me!” She tried again, but the radio crackled with silence. Her stomach twisted into a tight knot. She saw the monitors flicker, showing the image of your car crashing hard into the wall. The feedback from the telemetry was dead, and all she could hear was the commentators’ panicked voices.

“That was a huge impact! No response from Y/N!”

Her hands clenched around the radio, the sensation of fear crawling up her spine. Her eyes stayed locked on the screen, watching the wreckage unfold in real time, but her heart was somewhere else..in the car with you.

Her team tried to speak, but Natasha didn’t hear them. The only thing she could hear was the pounding of her own pulse in her ears, the sound of your voice echoing in her mind, and the image of you, helpless and not responding. She didn’t think. She didn’t hesitate. The safety car was already on its way, and before she could even consider what she was doing, Natasha was already moving.

Part 5

🏷️ Taglist: @l0nelyish @ayrtonwilbury @ima-gi--na-tion @whatthesnoodle @blackswanxzn @ivyasproperty @seventeen-x @wandanatlov3r @nebthetautora @casquinhaa @veroeuqin

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felixandresims · 1 year ago

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KICHEN 2Point0 Part 2

The 43-piece second half of the KICHEN 2Point0 focuses on appliances and clutter for your kitchens.

Of course, it's also time for another trip down memory lane to revisit the original Kichen & how it links back to this current iteration. All the items apart from the wishboner chair have been completely new ideas and meshes, however we wanted to try and capture some of our favourite elements from the original and reimagine them in our current styles. Way back in 2019 Harrie wasn't experienced in making new meshes from scratch, so many of the clutter items were mesh edits of EA items. For our first few collaborations, we would actually explore all of the EA items that we felt would fit into our theme, but with the Kichen 2Point0, we made all of the clutter items from scratch. It was so important for us to include new essential clutter pieces in this set as even to this day, we will often gravitate towards those original clutter items when building & we still spot them in many of your builds, too!

We have tried to cover all the appliances you need to bring this kitchen to life. Of course, with new EA functional items being added with new pack releases, we were also long overdue for a small appliance refresh that we haven't had in any of our other set releases. Highlights include the functional kettle (requires For Rent EP) and the mixer (requires Home Chef Hustle SP), but of course, we have also included decorative versions for those of you who don't have those packs.

Most of the items are Base Game compatible, except for the Mixer & kettle, as mentioned above, and can be found by searching the B/B catalog using the keyword 2Point0. As the items are designed for both of our current sets, they will also appear when you search using the keywords KLEAN or SOHO.

We can't wait to see what you do with the new items and how you bring them all to life in your game. As always, we would love it if you tagged us in your builds on social media.

Set items include:

High Oven

Low Oven (2 counter height options)

Low Gas Stove (2 counter height options)

Low Induction Stove (2 counter height options)

Induction Hob

Gas Hob

Dishwasher (2 counter height options)

Fridge

Coffee Machine

Kettle (functional & decorative)

Food Mixer (functional & decorative)

Mixer Bowls

Toaster

Pot & Pans

Large Plates

Small Plates

Bowls

Cups

Glasses

Pantry (open)

Pantry (closed)

Double Pantry

Now on Patreon Early Access

This Set is on Early Access and will be available for everyone on the 7th of June.

#ts4cc #ts4 cc mm #ts4 cc finds #ts4cc download #ts4 maxis match #ts4 kitchen #house of harlix #felixandresims #harrie cc

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harrie-cc · 1 year ago

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Kichen 2Point0 - Part 2

The 43 piece second half of the KICHEN 2Point0 focuses on appliances and clutter for your kitchens.

Of course its also time for another trip down memory lane, to revisit the original Kichen & how it links back to this current iteration. All the items apart from the Wishboner chair have been completely new ideas and meshes, however we wanted to try and capture some of our favourite elements from the original and reimagine them in our current styles. Way back in 2019 Harrie wasn't yet experienced in making new meshes from scratch (Fun fact: The dining table included in the original Kichen was her first ever from scratch mesh!), so a lot of the clutter items were mesh edits of EA items. For our first few collaborations we would actually explore all of the EA items that we felt would fit into our theme, but with the Kichen 2Point0 we made all of the clutter items from scratch. It was so important for us to include new essential clutter pieces in this set as even to this day we will often gravitate towards those original clutter items when building & we still spot them in many of your builds too! (edited)

We have tried to cover all of the appliances you would need to bring this kitchen to life. Of course with new EA functional items being added with new pack releases we were also long overdue a small appliance refresh that we haven't had in any of our other set releases. Highlights include the functional kettle (requires For Rent EP) & the mixer (requires Home Chef Hustle SP), but of course we have also included decorative versions for those of you that don't have those packs.

Majority of the items are Base Game compatible with the exception of the Mixer & kettle as mentioned above and can be found by searching the B/B catalogue using the keyword 2Point0. As the items are designed for both of our current sets they will also show up when you search using the keywords KLEAN or SOHO

We really can't wait to see what you do with the new items and how you bring them all to life in your game. As always we would love you to tag us in your builds on social media.

Set items include:

High Oven

Low Oven (2 counter height options)

Low Gas Stove (2 counter height options)

Low Induction Stove (2 counter height options)

Induction Hob

Gas Hob

Dishwasher (2 counter height options)

Fridge

Coffee Machine

Kettle (functional & decorative)

Food Mixer (functional & decorative)

Mixer Bowls

Toaster

Pot & Pans

Large Plates

Small Plates

Bowls

Cups

Glasses

Pantry (open)

Pantry (closed)

Double Pantry

Available Now on Patreon Early Access

Public Release: 7th July

#ts4cc download #ts4ccfinds #ts4mm #felixandresims #felixandre #heyharrie #ts4 maxis match #harriecc #ts4cc

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brownsugarcoffy · 2 months ago

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The Hallelujah Heat (2)

Summary

In a small Mississippi Delta town steeped in scripture, reputation, and whispers, Ise Bakersfield has always walked the righteous path as the preacher’s only daughter. Pressed skirts, quiet Sundays, and eyes that cast down low. However, something or rather someone has come to stir the fire within her.

Stack "Elias" Moore is Magnolia Lane’s smooth-talking neighborhood bad boy. It all starts with lingering glances on her porch and soon becomes a heat that haunts her thoughts. What begins as innocent avoidance quickly turns to dangerous curiosity. Their worlds aren’t meant to touch, but temptation knows no bounds... and Ise is about to find out what happens when desire dares to cross the line.

Characters: Ise Bakersfield (OC) x Stack " Elias" Moore

Warning: Vulgar Language, Sexual content, Mention of M*sturbation, Angst, Slow Burn & More..

Chapters: PART(1), PART(3)

NOT EDITED

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The front door creaked as Ise slipped into the house, the scent of rain-soaked wood and old hymnals greeting her like a memory she hadn’t asked for. Her shoes squelched softly against the floorboards, soaked from the mud path leading home. Her fingers clutched at the edges of the heavy denim shirt draped over her shoulders—Stack’s shirt—the fabric still radiating his body warmth, or maybe it was her imagination, still humming from his touch.

The house was quiet, dim, the only light a soft golden glow seeping down the stairwell from her parents’ bedroom.

Then her mother’s voice rang out sharp and clear, slicing through the hush. “Ise? That you?”

Her whole body went still.

“Yes, ma’am,” she managed, her voice small, barely covering the wild thump of her heart.

Her mother was upstairs, probably in her brother's bedroom her parents. It's where she did most of her sewing now that Leroy was no longer here. Ise could hear the familiar metallic clink of scissors against the desk, the soft brush of fabric being pinned into place.

“You got caught in that rain, didn’t you?” her mother called again, not stepping out. “Make sure you dry yourself off quick, so you don’t get sick. Then bring me the buttons and that fabric you got from the shop.”

“Okay,” Ise answered, forcing her feet to move. Her eyes darted nervously up the stairwell. One more second, and her mother might appear at the top with sharp eyes catching Stack’s shirt before Ise could hide the evidence of where she’d really been.

She fled down the hall, clutching the shirt tighter around her, the soft scent of him clinging to her like smoke.

Once in her room, she closed the door and pressed her back against it, breathing hard. The rain had darkened her curls into spirals, now clinging to her cheeks and neck. Her dress stuck to her skin, cold and damp.

And yet—she was still burning inside.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the denim shirt, bringing it closer to her face. Faint traces of cologne, tobacco, and something earthy rose from the fabric, flooding her senses. It was wrong. All of it was wrong. But she couldn’t help how she shivered, not from the chill, but from the memory.

Dear Lord… that kiss.

His mouth had tasted like honey and heat and defiance. The way he’d cupped her face like he was afraid to break her. The look in his eyes was dark, intense, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered..

Then came the voices.

Two strangers passing by, cutting through the trees near the shack. Their laughter loud, unbothered. Her breath had caught mid-kiss, as she had frozen. She pressed a finger over her mouth gently, silently, like a secret protector. They stood there, unmoving, hearts pounding against each other like drums.

If those men had come any closer…

Her father’s voice echoed in her ears, a phantom carried on guilt and memory.

“The world don’t offer mercy to preacher’s daughters who slip.”

That’s what she’d grown up hearing.

Be obedient. Be pure. Be proper.

Be someone worth marrying.

Be silent.

However, tonight she hadn’t been silent. She’d kissed Stack like her soul had been starving for it.

Tears burned behind her eyes as she peeled off the denim shirt, her hands trembling. She looked around her room frantically. Where could she hide it? The closet? Too risky. The hamper? Not safe. Her mother always checked the laundry.

Under the mattress.

She quickly folded the shirt, careful with the sleeves, and tucked it beneath the edge of her bed, smoothing the fabric down like pressing a secret into the earth. She let the mattress fall with a soft thud and stepped back, breathing hard, watching it like it might still give her away.

But the room was still.

She sank down to the floor, pressing her back to the wall, knees drawn tight to her chest. Her soaked dress clung to her skin like guilt, and the cool air raised goosebumps on her arms. She couldn’t tell if the shivers were from the cold or the chaos inside her.

What am I doing?

She felt like she was splitting into two girls.

The girl her daddy preached about. Who wore her skirts long, her voice soft, her head bowed. The girl meant to find a godly man and host the women’s prayer meetings. The good daughter. The example.

And then there was this girl.

The one who kissed a boy in the rain. The one who let her heart break rules. The one who wanted.

She rested her head on her knees, trying to quiet the storm inside her. Her fingers tingled. Her lips still buzzed. She wanted to forget, and yet she wanted to replay it a thousand times.

And the worst part?

She didn’t regret a damn second of it.

The comforting clink of silverware on ceramic filled the small kitchen, mingling with the scent of stewed okra, black-eyed peas, and cornbread warm from the oven. Ise sat quietly across from her father, who’d just come home from work, his face still tired but alert in the way that meant he had things to say. Her mother moved about the kitchen, wiping down the counter, then finally sitting down to her own plate.

The rain had dried up outside, but the storm still clung to Ise in other ways. She wore a clean cotton dress, her damp curls pulled back into a loose braid. Stack’s shirt was long hidden under her mattress upstairs, but her skin still buzzed with the memory of it on her back, the scent of him lingering in her senses like a warning.

Her father cleared his throat, folding his napkin with the kind of precision that said this ain't small talk.

“I heard from an old friend today,” he began, reaching for his glass of water. “Willie Robinson. Used to preach out in Memphis before his stroke. Said his boy’s lookin’ for work—said he’s been havin’ a rough go of it lately. Can’t find nothing steady, so Willie asked if I could help.”

Her mother glanced up, interested now. “That boy must be grown by now. Last time I saw him, he was no taller than my knee, runnin’ around in johns.”

Her father nodded, swallowing a spoonful of peas before continuing, “Name’s John. He’s about your age, Ise. Maybe a year older.”

Ise looked up at that. Just for a second.

“Anyway,” her father went on, “I told Willie I’d help. The church always needs a hand—roof’s still leakin’, back steps need repairin’, and Lord knows the garden could use another pair of strong arms.”

“That’s good,” her mother said. “Be nice to have another young man helpin’ out.”

Ise felt a shift in the air before her father even said the next part. He leaned slightly forward, speaking in that calm, persuasive tone he used when delivering a sermon.

“I also told him you could help John get settled in,” he said, locking eyes with Ise now. “Show him ‘round the church, help him get familiar with the work. You’re already up there most days anyway.”

There was a pause. The only sound was the soft scrape of Ise’s fork against her plate.

He kept going. “He’ll be stayin’ behind the church. That old shed still standing strong—it’s got space enough. Tomorrow, I’ll move the cot and some blankets out there so he’s comfortable.”

Ise’s stomach churned. She forced her voice to stay steady. “You already said yes to all that?”

“I did,” her father replied, not unkindly. “Willie’s a good man, and his boy needs help. We’re called to do what we can.”

Ise’s hands tightened in her lap. Of course we are. And yet, it stung that he hadn’t asked her first. Like her time wasn’t hers to begin with.

“Yes sir,” she said quietly, eyes on her peas. She didn’t trust herself to say more.

Her mother seemed to sense the shift. “Ise, you’ll be alright. It’s just showin’ someone the ropes. Helpin’ a man find his feet. You’ve always been good at that.”

But it wasn’t about being good at it.

It was about the way her father said "he’s about your age" like that meant something. About the way everyone in the church whispered over potlucks and peach cobbler about who the preacher’s daughter might marry one day. About the fact that this wasn’t the first time he tried to steer her.

Does he think if he picks right, I won’t fall the wrong way?

She glanced up again, her father already moving on, discussing the shed repairs and who could help bring the tools over. Her mother nodded, already mentally organizing what supplies they’d need.

Ise stayed quiet. Her mind was already elsewhere. From Stack kiss, to the denim shirt under her mattress and now John. A stranger who was now a part of her father's plan.

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Three days later..

Three days of focused work, quiet meals, and long hours under the Southern sun. Ise had kept herself busy helping her father clean out the old church shed, sweeping dust off the floorboards, washing the windows with vinegar and newspaper, and laying down clean sheets for the cot they’d placed in the corner. Her daddy was determined to make the space decent for John’s arrival, and Ise... well, Ise welcomed the distraction.

She hadn’t been on the porch in days. Not during the golden hour when Stack was usually leaning on the banister couple houses down, not during the warm breeze of late evenings when the fireflies glowed and the neighborhood porch lights came on. She kept her head down and her hands moving, and part of her thought that was a good thing.

Kissing Stack on that day in that shack, with the storm outside pounding against the roof had been dangerous. Too dangerous.

That kiss lingered like honey on her lips. It wasn't just the thrill or the way his mouth felt against hers; it was the way her body responded, like she'd been waiting on that moment for years. But they had nearly been caught. The voices of those two strangers passing outside had scared her stiff. That fear still hadn’t left her chest. The heat of it, the shame of what could’ve happened, or worse.. who could’ve found out.

She’d promised herself to let it go. He wasn’t good for her. She wasn’t good for him. She had too much to lose.

Today was John's arrival.

The family had gotten dressed early. Her mother wore her best green hat despite the sun, and her father had shaved clean for the first time in two weeks. Ise wore a light cotton dress, pale yellow and modest, her curls tucked under a scarf. She sat quiet in the backseat of the car as they made their way to the station.

When they arrived, the platform was buzzing with passengers and families hugging goodbyes or waiting with flowers. The train hadn’t come yet.

Her father looked at his pocket watch, frowning. “Running late,” he muttered.

“Like always,” her mother added, adjusting her purse. “These trains never on time in the summer.”

Ise nodded quietly, trying not to let her thoughts drift too far, but that when Ise heard it. The sharp, melodic cry of a harmonica farther down the platform. She turned her head slightly.

“Step right up, step right up — this Friday at Lil’ Water’s Juke! Come get your groove on!”

Her stomach dropped. That voice. She knew that voice.

Her eyes darted over her shoulder, and there he was — Stack — standing next to an older man blowing the harmonica like the Devil himself was paying him in whiskey. Stack's voice rang out bold, smooth, magnetic, pulling eyes and ears from every direction.

He was dressed in a dark pinstripe three piece suit. He was wearing that same cocky, crooked grin that made her want to slap him and kiss him in the same breath. And then his eyes found hers.

A slow, devilish grin stretched across his lips like he knew all her secrets.

Ise snapped her head forward, heart pounding like thunder in her chest.

“You okay, baby? You’re sweatin’ somethin’ fierce. Hope you not comin’ down with fever,” her mother said, worry in her voice.

“I’m fine,” Ise answered too quickly, then softened her voice. “It’s just the heat. I—I’m gonna splash some water on my face in the bathroom.”

Her father nodded. “Go ahead. Just don’t be long.The train could pull up any minute.”

Ise nodded and hurried toward the bathroom, refusing to glance in Stack’s direction, but she felt his eyes on her back. She moved quickly, slipping past clusters of waiting passengers and old folks fanning themselves.

Stacks watched her disappear toward the bathroom. He finished his pitch, gave the harmonica player a quick pat on the shoulder, and walked casually, slowly, in the same direction. He was careful not to draw too much attention. He leaned casually against the wall near the ladies bathroom, hands in his pockets.

When Ise stepped out moments later, her skin was cool, but her nerves were still on fire. Before she could make it more than a step or two, a strong arm reached out and gently pulled her to the side behind the old brick column where the shadows swallowed them.

“Boy—!” she hissed.

“You missed me?” Stack whispered, eyes gleaming.

“What’re you doin’?! You crazy?”

“Maybe.” He leaned in close, his breath brushing the shell of her ear. “You been hidin’ these last few days. I thought I did somethin’ wrong.”

“You didn’t,” she said too fast. “I just been busy helpin’ my daddy.”

“You been avoidin’ me.”

Her jaw clenched. “No. I've been busy.”

“You really gon’ act like that kiss didn’t happen?” Stack asked, folding his arms across his chest. His grin was lazy and teasing, like he already knew her answer.

Ise stiffened, hands pressed behind her to the brick, her chest still rising and falling fast. “What kiss?” she said coolly, arching a brow. “You mean that little slip-up in the shack? That was nothin’. Just a moment. Nerves, maybe. Heat of the storm.”

He stepped in slightly, tilting his head. “Funny. Didn’t feel like nothin’ to me. Felt like a whole lotta somethin’.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she crossed her arms to mirror him, though her posture was tight, like she was holding herself in place. “You got a big imagination.”

“ I am your imagination.”

“You're so full of yourself,” she said, trying to push past him, but he blocked her gently, his arm a cage, his presence intoxicating.

“You ever kiss someone and taste somethin’ so good you gotta take a second to catch your breath?” he asked, his voice a whisper now. “That was you.”

Ise’s throat dried. “Stop—someone could see—my parents—”

“I know,” he said softly. “You care what they think. But me? I ain’t never gave a damn ‘bout what folks say. Still…”

He brushed a knuckle along her jaw, sending shivers down her spine.

“…I’m mindful. I know you got somethin’ to lose.”

Her breath hitched.

Then he leaned in closer, his lips nearly brushing hers but not quite.

“You taste so damn good,” he murmured. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout it since the shack. How you melt against me. How your lips trembled on mine.”

“Stop talkin’ like that,” she said, breathless, shaking her head.

“Why?” he teased. “You scared? Or you scared you want me to say it again?”

“Shut up, Stack.”

“Make me.”

Their eyes locked. Heat pulsed between them.

“Are you done?!”

“Nah,” he smirked, inching closer again. “I ain’t done. “Cause now all I've been thinkin’ ‘bout is when I’m gon’ taste you again. Real slow this time.”

Her eyes darted around, panic and heat battling inside her. “My mama’s just feet away,” she hissed. “If she sees us—if she hears—”

“I get that.” He softened just a touch, like a flame dropping low but still burning. “ But don’t act like this don’t got you twisted up.”

He lowered his voice to a whisper, his lips close enough to stir the curls at her temple. “Don’t act like your thighs didn’t tighten around me. Don’t act like you ain’t still feelin’ it every time you blink.”

Her breathing quickened. Her body betrayed her. Not just by remembering the kiss, but by aching for another.

“You ran last time,” he said, low and deep. “But you ain’t gonna run forever. When you ready…”

He leaned down, brushing his lips near the curve of her neck, not touching, just close enough to make her pulse jump.

“…you’ll come to me.”

Then he stepped back. Just like that. Cool as anything. Ise stood frozen, chest heaving, her blood a riot in her veins. She glanced toward the platform. Her mama was already looking around.

“I gotta go.”

“Go on then,” Stack said, that damn grin still playing on his lips. “But you’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout me.”

She turned without another word and rushed back to her parents.

Ise reached her parents just in time for her mother to say, “There you are, baby. You alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ise said, smoothing her dress, trying to breathe normal. “Just needed a minute.”

Her mother gave her a side-eye, but let it go.

A shrill whistle sliced through the humid air. The train.

It rumbled into the station, loud and steady, wheels grinding against iron. Steam hissed from beneath it like a dragon exhaling, the scent of coal and hot metal drifting through the air. Folks gathered their things, children sat up straight, and church fans stopped moving.

Ise watched as the train came to a stop. The conductor stepped down, calling names, calling cities. Businessmen in suits, women in hats and gloves, a soldier in uniform pour out of the door. Then she saw him.

John.

The ride back from the train station was slow and quiet at first. The sun dipped low in the sky, casting an orange tint across the dusty road. Cicadas buzzed from the tall grass, filling the silences between conversation.

Ise sat in the back seat beside John, her hands folded in her lap, her spine stiff against the leather cushion. Her parents were up in the front. Her father drives, while her mother humming faintly to herself.

John shifted beside her, trying not to stare but doing it anyway. He was tall, broad in the shoulders, with skin the color of rich molasses and a face that had both boyish charm and the sharpness of a man who’d seen just enough life to know how to carry himself. His suitcase sat between his boots, and a worn duffel was tucked by his feet.

”Appreciate y’all picking me up. Your father’s been real generous helping me get settled.”

he said, breaking the silence with a light tone,

She gave a short nod, her eyes fixed out the window. “You're welcome.”

He chuckled softly. “Not much of a talker, huh?”

“I talk. Just not when I don’t feel like it.”

That made him smile, but he didn’t push further. “Fair enough.”

They rode on, the gravel popping beneath the tires, the scent of hot earth and summer leaves drifting in through the window cracks. After a few minutes, John tried again.

“Your dad says you’ll be showing me around town, helping me get situated at the church.”

Ise’s lips pressed together. “I guess so.”

He turned slightly, angling his body toward her without leaning too close. “I don’t mean to be a burden. I’ll figure things out pretty quick. I’m good with my hands, and I don’t spook easy.”

“That so?” she said flatly.

He smiled again, this time slower. “That so.”

From the front seat, her father interjected, “John’s roof is gonna need patching and the windows needs fixing. Ise knows the place inside and out, so she’ll show you what’s what.”

John nodded. “Appreciate that, sir.”

Ise’s mother turned slightly in her seat to look back. “You hungry, John? I made supper. We’re eating before Samuel takes you over to the church.”

“Yes, ma’am. I haven’t had a real meal since Memphis.”

Her mother smiled at that. “Well, you gon’ eat good tonight.”

John smiled politely, but his eyes returned to Ise. “You cook too?”

Ise finally turned to look at him, her gaze sharp, unreadable. “I help. When I want to.”

A small pause, and then John gave a low chuckle. “You always this sweet?”

Ise didn’t miss a beat. “Only to people who don’t ask dumb questions.”

That earned a laugh from her father, who slapped the steering wheel lightly. “She get it from her mama.”

John held up both hands, a grin spreading across his face. “Alright then. I’ll tread lightly.”

Ise turned back toward the window, hiding the small, almost unwilling smile that tugged at her lips. He wasn’t like Stack didn’t carry that same wild edge, that reckless spark, but something in John’s calm confidence made her feel like she was being watched with real intention. It unsettled her, but she reminded herself: this was just a favor her father was doing for a friend.

The smell of cornbread, fried chicken, and sweet onions filled the small kitchen, where laughter and clinking silverware echoed off the walls. The table was full—bowls of okra, a platter of hot biscuits, and a pitcher of iced tea sweating through its glass.

John sat with his back straight, shoulders squared as if still riding the train. His “yes, ma’ams” and “thank you, sirs” came easily. He passed dishes, complimented the food, and answered Ise’s father’s questions like he was in church. Ise noticed he didn’t eat like someone trying to impress,he ate like someone who appreciated the meal.

Her father was all smiles. “You know, Ise knows just about every board and nail in that old church,” he said, spooning beans onto his plate. “She’ll be good company while you get to work.”

Ise didn’t look up from her cornbread. “We’ll see.”

John glanced her way with a short smile. “Long as she don’t mind a little dirt and sawdust, we’ll get along fine.”

Her mother chuckled. “Oh, she can get her hands dirty when she wants to.”

“That’s right,” her father added. “She just need the right reason.”

Ise’s fork froze halfway to her mouth. Her eyes slid to her father with a look that said: don’t push me.

He just smiled into his greens.

John caught the strange silence and looked between them, confused but polite. “Well, I’m grateful either way. I came here to work. Whatever else happens, happens.”

Ise finally met his eyes, cool but not unkind. “Good mindset to have.”

John nodded once, unsure if that was a compliment or not.

The conversation moved to stories from her father’s youth, talk of town politics, mention of the church’s roof and a leaking pipe. Ise listened quietly, her mind half-present. Across the table, John fit in easily. Too easily.

Her father wanted her to see what he saw: a good man. Hardworking. Respectful. Solid.

But Ise wasn’t looking for “solid.” She wasn’t looking at all.

The last thing she needed was some tidy man from Memphis with good manners rushing to find a young thang to give his last name too. Ise was not trying to be someone's homemaker doll just yet. There was more she wanted to do and see in this world.

After dinner, her mother packed leftovers and her father gave John details about the shed behind the church. Ise decided to slip out onto the porch.

The night air was thick and fragrant with jasmine. Crickets sang from the grass, and far down the road, the faint hum of blues music drifted in from someone’s open window.

She leaned against the railing, arms folded.

She felt him before she heard him.

John.

He came out with two glasses of iced tea and offered her one.

“Figured you might want something cold,” he said.

She accepted it but didn’t say thank you.

They stood in silence a moment before John spoke again.

“Your folks seem like good people.”

“They are.”

“You’re... not exactly what I expected.”

She raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I dunno. You’re quiet, but you look like you got a lot going on in that head of yours.”

She sipped her tea. “Better than being loud with nothing going on.”

He laughed under his breath. “Fair enough.”

She didn’t return the smile. “Let me be real clear about something, John. My daddy might be hoping for something between us, but I ain’t.”

John blinked, surprised, then recovered. “I hadn’t thought about that, honestly.”

She nodded once, satisfied. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

Then she pushed off the rail and walked back inside, leaving John on the porch, watching the stars, his smile fading into something thoughtful.

Later that night.

The house had settled into its nighttime stillness. Her father’s deep voice and mother’s soft laugh had long been swallowed by the hush of sleeping walls. Ise stood in front of her mirror in the low glow of her bedside lamp, her fingers undoing the small buttons on her blouse, slow and distracted. She had smiled through dinner, offered pleasant conversation, even bowed her head during grace. Her mind… her mind had never made it to the table.

It stayed behind.

At the train station.

With him.

Stack.

Her breath caught in her throat just remembering the way he’d pulled her aside with that bold kind of ease that shouldn’t have made her stomach flutter. The bathroom door had barely clicked shut before his fingers curled around her wrist, dragging her into the narrow space between the freight crates and the wall. The scent of him smells like tobacco, musk, and sugar.

Her legs pressed together instinctively.

He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear with words that haunted her every time she blinked.

“I've been thinkin’ ‘bout is when I’m gon’ taste you again. Real slow this time.”

Ise gripped the edge of her vanity to steady herself as the memory slid through her body like silk over bare skin.

She stepped out of her skirt, let it fall to the floor. Her nightgown waited on the hook behind her door, but she didn’t reach for it yet. Instead, she walked barefoot to her bed, heart fluttering with anticipation, fingers twitching with knowing.

She knelt beside her mattress, lifting it slowly and pulled out the denim overshirt. Her fingers trembled as she brought it to her face, pressing her nose to the collar. God. It still held the heat of him, like the fabric refused to forget his touch. She inhaled deeply, greedy for it, for him. She wrapped it around her shoulders, then slipped beneath the covers.

The weight of the shirt settled over her like a phantom of Stack arms. Her thighs rubbed together under the sheets. Her body ached in that low, pulsing place that made her feel breathless and wanton.

He wasn’t supposed to talk to her like that.

She wasn’t supposed to want it.

But she did.

She wanted the sound of his voice in her ear, rough and slick like molasses. She wanted his fingers skimming the inside of her thighs, wanted to feel the scrape of his stubble against her neck, her chest, her—

Her hand slid slowly down her belly, hesitation curling in her breath, but the desire won.Her fingertips found heat beneath the cotton of her panties. A gasp slipped out.

She closed her eyes and imagined himnstanding over her, shirt undone, tongue wetting his bottom lip, that wicked gleam in his eye that said he knew exactly what she needed.

"Nice and slow. Show me how sweet you can be.."

She moaned softly into the pillow.

Lord help me.

“God, why does he smell so good?” she whispered, voice catching in her throat. “This ain’t right.”

"Bet you moan real pretty when no one’s around, huh?”

“Stop it…” she whispered now to herself, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “Stop thinkin’ ‘bout him.”

But she couldn’t stop.

She wanted to hear him say her name again in that cocky, raspy way. She wanted to feel those callused fingers trace the inside of her thighs.

“Fuck…Stack.” She sucked in a sharp breath. Her fingertips continued to brush where she ached, and her body shivered like a struck match.

“Jesus…”

"Let me show you somethin’ sweet, preacher’s girl."

She whimpered.

She could hear him, feel him, smell him. It was all too much. Her body trembled with want, hips rising slightly, searching for that edge.

“Stack…”

The name slipped from her lips before she could stop it. Soft, breathy, soaked in lust.

Her climax crept in like a slow wave. Then crashed hard, shaking her from the inside out. She cried out against the pillow, muffled and breathless.

Stillness returned slowly, her body sinking deeper into the mattress, muscles soft and warm. She stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling. Shame hovered at the edges of her high, but it didn’t touch her yet. Not while the ghost of his scent clung to her skin.

Beneath the sheets, Ise whispered to the shadows, “God forgive me...”

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Two days later...

John had settled into the small shed behind the church. It wasn’t much. It had bare walls, a cot, a nightstand with a rusted lamp, but he didn’t complain. He unpacked neatly, kept his boots by the door, and rose early with the sunrise. If he missed Memphis, he didn’t show it. He got right to work, hammer in hand, following Ise’s father around like a respectful shadow.

That morning, as the day began to stretch hot and bright, Ise’s father handed her a folded bill and a short list written in pencil.

“Take this into town,” he said. “Need you to pick up some boards and sealant. Ask for Ruben, he’ll know what we need.”

Ise wiped her hands on her skirt and reached for the keys that dangled from a nail on the wall. She was already imagining herself in the driver’s seat of the pickup truck, wind tangling her braids, sun heating her forearms through the open window.

But her father’s voice cut through that dream.

“John’ll be driving.”

Her hand stopped short of the keys. “What?”

“He knows how to drive a stick. And I want him to get familiar with town anyway.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, and forced a smile that barely covered the sharp twist in her gut. “Right.”

John stood near the doorway, wiping his hands with a rag. “Ready when you are.”

She didn’t answer. Just grabbed the list, shoved it in her pocket, and stomped past him out the church door.

By the time they were in the truck and pulling onto the dirt road, she still hadn’t said a word. John glanced over at her, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“You always this quiet, or just when I’m around?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not I wanted to be the one driving.”

He laughed, a deep, easy sound that grated on her nerves more than it should’ve. “Didn’t mean to steal your joy.”

“You didn’t steal anything,” she snapped, arms crossed, staring out the window. “Just had a different plan in mind.”

“I get that,” he said, and for once, there wasn’t a smirk in his voice. “But I’ll make it up to you. Next run, you drive.”

She cut him a side-eye. “You don’t need to make anything up to me. We’re not friends.”

John blinked, not offended, but surprised. “Did I say we were?”

She didn’t answer.

They rode in silence for a stretch, the gravel humming beneath the tires. Fields passed on either side, dotted with wildflowers and leaning fences. The air inside the cab was thick with heat and the scent of dust.

“Can I ask you something?” he said finally.

“If I say no, you gonna ask anyway?”

“Probably.”

She sighed. “Then go on.”

“Why do you seem so... mad about me being here?”

That made her turn her head fully, her expression unreadable. “I’m not mad.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I just don’t like surprises.”

John’s fingers tapped on the steering wheel. “Well, I’m not trying to be one.”

She scoffed lightly and looked back out the window.

“I know your daddy’s hoping I’ll be something I ain’t,” John said after a moment. “Some kind of answer to a question I never asked.”

Her eyes flicked back to him.

“But I ain’t here for that,” he added. “I’m just here to work.”

She studied his profile—his strong jaw, the curve of his brow, the sincerity in his tone. He wasn’t like Stack. There was no mischief, no fire. Just a steady presence.

She wasn’t sure if that was a relief... or lack of interest .

“I appreciate the honesty,” she said.

He smiled again, this time not cocky but warm. “I figure we’ll get along fine. Long as you stop looking at me like I kicked your dog.”

She couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “You didn’t kick anything.”

“Good,” he said. “Let’s keep it that way.”

They pulled into town just as the sun reached its highest point. Ise’s mood had lifted only slightly, but she had to admit he wasn’t trying to trap her in anything. At least not yet.

Still, she couldn’t shake the thought of Stack grin at the train station or the promise in his voice when he said she’d come to him when she was ready.

The sun hung low, casting long amber streaks over the town as Stack flicked his cigarette and leaned against the faded brick wall outside the corner store. The day was slow, full of grit and sweat. The Mississippi heat clung to everybody's skin like a second layer. Cornbread and the rest of the crew were sprawled out nearby, talking trash and slapping down dominoes like they had something to prove. Laughter cracked the air like firecrackers. Music buzzed faintly from someone’s open window. It was an ordinary afternoon, just like any other.

Until it wasn’t.

Cornbread paused mid-laugh, his eyes squinting across the street. “Ain’t that Ise?” he said, pointing with his chin. “Who’s that man she with?”

Stack didn’t react at first. He didn’t have to. Someone else chimed in, “Her old man letting her out with a man now? Must be something in the water.”

That’s when Stack looked up and there she was.

Ise. Stepping out of the pickup truck, her green sundress clinging to her waist in the breeze, her thick hair braided into two. Stacks’s eyes didn’t flicker, didn’t show a thing, but inside, something shifted.

She was standing next to a tall man with clean clothes and Sunday manners all over him. He was smiling at her like he was already halfway in love. Talking soft. Close.

Stack didn’t know him.

But he knew what he was looking at.

He drew in a long pull of smoke, held it in his lungs. Ise smiled and laughed at something the man said. It was polite, not flirty, but even that was enough to crack something under his skin.

He exhaled slowly.

“She ain’t yours,” he told himself.

And she wasn’t.

Hell, she couldn’t be. Sweet-faced and well-kept. The kind of girl who sat in the front pew every Sunday and helped her mother bake pies for the church picnic. The kind of girl who wasn’t supposed to let some juke-joint wanderer kiss her with his hand braced beside her hipscand his mouth pressed hot against hers.

But she did.

She tastes forbidden.

She didn’t know he was watching. Ise and the man headed inside the hardware store, talking low, walking side by side. Stack turned his gaze away just as she disappeared behind the door, but his thoughts followed.

He knew he should pull back. She wasn’t for him. Never had been.

Not with her daddy up at that pulpit every Sunday, preaching about sin and temptation like they were the same damn thing. Not with her mama watching like a hawk, praying Ise didn’t end up with some boy who wasn’t cut from holy cloth.

The way she’d scurried off from him at the train station, lips still warm, pretending nothing happened.

He should’ve let it go right then.

Should’ve looked at her like any other pretty girl in town and left it at that.

But he couldn’t.

There was something in the way she looked at him before she caught herself. It's like she felt something too.

He'd known about her beauty long before they’d exchanged a single word. Ise had always stood out. She was quiet, with eyes too big and too knowing. She walked like she was taught to be seen and not heard. At least, that’s how she was a few years ago.

But lately…

She’d been watching him.

Quick little glances when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. She paused by her porch when he stepped outside for a smoke. Her gaze lingered too long to be innocent. That’s when Stack started seeing her differently. Not as some preacher’s girl with clean nails and curfews, but as someone yearning.

She looked soft on the outside, but there was heat behind her eyes. Curiosity for something she wasn’t supposed to want.

He’d played it cool at Cornbread’s party when he slipped into the kitchen. Him flirting and teasing her as he watched her squirm with that mix of desire and denial. Then came their shared kisses in the old shack. In that moment, Ise kissed him like she couldn’t breathe without it.

Then she ran. Pretending like nothing happened. He couldn’t blame her. Not really.

She had everything to lose. A reputation. A name. Parents who watched her every move and would burn the world down if they caught wind of her fooling around with someone like him.

He flicked ash off the tip of his cigarette, watching the ember flare.

Stack couldn’t stop thinking about her. The way her breath hitched when he got close. The soft sound she made when they kissed and the way her lips trembled but didn’t pull away.

He hadn’t imagined it.

And he sure as hell wasn’t done.

“You playing?” Cornbread muttered beside him, not looking up from the dominoes. “Or does someone catch your curiosity?

Stack arched a brow. “Nah. Just watchin.”

Cornbread gave a slow, knowing smile. “Uh huh. Just be careful with all that watchin.”

Stack kept his face neutral, cool as the breeze, but inside, something locked tight in his chest.

Cornbread knew.

How much, Stack didn’t ask.

Didn’t matter because Ise wasn’t as untouched as she looked. Not to him. Not anymore. She could play house with church boys and smile sweet for her parents all she wanted.

But sooner or later?

She will come to him and he will be waiting…

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Two days later….

The summer sun was finally starting to bleed out of the sky when Ise stepped through the screen door of Charlene’s house. That old familiar scent hit her instantly. Peanut oil and a hint of talcum powder mixed with the sweet aroma of pound cake cooling on the counter. Even though it had been over a year since Charlene left for Spelman College, everything in the house still looked the same. The crocheted doilies, the faded floral sofa, the little ceramic angels on every shelf.

But Charlene wasn’t the same.

Not anymore.

Now she had that city shine. Her hair was in a new style. Shorter, layered, and shaped into a soft halo that framed her glowing face. Even the way she walked had changed. Her hips swinging with a kind of casual confidence Ise couldn’t imitate if she tried.

They were upstairs in Charlene’s bedroom, where time felt like it had paused. The same velvet pink walls. The same vanity with its peeling gold trim, but now there were new things too. Like records from up north, perfume bottles shaped like women’s silhouettes, and a stack of letters tied with ribbon beside the bed.

Charlene flopped down, propping herself up on her elbows. “Alright, catch me up. What’s been going on around here? What’s the juke joints lookin’ like these days?”

Ise joked. “Girl, my daddy would burst into flames if he even thought I was at one of those places.”

Charlene burst out laughing, throwing her head back dramatically. “Uncle really don’t let you do nothin’!”

“That’s an understatement.”

Charlene rolled onto her side, her voice softening. “I swear, you’re like a bird with its wings clipped.”

Ise looked down at her hands, fingers clasped in her lap. She didn’t want to admit how much that felt like the truth.

She’d wanted to go to college too. Had even been accepted to a small women’s seminary in Georgia. However, after her brother was drafted, everything changed. Her father said she was needed at home to help with her mama, to help keep the church running, to be his good, God-fearing daughter. That was all she had tried to be.

But now, watching Charlene move with freedom, hearing the faint trace of blues music humming from the little radio in the corner, Ise felt something twist deep inside her chest.

“How about the men?” Charlene asked, stretching. “They still slow as ever?”

Ise scoffed. “Girl, I don’t know about these men.”

That much was true, but it was also a deflection. Only one man had caught her attention.

Stack.

She could still hear the way he said her name. His voice teasing, low, slow like molasses. She could still feel the weight of his eyes on her, the ghost of his laugh brushing against her ear, and the taste of that kiss. The one she had started. The one that made her feel something dangerous and wild and not holy.

Nobody knew about that and nobody could.

“Still not curious?” Charlene asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Not really,” Ise said quickly, too quickly.

Charlene stared at her for a beat, then gave a slight smirk and let it go. “Mmm-hmm.”

Then her face lit up again. “You know what? You need a night. Just one. Stay here tonight, and when my parents go to bed we are sneaking out. Hit a joint, hear some live music. Just like old times, but better. We’re grown now.”

Ise’s mouth fell open. “Girl. No. I can’t. If my father finds out…”

“He’s not gonna find out,” Charlene said smoothly. “Just leave it to me. I’ll call him and ask. Say we’re up here talkin’ about God and college and scripture or whatever he wants to hear. You know I got the voice for it.”

Ise couldn’t help but laugh. “You ain’t right.”

“Come on! You’ve been cooped up, servin’ the Lord and scrubbin’ floors like it’s your job. Don’t you want to feel alive again? Just one night. One good song, one drink, one dance where nobody knows your name.”

Ise hesitated. Her stomach fluttered.

She did want that.

She wanted to make her own choices, even if they were the wrong ones. She wanted to stop being good even if just for a little while.

She took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll stay the night.”

Charlene screamed. “Yes! Finally! The good girl cracks!”

Ise shook her head, smiling in spite of herself.

Charlene sprang into action. “I’ll go ask your folks. Just need to figure out where we’re goin’.”

Ise was about to shrug when something flickered in her mind. The memory of Stack yelling out a name at the train station

“Lil Water’s Juke Joint,” she said softly.

Charlene raised an eyebrow. “Lil Water’s? Huh. Thought you ain’t know no juke joints.”

Ise stiffened. “Oh—I just… overheard somebody talkin’ about it. At the station the other day.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Charlene didn’t sound convinced, but she didn’t push either. “Alright then. I’ll call Lucinda, see if she wanna be our ride. I’ll tell her to park a couple houses down. We go through the back. You still remember how to sneak?”

Ise nodded slowly, pulse quickening.

She wasn’t sure what was pulling her more. The idea of stepping out into the night like she’d never done before, or the thought of seeing him again. Either way, she knew she was inching toward something that couldn’t be undone.

Some part of her buried deep beneath the good daughter, the obedient girl wanted to get burned.

The night air buzzed with heat and the thrum of crickets as Lucinda’s car rolled to a slow stop a few houses down from the glowing hum of Lil Water’s Juke Joint. The old coupe rattled like it was holding in a secret, the bass of the blues spilling out from somewhere up the road, heavy and sultry like honey in summer.

Ise sat in the back seat, heart galloping behind her ribs. Her palms were slick with sweat, and she could already feel a hundred warnings from her father echoing through her chest. Nothing good happens after dark. Be mindful of your reputation. Your body is a temple.

But in this moment, her temple had been painted red.

Charlene had pulled out one of her going-out dresses from a suitcase lined with silk scarves and perfumes. The dress was deep plum, hugging Ise’s curves like it had been sewn just for her. Sleeveless, with a low back and just enough shimmer to catch every flicker of moonlight. Charlene had curled her hair into soft, bouncing waves and dusted her cheeks with something red. A touch of gloss on her lips, and for the first time in her life, Ise looked like the kind of girl who could make a man forget his name.

When she turned toward the mirror, Ise didn’t recognize the woman staring back.

“Lord have mercy,” Lucinda said from the front seat, peeking over her shoulder with a grin. “Preacher’s daughter turned fox in one night. The Lord work fast.”

Ise blushed, tucking her curls behind one ear.

Charlene leaned over and gave her hand a squeeze. “You look beautiful, Ise. And free. That’s all I wanted.”

The girls stepped out of the car, their heels clicking on the gravel road as they made their way toward the juke joint. Lil Water’s sat nestled behind a stretch of pine trees, its red neon sign flickering like a secret it was daring you to tell. The building was old with clapboard wood stained with smoke and sweat and years of dancing feet—but alive. Music oozed through the walls, slow and dirty blues, thick with soul and seduction. Laughter, clinking bottles, and the scent of fried catfish wrapped the air in something rich and forbidden.

The front porch was crowded with men with hats tipped low, women swaying like wind, hips moving in rhythm to music that could make the moon jealous. A man on a stool strummed a guitar, his cigarette burning slow between his lips.

Charlene leaned in and whispered, “This is exactly what you needed.”

Ise nodded, though her body was tight with nerves.

As they stepped through the door, the world changed.

Inside was a different kind of church. Dim red lights glowed like embers over wooden floors slick from years of dancing. The band onstage played behind a haze of smoke, their rhythm dirty, low, full of suggestion. The crowd moved as one. Laughing, grinding, swaying in a heatwave of temptation. No shame. No judgment. Just bodies chasing rhythm.

Lucinda had already disappeared into the crowd.

Charlene grabbed Ise’s hand, pulling her toward the bar. “Come on. First round on me. After that, we let the night take us wherever it wants.”

Ise nodded, barely hearing her because she felt him.

Stack.

He hadn’t even touched her, but his presence crawled over her skin like silk and smoke. He was leaning against a post near the back nursing a glass. He was dressed in black suit and with that same sly grin, a toothpick dangling between his lips. His eyes found her immediately and locked onto her like she was the only thing in the room.

And when he saw her in that dress, his grin faltered just a bit.

Ise looked away, heart thundering.

He didn’t come to her. Not yet. He just watched. And somehow, that was worse.

Charlene passed her a glass, something dark and strong. “Drink up, cousin. Tonight, we’re living.”

Ise took a sip, the burn crawling down her throat like fire and God help her, she liked the heat.

She had no idea what the night would become.

But she knew this:

She wasn’t the same girl who had walked into Lil Water’s Juke Joint and the look Stack gave her from across the room promised things no good girl was supposed to taste.

Ise was already hungry and she wanted Stack to be her meal.

Smoke curled from darkened corners, swirling into the rafters with the lazy rhythm of a slide guitar. Bodies packed the dance floor, sticky with sweat and heavy with desire, moving like shadows under dim light bulbs that flickered and hummed. The place smelled of whiskey, perfume, and heat. Everything that made a night unforgettable and a morning full of regret.

Stack stood at the post in the back, half-lost in the haze, nursing a glass of gin. His polished shoes were crossed at the ankle, his hat tilted low over his brow as he watched the night unfold. Clean lines, sharp suit, and a stare that cut through the smoke. Stack wasn’t just part of the scene. He was the scene.

Then the door opened and Stack felt it before he even saw her.

A hush, a slight shift—like the joint itself held its breath.

Ise.

She stepped in slowly, uncertain, flanked by Charlene and another girl he didn’t know. However, Stack's eyes didn’t move from hernot for a second.

She looked nothing like the preacher’s daughter she was supposed to be.

Ise’s hair was curled, her lips painted in a shade meant to tempt, and the dress she wore clung to her body like it had been made just for sin. The dress was dark red.

Red was his favorite.

Soft curves and unsure steps. Stacks saw the nerves beneath the surface, but he also saw want. Buried deep, maybe even from herself, but it was there.

He smirked into his glass.

She didn’t know how to carry that look. Not yet. But Lord, she wore it well.

Most folks would see a sweet, well-raised girl who had no business stepping into a place like Lil Water’s, but Stack had seen more than that. There was a fire beneath all that innocence. It was confirmed that day in the shack. It wasn’t him who kissed her first, It was her who moved the first chess piece.

She kissed him like it was a mistake, then fled like she’d sinned. But he knew better. There was a crack in her mask. A hunger that slipped through.

Now, here she was dressed for trouble, but trying not to look like it. Watching the dancers sway, pretending she didn’t notice the stares, or the way Stack’s gaze pinned her from across the room.

She could fool herself if she wanted to, but Stack saw it clear as day.

Ise wasn’t just curious.

She was aching for something wild. Something she’d been told her whole life she couldn’t touch.

Stack was going to be first to make her go crazy.

#sinners fanfiction #elias stack moore #stack x oc #stack x black reader #michael b jordan x reader #michael b jordan x oc #elias ‘stack’ moore #elias stack moore x black oc

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e1e4n0r5 · 18 days ago

Text

Their Little Plaything: Bonus Scene 3

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue, Bonus Scene 1, Bonus Scene 2

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing: Powder x Loner Nerd Reader. Previous Bullies Cait & Vi x Loner Nerd Reader

Words: 2097

Synopsis: Powder AU. Powder has a great idea for some revenge on Cait and Vi for how they treated you on Halloween

Warnings: Cait and Vi being bullies again ☹️, consensual recording of sex (with intent to send to others), breast play (r! receiving), fingering (r! giving), analingus (r! receiving), oral sex (r! receiving)

“We should send them photos,” Powder declared as she lay on your bed, absently staring at the ceiling.

You frowned in confusion, your back against the wall as you highlighted in a textbook. “What?”

“We should send those bitches some photos of us together.”

“What do you mean? Vi and Caitlyn? Why would we send them photos of us hanging out? They know we’re friends.”

Powder shook her head, rolling over onto her front. “Not hanging out. Nudes,” she waggled her eyebrows playfully.

You balked at her. “Why would we do that!”

“To piss them off. They need to be punished for how they treated you.”

It had been a month since Halloween. A month since you'd gone to your first ever party, when Powder had convinced you to dress as a sexy vampire...When Vi Lanes and Caitlyn Kiramman had cornered you upstairs, seduced you into having sex (your first time!), and then left you the next morning. They'd fucked your brains out, left you unable to remember your own name, and then swaggered out of your room without saying goodbye or checking you were okay. They didn’t even offer you a washcloth or glass of water.

The next time you saw them around campus, they mocked you relentlessly. ‘You actually wore bike shorts under your dress! White underwear, like the virgin you were! Had any luck finding those panties, by the way?’ The facade was over; they'd gotten what they wanted. You were left humiliated, crying in your room as Powder held you tightly, telling you in vivid detail all the ways she'd tear the two of them limb from limb for you.

The weeks passed, and the humiliation eased, with Powder’s help. You were getting over it, slowly. You were starting to feel more like yourself.

Then one day, when you and Powder had been hanging out in your room, she made the absolute mad suggestion: send Caitlyn and Vi nudes from Powder’s phone.

You twisted your mouth. “This feels cruel.”

“Hey, they’re my sister and my sister’s girlfriend; if anyone’s allowed to be cruel to them, it’s me.”

“But you’d really do that?” you asked sceptically, an eyebrow raised.

She nodded emphatically. “Hell yeah, I would!”

You just looked at her, shaking your head a little. “I don't mean be cruel to them. You’re willing to kiss me, be naked with me, put your fingers inside me, your mouth right next to or directly on my vulva just to fake some pics to piss off your sister and her girlfriend because they had sex with me a few weeks ago?”

She chuckled. “Sugar, if it makes you happy and pisses off those two, I’ll eat your ass like ice cream,” she said proudly.

You blushed bright red. “Whoa, Powder…Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Plus, don’t you think it’d be fun? It’d drive them crazy. I know Vi: she gets super jealous and possessive, and Cait's so fucking proud! If they know you're moving on from them – with me! - they'll go nuts.”

You hesitated. It would drive them crazy, which did sound appealing. And, if nothing else, it would be a funny afternoon with Powder, a memory to look back on and laugh. It’s not like she hadn’t seen you naked before.

“Alright,” you nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Her face lit up and she jumped off your bed, pulling you up. “Excellent! Let’s take a shower!”

“Okay, Powder, I need to say this now,” you started, your towel still wrapped around you for your modesty. Even knowing you were about to throw that concept out the window. She looked at you expectantly. “You are a beautiful woman-”

“Thank you, sugar,” she smiled, lounging back on your bed, her towel riding dangerously high up her smooth thighs.

“-And I’m definitely a lesbian. So I want to apologise now if I…Get excited,” you blushed.

Her smile turned into a cocky grin. “You mean if your pussy gets wet?”

“Yes!” you snapped defensively, blushing harder.

“Don't worry, sugar, I'm totally cool if your pussy leaks all over me,” she winked.

You flushed. “I just don’t want to make it weird. If-if you’re not comfortable with any of this-”

She leant forward, taking hold of your hand, and pulling you a little closer. “Tuts,” she said softly, holding eye contact with you, “Nothing about this will make me uncomfortable. But if you get uncomfortable at any point, you need to tell me. Okay?”

You nodded. “I will, I promise.”

“Good girl,” she smiled, not knowing the effect it instantly had on you. “So, how should we start?”

You’d set up your phone on your desk, propped up against some books, set to take a photo every ten seconds. You had Powder’s phone on hand for any close-ups and videos. That way you had twice as many photos, to give the impression you’d had sex several times! Powder’s idea. Genius, in your opinion.

You’d started by lying down together, still in your towels, just getting comfortable with each other. You started gently kissing, only just pressing your lips together, before pulling away and giggling nervously. Powder let you kiss her that way until you were more comfortable, then rolled on top of you.

“Are you okay with this?” she asked, gently tugging on your towel.

You nodded, helping her open your towel, laying under her naked. You waited nervously whilst she looked you up and down.

“Holy shit, tuts…” She breathed out. “You’re gorgeous.”

You blushed. “My phone’s not recording audio.”

“You think I don’t mean that?” she challenged, laying down on top of you again, kissing you deeply.

She slid one hand up your side slowly, teasing you with her fingertips, before cupping your breast.

You moaned gently, then gasped. “Sorry! I’m sorry, that just came out.”

She shook her head with a smile. “Moan all you want, sugar. I don’t mind.”

She kissed down your neck, slowly moving down to your chest. Placing tender kisses to the tops of your breasts, she cupped one in her hand, feeling its weight. Kissing her way over to it, she took your nipple into her mouth.

You moaned again, then bit your lip. Stop making this awkward!, you scolded yourself.

But she just chuckled against your skin. She switched over to the other breast, repeating her treatment of your pebbling flesh.

You felt your pussy growing wetter by the second. You blushed, pulling back a little. “Pow, I’m…”

She lifted her head. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you breathed out, “I’m just…Getting excited,” your cheeks flushed red.

She smiled. “Do you wanna take a break?”

You shook your head. “No, I’m okay to keep going. I just…Wanted to let you know. In case you…”

“Feel your wet pussy?” she winked.

You dropped your head back onto the pillow, laughing in embarrassment. “Yes, okay? In case you felt it.”

She laughed with you. “No worries here, sugar. You wanna go on top for a bit?”

“Are you okay with me inserting my fingers?” you asked as you lay between Powder’s thighs. Both of you had become aroused over the hour, so you made no mind to her leaking pussy.

Lying on her back, breath coming a little faster, Powder nodded. “Go for it, sugar.”

“Okay, I’ll use two, if that’s okay?”

She nodded again, eyes a little heated.

“Okay, here we go.” You gently inserted your first two fingers into her pussy, earning a quiet moan. You’d both been moaning a lot, so you didn’t judge her. You moved your fingers slowly, so you could be sure your phone got a clear photo. You kept going for about a minute, wanting multiple photos. You picked up your phone, recording some clips from different angles, at different speeds.

Powder didn’t hide the soft moans coming from her, as you hadn’t hidden your own moans at various points. “Fuck, that feels good.”

You smiled understandingly at her. “You want me to stop?”

“You either gotta stop or finish the job,” she joked.

You blushed. “Um…Okay, let’s see what else we can do,” you suggested a little awkwardly, pulling your fingers out of her.

You missed her small pout, before she smiled back at you and sat up.

A few hours later, the sun now down, curtains closed, beside lamp on, you browsed some porn sites together with a glass of water, looking for inspiration.

“Oh, wait, I still need to eat your ass,” Powder declared.

Your eyes widened. “Were you serious about that?” you recoiled.

“Yeah, why not?” she grinned.

“Well, it’s…” you grimaced. “I mean, I’ve showered but still…”

“It’s hot, sugar. Come on, let’s see some idea pics.”

You’d put yourself on your front, angling her phone over your shoulder as she knelt between your legs, holding your cheeks open as she moved her tongue over your back hole. You’d tried not to squirm as she did; it felt so wrong, but it was amazing. You groaned softly, making sure to zoom in on her face, getting some clips and photos of Powder’s eyes both closed and open, looking straight into the camera. You’d put her phone down, hiding it under your pillow and making a fucked-out expression for your own phone to take pics.

When she was happy you had enough footage of her eating your ass, she tapped your hip to roll you over. Settling onto your back with her between your legs, she put her mouth on your clit.

You moaned loudly, unable to hold it in. She smirked at you, giving you a playful wink. You let yourself hold her head gently – for the photos, you told yourself – not allowing yourself to enjoy it too much. You didn’t want Powder to think you were taking advantage of her.

“Don’t forget my phone, sugar,” she reminded you gently, sucking your clit into her mouth.

With a dry mouth and soaking pussy, you picked up her phone from under the pillow. Angling it between your legs, you pressed the button. As you recorded, you made sure to moan Powder’s name, gasping and moaning a little louder than normal, but still trying to be convincing. If you went overboard, they would know you were faking it. Powder kept looking at the camera, making sure her tongue was visible touching your pussy as she moved her tongue from side to side.

You nodded your head to her to signal you’d stopped recording. But she continued, her eyes closed as she licked up and down your slit, her hands coming under your hips and holding your thighs open.

You snapped a few more pics. “Okay,” you panted, “Powder, you can stop now.”

She just looked up at you, not moving from where she was. “Do you want me to stop?”

You trembled. “Do you…Do you not want to stop?”

“Do you want me to stop?” she repeated with a daring smile, gently squeezing your thighs as she placed kisses on your inner thigh.

“I…I want you to be comfortable,” you said carefully. But hoping.

She chuckled against you, sending vibrations through your skin. “Then I think,” she pressed her tongue flat to your clit, rubbing it side to side, her eyes locked on you, “that I want to eat this delicious pussy,” she sucked your clit, “until you’re screaming my name for real.”

You whimpered. “God…Yes. Yes, please,” you begged.

She smiled, kissing your clit. “Then lie back, sugar. Let me eat,” she pushed you down onto the bed, doubling her efforts on you pussy.

You flopped back against the bed, your eyes closed as you moaned – for real – your hands settling in her hair. You cursed under your breath and groaned, moving your hips against her mouth. She hummed softly against you, feasting upon you, devouring you.

“God, where’d you learn to do this?” you asked breathlessly.

She chuckled. “Thank you, sugar.” She slid her tongue inside you, earning a jolt of your hips.

Your hips rolled, your back arched, your moans constant until you came with a cry. “Fuck,” you breathed, looking down at her, her eyes smug over your pelvis.

She licked you gently until you stopped shaking, climbing over you. Her mouth and chin were covered in your juices, and you reached up and kissed her passionately, until neither of you could breathe.

Pulling back, she stroked your cheek. “You okay?”

You nodded. “That was fantastic,” you said in awe, kissing her deeply again.

When you broke apart again, she smiled down at you. “I’m gonna take good care of you, tuts.”

Taglist: @sevikas-whore, @djstinkyfartz, @jinririz, @abbyandcaitlover, @ayuxiru, @bebeluvvv, @youdoyou-andiwilldome, @kittymrtnezz69, @wyprettylilone, @jlb20416, @autisticratbagtm, @theoreticalfreak, @riotstemple29, @zaunite-516, @zmbieeee, @godhatesgoodgirls, @yoyo-w, @milanyas, @unknownomgg, @bella-but-not-hadid444, @marvelwomenarehot0, @nenoino, @opalundercover, @spicedcherrylolli, @colettespace, @flowersareup, @beggingonmykneesforher

#their little plaything #arcane #vi arcane #arcane vi x reader #arcane violet #vi x reader #arcane au #caitlyn kiramman #caitvi #caitlyn arcane #powder arcane #powder x reader

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remxedmoon · 11 months ago

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“shadowy figures appeared before you. apparitions, memories of what once was. reminders of who you’re fighting for. are they your true family, or merely wearing their visage?”

[twohats spoilers below the cut!]

DEATHCARDS!!! WOOO!! that leshy quote isn’t entirely set in stone yet, btw. i made these for a king boss fight i’m working on so realistically he’d be the one narrating? but eh. it’s fun to write in leshy’s voice. anyways, hopefully this won’t be too long?? i’ve got way less design notes this time around, but there’s also 6 cards here and i’m not very succinct. sorry in advance!!

siffrin

2 power - 2 health - 5 bones

loose tail - when a card bearing this sigil would be struck, a tail is created in its place and a card bearing this sigil moves to the right. a tail is defined as: 0 power, 2 health.

steel trap - when a card bearing this sigil perishes, the creature opposing it perishes as well. a pelt is created in your hand.

GOD it was hard to come up with sigils for this one. since these are boss exclusive cards, i had a pretty limited pool to work with… hopefully this is still fitting

loose tail is the closest i could get to a sigil that avoids death, since sigils like unkillable and many lives were off the table. plus, there’s kinda a connection with him not valuing his own life?? and sacrificing a part of himself? i think it works

steel trap!! this sigil is exclusive to the trapper boss fight! since summoned cards (like chimes and tails) inherit sigils, their tail card will also kill whatever’s in front of it when it’s destroyed! sort of a “taking you down with me” situation.

mirabelle

2 power - 5 health - 3 blood

swapper - after a card bearing this sigil is dealt damage, swap its power and health.

swapper!! this is an act 3 sigil exclusive to swapbot! ahhhhhhhh i had such a hard time trying to figure out another card design for her. i REALLY liked the bellist sigil for her and didn’t really have any other ideas. swapper felt like it fit with the change belief to me! and it also makes her a pretty terrifying card to go up against. since this is a boss card, that cost is basically entirely for show lol

ALT CARD ART!!! YIPEE!! literally all i did was flip her eyes to look angry lol. swapbot’s sprite changes when it swaps so i think hers would too!

isabeau

2 power - 4 health - 2 blood

dam builder - when a card bearing this sigil is played, a dam is created on each empty adjacent space. a dam is defined as: 0 power, 2 health.

fledgling - a card bearing this sigil will grow into a more powerful form after 1 turn on the board.

dam builder feels like a very defensive sigil to me, and it synergizes well with fledgling!! after a turn, isabeau will be doing 5 damage across 3 lanes! good god.

odile

1 power - 2 health - 2 blood

trifurcated strike - a card bearing this sigil will strike each opposing space to the left and right of the spaces across from it as well as the space in front of it.

sharp quills - once a card bearing this sigil is struck, the striker is then dealt a single damage point.

this was the HARDEST card to think up, and probably the weakest out of the bunch imo. i think i really nailed her regular card and i just. couldn’t come up with anything. agonies

i picked trifurcated strike as a reference to her being able to use all three craft types, and sharp quills… i think because of her aversion to touch? i think. it’s been a while since i made these aaaaa

bonnie

1 power - 1 health - 1 blood

waterborne - a card bearing this sigil submerges itself during its opponent's turn. while submerged, opposing creatures attack its owner directly.

leader - creatures adjacent to a card bearing this sigil gain 1 power.

if yall remember the notes on my kid card, this is based on the beta version of that card!! which means that for once i’m not putting bonnie through the torments. hooray!

waterborne is there because they always stay out of danger during battles! plus they’re from a coastal town so it fits on that front as well. i didn’t really think about the actual sigil names for cards this time around but hey! it’s a nice bonus!

the beta card had trinket bearer, but that’s a sigil that would only benefit the player in battle, so i swapped it out with leader! since they can’t be directly attacked, this basically makes them a permanent alpha on the king’s side of the field. also, leader, snack leader, it fits namewise as well!

loop

2 power - 1 health - 4 bones

haunter - when a creature bearing this sigil dies, it haunts the space it died in. creatures played in this space gain its old sigils.

bifurcated strike - A card bearing this sigil will strike each opposing space to the left and right of the space across from it.

“i’m normal about inscryption” i say as i give one of my cards a sigil that only appears in the completely missable rulebook of grimmora’s segment of the finale.

so. haunter! the aforementioned grimmora sigil! this appears on no cards ingame, but cmon. it fits. this sigil reminded me of how loop reacts when you guess that they’re a ghost! in battle, i imagine that siffrin will always get played right behind loop. because twohats

bifurcated strike was added here for the same reason it’s on their normal card! it feels like scissors craft!! i needed them to actually have A Sigil to transfer to siffrin and this felt the most fitting to me.

also, just like the normal cards, siffrin and loop are both the only ones to have a bone cost instead of blood cost! teehee :333

and i think that’s it! i’m not making inhabited versions of these cards because they aren’t meant to be accessible outside of the king fight! also! hi! i drafted this post and wrote siffrin’s segment: almost a month ago! oops!! i kept putting this off… at least it’s actually written out now lol. hope you guys enjoy!!!

#marshdoodles #isat #in stars and time #isat spoilers #inscryption #isatscryption #in stars and scrybes #FINALLY THESE CARDS ARE OUT #i made these a MONTH AGO. and i kept stalling aaaaaaa #i really like how the card art for these turned out #i did take the most liberties with the inscryption style tho. the actual ingame card art just isn’t something i can replicate i think #but whatever #it’s my au and i can take as many style liberties as i please

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fairlyabookie · 3 months ago

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The things you do that got them heads over heels (part 5)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | last part!!

author's note: woohooo!! We have finally made it to the last part! I hope you all enjoyed this little compilation! I'd like to thank my recent brainrot for helping me write this much!!

Trey - baking w/ him

A sugary sweet aroma clings onto the both of you like a vice, films of powder dusting your noses as giggles flitter about in the kitchen. Strong hands, calloused yet gentle ones, cover yours, kneading away malleable dough, the muscles of Trey’s arms flexing at the right places. Just watching him felt scandalous, your ears burning up profoundly.

You asked him once upon a time if you could join him in his baking sessions - his personal time, as a means to spend more time with him. Sure, an innocent question, but one laced with intent; you had to know what was behind those delectable goods of his creation. To answer your question, he replies with a simple smile, a grin too wide to be considered cordial acceptance.

There you were, his broad frame hovering over yours, his warmth embracing you from behind. You fathom a grin from him, a tease at the ready when you falter from your kneading. Surely, Trey was distracting you terribly so, that he had moved to the next step: shaping the dough.

“Put some strength on it, [Reader]. You got this.” His voice drops to a sultry whisper, his breath brushing your ear. Heat rushes up to your cheeks, your thoughts melting to puddy when his hands cups on yours, the essence of vanilla not really helping with your rationale.

Cater- hanging out with him

Maybe you enchanted him - or maybe cursed him, to have him so memorized towards you. The way you latch onto him, guiding him to the very place he came across on MagiCam. His heart soars, taking flight to a sensation he wasn’t too familiar with. Exhilarated, he latches onto you, letting himself go to the whims of your adventures.

He may know the trendiest places out there, but letting you take the lead became an adventure. Selfies, pictures, and polaroids were a must - tangibles symbolizing your adventures together, places you went, and things you did, all encapsulated into one picture; tangible items Cater would surely cherish from the bottom of his heart. At the end of the day, he’d find himself looking back at the things he did, all with someone who he could call a friend.

In moments, Cater’s vanity was littered full of treasures, precious moments of smiles upon smiles, idle moments captured in a sweet second of bliss, where a social media post couldn’t seem to describe the magic of the moment. You truly enraptured him, his heart already yours the second you got him in a whirlwind of adventures.

“Cater, Cater! What do you think? Totally lives up to the hype, right?” You gesture to the space before him, a quaint café, a sight he had seen from a post on MagiCam. It was just as described in the video, except for you and your dazzling smile before him. Maybe it was the post prophesizing the hype, or you were bewitching him, but he had to absolutely agree.

Lilia - trip to memory lane

While memories came to him in fractals of glass in the depths of his mind, pictures were best to help jog his memories. Of course, gadgets count too - the years had passed him so quickly that everything seemed the same, technologically advanced or not.

You were a curious youth, looking through the pieces of his life with childlike naivety. From Sebek and Silver’s baby pictures to Malleus’ first tooth, you’d stumble these small moments and witness a teary-eyed Lilia watch you piece together what would be a tapestry of his family and his livelihood.

He’d not bat an eye when you stumble an age-old weapon, a relic he couldn’t recall keeping around for so long - and probably upcycled it for something. The fae would search through the banks of his memory of what was, but comes across some vague details, your befuddled expression matching his own.

“Lilia?” Your reflection peers over at the fae, his expression lost in thought somewhere. “Ah yes, my dear?” He draws a blank, retrieving the weapon from you. “All the things you have…. I can see that you treasure them so, Lilia..” “Fufu, indeed, my dear child, indeed. All of this to say that I live well and long enough to see everything..”

Leona - cuddle bug/naptime

Slumber was the one thing you craved after a long day of assignments and homework, your weary body aching for a moment’s rest. You seek shelter at a familiar face’s room, not bearing mind to your surroundings when you collapse on the bed and close your eyes.

When you come to, the scent of calendulas and rose buds drifts about, a profound warmth enveloping you. Warm breath tickles the back of your neck, sending heat up from your shoulders to your cheeks. A hand latches around your waist, holding you close but not too tight to the point of suffocation.

You glance behind, only to be met face-to-face with a slumbering Leona. Remnants of sleep linger on, your mind piecing together any memory of you coming across the third year. Alas, you barely had enough to register your thoughts when an emerald eye stares at you in quiet disapproval.

“Napping done already?” A lazy drawl rumbles from Leona, his eyes coalescing to a gorgeous shade of lush green. His gaze was watchful, picking up on any moment that may perturb his slumber - his tail wraps on your ankle, his possessive in full display. You dare not to provoke him further, facing him and his unnecessarily open neckline, itching closer to him as if seeking his warmth. A victorious smirk curls on his lips before he closes his eyes once more, you trapped in his clutches, returning to the realm of sleep once more.

#twst x reader #wrapped with love #twst leona #twisted wonderland leona #leona x reader #leona kingscholar #lilia x reader #twst lilia #twisted wonderland lilia #lilia vanrouge #trey x reader #twisted wonderland trey #twst trey #trey clover #cater x reader #twisted wonderland cater #twst cater #cater diamond

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sleepystargaze · 6 months ago

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Why You May Not Relate to Vi's Choices in Season 2

Vi is an adult who was parentified as a child, and her actions are largely influenced by the lasting psychological effects.

If you aren't familiar, parentification is when children become caregivers in their families and take on responsibilities that are inappropriate for their age. These responsibilities are often beyond their capacity, either because they lack the knowledge or the emotional maturity to perform these adult roles.

In Vi's case, she was largely left to care for the well-being of her siblings in the place of a consistent parental figure. And likely even before they lost their parents, Vi was left to care for Powder when her parents could not. The show literally starts with Powder in the care of Vi. Which can also explain why Vi was very deeply affected by the loss of their parents, while Powder was not, since Vi would likely have been her primary caretaker.

In adults, this generally can results in:

difficulty functioning independently

a greater risk of anxiety, depression, and substance abuse

difficulty setting boundaries: generally neglecting oneself to satisfy the needs of others

trouble relinquishing control

feeling a need to be a peacekeeper

tending to be a "fixer"

There are other things, but the ones above are the ones relevant to this discussion and they constitute a significant majority of the signs in adults. So, with this context in mind, let's take a trip down memory lane.

Inmate 516

Humans don't exist in a vacuum, but Vi lived in the closest mental equivalent of it with her time in Stillwater. I don't think it's a stretch to assume the Vi that Caitlyn meets is much more emotionally grown than the young teenager who was dragged off by Marcus.

The one thing I've gleaned from the show about Vi's time here is that she has this Schrodinger's Powder thing going. She tells conflicting stories to Caitlyn and Jinx, but neither seem like a lie. She believed, or "knew", her sister was dead but persisted with the thought that she'll get out and return to Powder some day.

So, to survive her years at Stillwater, the only thing keeping her going is this idea. Her own self-preservation is reliant on this feeling that she could return to not only Powder, but also the way things were. She still wants to take care of her sister. And honestly, it's only further reinforced by Vander's last words, "Take care of Powder."

Enter Caitlyn from stage right, detective extraordinaire, bearing the sole evidence that Powder is, in fact, alive. Vi's daydream becomes a reality and she wastes no time shooting any shot she can to get out of Stillwater.

A Little Walkabout with a Piltie: Part 1

Gather round ladies and gentleman, here we have our top hits under the "trouble relinquishing control" category, featuring:

"Too risky": a tale of avoiding bathyspheres.

"Don't you wanna blend in?": There are easier ways to get people out of their clothes, but I guess forcefully throwing clothes you just stole off a stranger 5 minutes ago works, too.

"We're here because I'm hungry.": Not the best first date, but at least the food was good.

And a fan favorite, "You're hot, Cupcake."

Jokes aside, all of these actions are meant to maintain control over Caitlyn. This is Caitlyn's investigation, Caitlyn released her, and Caitlyn is an enforcer. All things that should give her control, but Vi is not having any of that knowing Powder is out there. Thing is, though, the result would likely be the same if she did let Caitlyn have more agency. Afterall, they are looking for the same person. The only thing she is gaining by doing these things is the control itself.

A Little Walkabout with a Piltie: Part 2

Well, our favorite redhead runs off to get stabbed and has to be nursed back to health by Caitlyn. Here, we have a significant dynamic shift. Caitlyn tells Vi she has a "good heart." Right before Vi passes out, she hears Vander telling her the same echoing in her head. When she wakes she sees:

Vander and her mom, Felicia, were Vi's major caretakers growing up. When Vi becomes conscious to her surroundings, she's met with Caitlyn caressing her face. Suddenly, Vi is associating these people's care for her with Caitlyn. It is exactly at this time that Vi begins opening up and allows Caitlyn to act as a caretaker.

Flash Forward to Tragedy

Well, we all know what happens, but the major takeaways here are Caitlyn has suddenly lost a parent and Vi has realized she can no longer help Jinx, she cannot "fix" her.

Caitlyn is no longer in a position to care for Vi in the way Vi needs, and Vi needs someone to care for. The roles in their relationship have suddenly been reversed. When Caitlyn opens up about the void her mother left, she says, "It's all coming apart."

Vi tells her "We won't let it."

If Caitlyn needs to keep things together and needs to feel control in her life again, then that is now also what Vi needs.

The Grim Truth of the Matter

Honestly, the most harmful thing for people who were parentified as a child is the fact that it becomes extremely difficult for the person to prioritize themselves over others, especially the ones they love regardless of if those loved ones treat the parentified adult fairly or not. You would be amazed the degree to which a parentified individual will let themselves turn a blind eye and forgive and sacrifice themselves.

I think a lot of people found Vi's story arc dissatisfying in season 2, because a lot of it relied on other people and her making seemingly uncharacteristic choices. Like her purpose in the show was solely to help other storylines. The sad truth is, parentification creates a severe lack of sense of self, and I think this is the biggest hidden battle for Vi throughout season 2. Who is she when she isn't acting in the interest of others? What needs to happen for her to let all of that go? How do you show that?

It doesn't feel great, because at the end she's only at the beginning of her healing journey. And if you have trouble relating to her struggles, you probably can't relate to the struggles of parentification, yourself. It's hard to understand the effort required to let go, and by the end, Vi has. I think my favorite representation of this change is how she has less bindings as the story progresses until, by the end, she has none. She has finally unburdened herself and is learning to prioritize her own needs, and now she can finally begin to properly heal.

No, it's not the most satisfying ending for a character arc, but not all major wins end in thunderous applause and fanfare.

#vi arcane #lol arcane #arcane analysis

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cottonlemonade · 3 months ago

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Marriage Of Convenience [Part 3]

word count: 1749 || avg. reading time: 8 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Kuroo x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, slice of life

warnings: spoilers

synopsis: Marriage is not a big deal, right? Anyone can do it and it comes with a whole lot of benefits! That's why your friend proposes to you one morning with all the elegance and romance of an empty pudding cup.

[Part 1] [Part 2]

The night was exhausting before it even started, but now, one air hockey match and half a wine tasting later, you felt your social battery blinking in alarm. The other couple went back and forth between bickering and focusing all their attention on you and Tetsuro in an attempt to hide their arguments. They were leaning as far away from one another as possible while also resting their elbows on the table to be closer to you, holding onto the conversation like a lifeline. It was very clear they depended on your presence to remain somewhat civil amongst themselves.

“There is this pottery class that I’ve wanted to try out for so long.”, Mrs Maeda said with an all too telling sidelong glare at her husband, “And now that we’ve found another DINK couple we can even do the 6-week course, what do you say? - I’m so happy that you two are finally official. It was so obvious you were in love. I remember telling Satoshi that I knew there was something going on between you last year.”

This was beginning to feel awfully reminiscent of the company dinner where the consensus seemed to have been divided into “never saw that coming, I didn’t even know you guys were dating” and good-natured “oh my god, you were so obvious about it! I was thinking just say it already!”. Tetsuro and you had tried your best then to be polite and not look completely confused about your colleagues and even your boss having suspected you two to be involved. You were doing the same now, but Tetsuro had other questions, “What’s a DINK couple?” He frowned in your direction, hoping you could spare him having to ask the others but Mrs Maeda had overheard and grinned and with a casual wave of her hand she said, “Double income, no kids.”

“Obviously.”, you muttered sarcastically under your breath so only he could hear and Tetsuro pressed his lips together, clearing his throat to hide a chuckle.

“Ah, I see.”

“Unless of course, you are planning to have kids. Or are pregnant already?”

Mrs Maeda looked at you and her eyes insistently flicked down to your belly that sure enough looked plush and round bulging in the sitting position like this and back up to your face as if wanting you to confess. You didn’t feel the need to point out to her that you were on your second glass of wine and chose to answer with another demonstrative sip of alcohol.

She seemed to have noticed the mistake or just didn’t care for a reply when she changed the topic, “Do you guys have pictures of your wedding?” There was no pause for you to possibly answer - she went on, ”I remember ours was so magical. We had two separate wedding singers because I just couldn’t decide and Satoshi only wanted me to have the best. We had a large buffet and a champagne tower like in the movies. Our cake was a simple vanilla sponge with fresh strawberries and a champagne buttercream…”, she trailed off, hands clutched in front of her chest while she stared at a point somewhere near the door, “I wore this elegant dress with a long train and a veil that was clipped into my hair with a tiara. I felt like a princess.”

Mr Maeda plopped an olive into his mouth, not taking part in this stroll down memory lane.

“What was your dress like?”

“We didn’t have a big wedding.”, you said, “We just went down to City Hall.”

“But… the dress…”, the other woman’s shoulders sagged in disappointment.

Luckily, her husband and the overall crumbling economy came to the rescue, “Those weddings are free, right? Very smart. Saving the money for the future and not wasting it all on one silly day.”

Mrs Maeda snapped her head to her husband, a definite twitch in her brow.

“Silly day?”

While the other relationship slowly imploded in front of your eyes, you threw a look to your left and you relaxed a little. At least you had Tetsuro there.

You hailed a taxi just as the rest of the group spilled out of the restaurant behind you, some less sure-footed than others. It was unsurprising that after Mr Maeda’s comment, the mood had turned from awkward to icy, and the last twenty minutes were spent watching two of your colleagues downing significant amounts of wine. With Tetsuro’s assistance, you helped the other couple into the car, waving uncomfortably before signaling for your own ride.

You both sighed in unison as you slid into the backseat and gave the driver your address.

“That was…”

“Yup.”, you said, really emphasizing that p.

“Did you hear, Satoshi said we should do this again as we were leaving.”

“God no!”

He chuckled, nodding.

You looked out the window onto the other cars and city lights going by, deep in thought.

“We’re not gonna be like this, right?”, you asked suddenly.

Tetsuro started, surprised at the question.

“Like what?”

“So… bitter and resentful to each other.”

He offered a small smile and squeezed your hand that rested on the empty seat between you, “Of course not. Don’t worry.”

You returned the gesture, before slipping your left hand out of his warm palm. He pulled his right back to his lap and followed your example of calmly watching the outside pass.

“Are you hungry?”, you asked after a red light, turning to him again. The “dinner” at the wine bar mostly consisted of a few pieces of cheese and olives. You had never made it to the steak course after all.

“Starving.”, he grinned.

“How about pasta? Or - ooh! - curry? Or maybe sushi? Hm, definitely taiyaki, though.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at you and asked with a playful smirk, “Pregnancy cravings?”, then had you join in his laughter when you slapped his arm.

Kuroo felt a familiar itch in his hands as he watched the practice from the sidelines. Hinata sure had grown - maybe not exactly in physical height, but in his abilities. With an almost proud expression, he watched his former rival easily receive spikes and feints his other team members threw at him and all too happily would Kuroo have taken off his suit jacket to join them. But he came with a different agenda.

“Did you see that last one?!”, Bokuto called excitedly as he and Hinata jogged over to him during a short break. The blonde setter joined them curiously, resting his arm on Hinata’s shoulder.

“I did. You’re getting more dangerous by the day.”

Bokuto flexed, very satisfied with his friend’s answer.

“So, not that we’re not pumped to see you, but what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to confirm the dates for the training camp.”

“That could have been a text, bro. Or an email if you wanted it official. Why make the trip?”

“Cause I wanted to see your face in person when I tell you I got married.”, Kuroo shrugged.

Silence.

Then, “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAH!!!” Hinata obviously short-circuited.

“You WHAT?!”, Bokuto yelled.

Kuroo was pleased - definitely worth the two and half hour trip by train.

Although he would have loved to fool his friends a bit longer and maybe even pretend to be deeply hurt that they hadn’t cared enough to come to the wedding, he told them the whole story. There wasn’t much to it other than bureaucratic gain, so they were quickly caught up.

“I didn’t know you could do that.”, Bokuto said thoughtfully, “Just marry someone like that. I thought there’d be a quiz beforehand or something, if you’re compatible and happy and stuff. And how well you know each other.”

Kuroo shook his head. “If you ever get tired of dating you should try it. Saves a lot of taxes, too. Marrying your friend is the best, I’m telling you.”

Atsumu had listened intently and began eyeing his teammates at those last words.

Bokuto and Hinata were already sizing each other up as if silently trying to decide which one of the two would be responsible for the dishes and who for the laundry. The setter turned on the spot, his eyes finally focusing on Sakusa who only stood a few meters away, water bottle in one, phone in the other hand.

He didn’t even look up when he said, “Forget it. We’re not even friends.”

The apartment was already dark when he returned that night and he was careful not to make too much noise when shrugging off his coat and putting away his bag. He flinched when his phone dinged in his pocket and the sound echoed through the hallway. It was a text from you. “Is that you? Did you just get home? Or are we being burglarized rn?”

A smile spread across his face at the thought that you waited up and he walked to your door to knock. Dim light emanated from the narrow gap at the bottom and he opened it when you called for him to enter.

“Hey, how was the trip?”, you asked, clearly tired. Tetsuro leaned in your doorway, hands in his pockets, taking in the sight of you sitting up in your bed with a book on your lap.

“Very good. Bokuto says Hi.”

“Hi back, even though we’ve never met.”

“Should rectify that these days.”, he said more to himself than to you, then added, “I brought you something.”

You sat up a little straighter, most of your fatigue gone. “Is it a puppy?”

“Close. It’s cake. I’ll put it in the fridge for you to have tomorrow.”

“Why wait?”

“You stay in bed.”

“But… but cake. It could feel abandoned, all alone and cold amongst the vegetables and fish.” Your eyes turned round, along with your pout.

“I’ll bring you a fork, alright?”

You nodded excitedly and smiled. “Share it with me?”

“Lemme take a shower first. - I’ll be quick, I promise.”, he said upon seeing more pouting, “And you have to catch me up, okay?” He pointed at the book in your hands, earning a cheerful salute.

With a towel still around his neck to catch any remaining droplets from his damp hair, Tetsuro hopped into your bed next to you, long legs on top of your comforter, cake and two forks in hand. As you detailed the current plot twists of your book between bites he thought again how this marriage thing really was the best decision he had ever made.

art: @freaka_loonyz on Instagram, X, Pinterest and TikTok

taglist: @etsuniiru @nocaffeineallowedtome @princessshart @aldebrana @grassbutneo @melimelisworld @yatoatyourservice

a/n: Thank you to @haikyu-mp4 mp4 for allowing me to talk at her about this continuously. And thank you so much to the people who have been so sweet in the comments and reblogs - it means a lot 🫶🏻

[Part 4]

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deliciousangelfestival · 23 days ago

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The Director's Obsession - Phase 4

Character: Director Orson Krennic x F!ISB Agent

Summary: Director Orson Krennic keeps one ISB agent under his thumb, pulling her from lunches, stealing her sleep, and destroying three dates. The project demands everything. Or maybe his obsession demands more.

Word Count: 6.926

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi🙏🏻

Phase 1 , Phase 2 , Phase 3 , Phase 4 , Phase 5 , Phase 6 , Phase 7 , Phase 8 , Phase 9 , Phase 10 , -

Headcanons

Phase 4 : Death Star

The private dining lounge was perched high above the city, wrapped in towering glass that offered a breathtaking view of Coruscant’s endless skyline. The lights below shimmered like stars trapped beneath their feet. It was the kind of place neither of you would have ever dared dream of when you were young.

Mia entered first, and to your surprise, two small shadows trailed closely behind her. Before you could speak, they rushed forward, their tiny shoes tapping excitedly on the polished floor.

"Auntie!" they both squealed in unison, their arms flung wide.

Their immediate joy washed over you like warmth you didn’t know you needed. You knelt instinctively, catching both girls as they wrapped themselves around your arms and waist.

"You didn’t tell me you were bringing them," you said softly as you looked up at Mia, blinking through the sudden warmth stinging your eyes.

Mia’s smile was soft, but full of quiet intent. "When I heard your voice earlier... You sounded like you were slipping. Like you wanted to give up. So, surprise."

You exhaled, your chest tight. "You always know when to show up."

The four of you settled into the plush booth by the window. The atmosphere was elegant but intimate, a place for Coruscant’s powerful and polished. The vast city stretched endlessly beyond the glass, the speeders slicing through the glowing traffic lanes below like silver darts.

Mia leaned back, gazing out at the view, her tone laced with amazement. "Who would’ve thought? If someone told me decades ago that one day we’d sit here, I’d say they were insane."

You smiled faintly, but your attention was stolen by her daughters, who had finished eating and were now spreading their coloring books across the table. You quietly reached to help them steady their pages, smiling as you guided the youngest's hand along the edge of her drawing.

After a pause, the question that had been pressing on you for days finally escaped.

"Do you think I’m selfish for joining the Empire?"

Mia’s gaze shifted to her daughters, her eyes softening. She spoke with quiet certainty. "If you're selfish for wanting to survive, then so am I."

She gestured subtly toward the large windows. Outside, down below, stormtroopers stood guard, their pristine white armor gleaming under the city lights.

"Look at them," Mia continued softly. "We don’t even have to protect ourselves anymore. They’re the first shield. If something happens, they’ll take the blaster first. That wasn’t our childhood. Back then, we were our own shield."

She ran her fingers through her eldest daughter’s hair as her voice lowered. "We grew up hiding under old transports, trading whatever scraps we could find, always hoping today wouldn’t be the day someone turned us in." Her voice trembled but never broke. "Being part of the good side didn’t protect us. The Rebellion... the Resistance... they were supposed to stand for something better. But what did they give us? Hiding. Starving. Running. Watching leaders argue while the rest of us suffered for decisions they made in safety."

You swallowed, your chest tightening at the memories that resurfaced. The cold nights. The stolen rations. The endless running.

Mia's voice grew bitter. "And what finally killed our parents wasn’t blaster fire from the Empire. It was a betrayal. The same commanders we trusted made choices that sacrificed entire camps for their escape. They left us behind to cover their retreat."

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting her words hit like old wounds reopening.

She continued, her voice steadier now. "That’s why I chose this life. That’s why I married into the Senate. I wanted stability. And now, because of your work, I feel safer than I ever have." She looked directly at you. "You helped the Empire become something more stable. And for that, I’m proud of you."

Mia smiled and gestured toward her eldest daughter, who was busy sketching in her coloring book, carefully copying a sleek version of your ISB uniform.

"Look at your niece," Mia said warmly, both of you are not related by blood, but the sisterhood is strong. For her, you’re the closest person she could see as family. "She’s proud to have an aunt who works for the ISB. Look at her hair — she even asked me to braid it like yours."

The little girl glanced up, cheeks flushing as she realized you were watching. You smiled, heart swelling with a strange mixture of pride and sadness, and gently patted her head.

"Thank you," you whispered.

Mia’s eyes softened as she looked at both girls. Her hand rested gently on her youngest’s shoulder.

"This kid's grandfather — my father-in-law — he’s greedy, arrogant, obsessed with power," she admitted, her voice low. "But even so, he cares about his family. He makes sure there’s always food, credit, and comfort. He ensures his grandchildren get the best education Coruscant can offer. He may chase power, but at least he knows how to protect his own."

You sat back, holding the drawing in your hands as the lights of Coruscant reflected in the glass around you. Her words lingered, pressing deep into places you hadn’t let yourself think about for years.

Mia exhaled one last time, her voice barely above a whisper but filled with conviction. "We made a promise when we were young. We said we’d never let our children grow up like we did. Starving under trees. Hiding in caves. Waiting for leaders who made speeches while leaving people to die. Even if the Empire isn’t perfect, at least it’s organized. At least someone pays for failure. The chaos we came from? That was far worse."

The city lights continued to blink silently beneath you as the quiet between you filled with shared, unspoken truths neither of you could deny.

"You’re good with words," you said softly, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

Mia winked playfully. "Well, I learned from the best."

The rest of the evening unfolded gently, without tension, without weight. For the first time in weeks, the heaviness in your chest felt lighter. You walked side by side with Mia, guiding her daughters toward the waiting speeder at the curb. The city’s glow reflected off the polished surface of the vehicle as you helped the girls climb in, fastening their restraints carefully while they chattered, still excited from the night’s dinner.

Mia turned toward you, her voice warm. "I could drop you off."

You shook your head, exhaling softly. "I want to clear my head. The walk will help."

"Alright," she whispered, leaning in to hug you tightly. "Just… take care of yourself, okay?"

You returned the embrace before stepping back, watching the speeder lift off and disappear into the endless lines of traffic above.

Left alone beneath the towering skyline, you began walking, the hum of speeders above fading into a low, distant hum. The cool Coruscant breeze brushed across your face, threading through your hair. For the first time in days, you allowed yourself to breathe. No datapads. No reports. No ISB eyes are watching from across sterile halls.

Your boots clicked softly against the walkway, and for a brief moment, you let yourself remember why you came here in the first place.

You had once stood at the edge of survival, watching leaders speak of hope while your stomach ached from hunger. The Rebellion had promised freedom but delivered starvation, fear, and betrayal. The Empire was flawed, yes—but at least here, you had risen. You had power. You had stability. You weren’t sleeping beneath collapsed transports or begging smugglers for ration scraps. You had control over your life in ways you never thought possible.

For years, that was enough.

But now?

Your steps slowed. The distant hum of traffic suddenly felt… too distant.

You glanced behind you.

A man. Walking too close. Too steady. Not one of the civilians was hurrying home for the night. No hesitation in his pace. His face was down, but his attention was locked on you.

You quickened your steps. Slipping between crowds, crossing lanes, and ducking beneath pedestrian overpasses. Every turn you made, he followed. His distance remained constant. Close enough to see. Far enough not to confront.

Your pulse quickened, your breathing shallower. You turned sharply into one of the narrow service alleys running beneath the platforms, slipping between tall stacks of cargo crates. The hum of speeders was muffled now. The shadows wrapped around you.

Footsteps echoed behind.

He was still coming.

You didn’t wait any longer. Pivoting sharply, you darted down a smaller path, weaving between steel columns, pushing past maintenance droids and service lifts. The noise behind you faltered. You ducked under a scaffold, pressed yourself into a dark recess, and held your breath.

The footsteps slowed. Hesitated. Then faded.

Gone.

You waited several minutes, your heart hammering against your ribs. Only after you were certain the man was gone did you finally slip out of hiding, your pulse still racing, the cold sweat clinging to your back.

Whoever he was, he hadn’t been random.

You straightened your coat, forced your breathing to calm, and continued your way back home with sharp, alert eyes.

Tomorrow, you will report this.

Whoever was watching you tonight… wasn’t done yet.

******

The following morning, you walked with purpose into Partagaz’s office. His sharp eyes glanced up as you entered, already sensing the weight you carried.

"You have something to report?" he asked calmly, setting down his datapad.

You inhaled, keeping your voice steady. "Last night, I was followed."

Partagaz’s brow lifted slightly, his face unreadable. "Followed?"

"At first I thought it might be random," you said. "But it wasn’t. Someone was tracking me deliberately. I evaded them, but it wasn’t an accident."

He leaned back, fingers steepling beneath his chin. "I’ll assign additional security. You’ll have an escort until we locate the source."

"Thank you, Major."

A thin smile crept across his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "So. They’ve heard it completely, and now they’re panicked."

Your brows furrowed. "What?"

Partagaz exhaled softly, as if reminding himself to choose his words carefully. "Oh, it’s nothing." He waved his hand lightly. "Director Krennic’s larger project… it has reached completion ahead of schedule."

Your breath caught for a moment. The realization sank deep, twisting something inside your chest. So that’s why Krennic hadn’t appeared these past days. The secret project. The one no one spoke of openly. The one you were never allowed to ask about, even as your propaganda had helped secure resources for it. Even now, you didn’t truly understand what you had helped him build.

Partagaz noticed your silence and studied you for a beat longer. "I assume Director Krennic hasn’t personally informed you." His tone was neutral, but not without a hint of quiet observation. "Regardless, congratulations, Agent. Your contribution will not go unrecognized."

"Thank you, Major," you replied quietly as you stepped out, the door hissing shut behind you.

He nodded once and returned to his datapad. As you turned to leave, his voice dropped into a low murmur, meant only for himself. "Good thing she told me. If not, he would have my head."

*******

The days passed. You resumed your assignments as usual, filing reports, attending briefings, reviewing propaganda drafts. But the absence remained. No visits. No sharp remarks. No sudden orders from Krennic sweeping into the office with his cape billowing behind him.

The silence was unsettling.

Had he grown bored? Or perhaps he no longer needed you. With his project completed, maybe you had served your purpose. That thought sat heavier on your chest than you cared to admit.

Several days later, you made your way home as the evening descended. Heavy rain fell across the city, droplets pelting against your coat as you walked beneath the towering skyline. The distant hum of traffic blended with the soft slap of your boots against the slick durasteel walkway.

But even beneath the rain, you felt it again.

The sensation crept along your spine. That same shadow pressing behind you, silent but unmistakable.

You quickened your pace.

Behind you, faint footsteps quickened as well.

Your breath came faster as you slipped between market stalls and pedestrian bridges, weaving through the narrow back corridors of the district. The rain made every step slicker, every turn more dangerous. You glanced back.

Three figures emerged from the shadows, closing in.

You ran.

They followed.

Your lungs burned, your pulse roaring in your ears as you pushed through side streets and low alleys, but they stayed on you. There was no escape route this time.

Rough hands grabbed at you from behind, yanking you backward as you struggled. The cold wetness of the rain soaked through your uniform as they forced you into a dead-end corridor. One pinned you roughly against the wall while another blocked your only exit.

"You Empire filth," one of them hissed, his voice venomous. "You think your lies keep you safe? That propaganda you spread? You’re as guilty as the ones pulling the trigger."

You struggled against their grip, but the third man shoved you harder against the wall.

"Rebel scum," you spat, though your voice wavered.

The man snarled. "You chose the wrong side. And tonight, you pay for it."

You clenched your eyes shut, bracing yourself. Three against one. There was no winning this.

But instead of pain, you heard it — a single sharp scream. Then another. A blaster shot cracked through the rain-soaked alley, followed by another. You opened your eyes just in time to see one man drop lifelessly to the ground, then another falling hard beside him.

The third barely had time to react before his chest was hit squarely, his body collapsing against the wet durasteel.

Your breath froze as you turned toward the alley entrance.

There, standing like a shadow in the rain, a Death Trooper held his blaster steady, scanning the bodies with cold precision.

You knew immediately who had sent him.

Only one person.

Only one man ever placed his Death Troopers this close, this quietly.

Even when absent, his reach never truly left you.

******

The report had spread through ISB faster than you expected. You should have known the moment it happened, but still, when Heert and Jung arrived unannounced at your quarters early that morning, you hadn’t fully prepared yourself.

Heert’s eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of you. His gaze swept over the faint bruising along your jawline and the darkening mark beneath your cheekbone. "Are you alright?" he asked, voice low with concern.

Jung, always less subtle, winced openly. "You look dreadful."

You rolled your eyes. "Thank you for the honesty."

Heert shifted awkwardly. "We’re here to bring you in."

"For what?" you asked, irritation prickling under your skin.

He glanced at Jung for a brief second before answering. "Interrogation orders."

The word hit heavier than it should have. "Interrogation? You’re serious?"

"Orders are orders," Jung said, avoiding your gaze.

No further explanation came as they escorted you through the stark white corridors of the ISB Headquarters. They led you deep into the restricted levels, past areas you rarely visited, until you reached one of the isolated basement interrogation rooms.

The door slid open. You stepped inside, and the air shifted instantly.

The room was blindingly white. No corners. No shadows. No furniture beyond the single chair where you now sat. The scent of sterilization clung to every surface — sharp, clean, unnatural. It was as if nothing had ever lived inside these walls.

You sat still, your shoulder aching from the bruises left by last night's assault. The questions circled in your mind with increasing weight. Why bring you here? Why now?

Then you saw it.

Through the glass panel ahead of you, a familiar silhouette emerged.

The white cape flowed behind him with slow, deliberate grace. His gloved hands were folded behind his back, his head tilted ever so slightly as he watched you from the other side. Krennic.

His stare was impossible to read. Cold. Calculating. Yet behind that mask, something else flickered. You couldn’t tell if it was curiosity or something far more dangerous.

The door hissed shut behind him, sealing you both inside the blinding white room.

Krennic advanced slowly, his cape trailing behind him like a shadow that refused to let you breathe. He circled you without speaking, the faint click of his boots against the polished floor marking every beat of your racing pulse.

He stopped directly in front of you, standing close enough that you could smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with rain and sterilized air. His gaze traveled downward, stopping briefly on the darkening bruise along your jaw. His lips twitched into something that was not quite a smile.

"You seem to attract danger far too easily," he murmured. His voice was smooth, almost gentle, but that only made it worse.

You kept your posture firm. "I do not control who chooses to attack me."

He tilted his head slightly, as if amused. "No. But you control what information might make you desirable to certain people."

You met his gaze fully now, refusing to blink under the pressure of his stare. "There is nothing I could give them." Your voice was steady but low. "I do not know what they wanted."

Krennic's eyes narrowed, though his voice remained calm. "You underestimate your value. Your work touches far more than you are allowed to see. You forget how many eyes are watching the ripples you create."

He took a step closer, closing the already narrow space between you. His gloved hand lifted slightly, hovering near your chin for a heartbeat as though he might touch the bruise, but he did not. He simply let the air between you thicken.

"I protect my assets, Agent," he whispered, his tone silk wrapped in steel. "And make no mistake, you are one of my most valuable."

You swallowed hard but refused to look away. His proximity, the weight of his voice, the quiet certainty of his control, it pressed against your chest like gravity.

"I only write words," you said quietly. "The Rebels know that."

"Words," he repeated softly, almost savoring the weight of it. "Words that have reshaped the Empire’s image. You have made entire sectors bend willingly to Imperial order. Citizens trust what they once feared. Systems that might have resisted now offer loyalty before resistance can even form."

He let the silence linger, his gaze cutting straight through you.

"The Rebels see you as a threat. Not because you carry a weapon, but because you have weakened their voice. Their influence fades while ours grows stronger."

His voice dipped lower, more personal.

"And because of you, I secured every resource necessary. Not by force. Not through costly suppression. But freely. Efficiently. Without a single drop of unnecessary blood. You gave me order without the chaos."

"I did not choose to become this important," you whispered.

"No," he said, his voice almost like a caress now. "I chose you."

His words hung between you, heavy and intimate. For a moment, the room did not feel like an interrogation chamber anymore. It felt like something far more dangerous.

You forced yourself to steady. "Thank you," you finally said, breaking the tension just slightly.

"For what?" he asked softly, though he already knew.

"For sending the Death Trooper."

His lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. "Of course. You are mine to protect."

The weight of his words was deliberate. Possessive. And yet somehow gentler than you expected.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could speak, his voice dropped again into command.

"Stand up."

You blinked, your pulse jumping again. "Where are we going?"

He did not answer. He simply turned and walked toward the door, his voice calm but absolute.

"Follow me."

Your feet moved before your mind could fully process. The ache in your shoulder pulsed with every step, but the ache was nothing compared to the pulse pounding in your chest.

You followed him out of the interrogation chamber, into whatever awaited you next.

*******

You followed him silently across the landing pad toward his shuttle. The Juggernaut. It was only the second time you had ridden inside the vessel, but the sight of it still left you momentarily breathless. Sleek, imposing, and more advanced than anything you'd ever been permitted to board within the ISB. Of course, as Director of the Imperial Department of Advanced Weapons Research, Krennic had access to the finest craft the Empire could construct. Every piece of metal, every inch of polished surface, radiated raw power.

You climbed the ramp behind him, your boots echoing softly against the steel flooring. As you settled into your seat, your voice finally broke the long silence.

"Where are you taking me?"

He barely glanced at you, his tone smooth and almost indulgent. "I am going to show you how effective your words have been in securing my life’s work."

The shuttle engines roared to life as it lifted off the landing platform, breaking through the dense traffic layers of Coruscant and into open space. The stars unfolded around you as the Juggernaut soared higher, faster, leaving the planetary surface behind like it was nothing.

You watched silently as the stars twisted into lines, the ship entering hyperspace. Moments later, the shuttle emerged from light-speed. Before you stretched a view you could never have imagined.

Suspended against the emptiness of space loomed a colossal structure. Its enormous, moon-like sphere dominated the void, its surface covered with docking bays, exposed superstructures, and blinking lights that spread endlessly across its surface.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The shuttle slipped easily into one of its many docking ports. As the ramp lowered, Krennic stepped forward, motioning for you to follow. You descended behind him, eyes scanning the countless Stormtroopers standing in perfect rows along the hangar bay.

"Follow me," Krennic ordered calmly.

You kept close as he led you through the gleaming corridors, passing officers and specialists who straightened their posture the moment he passed. As you followed behind him, you noticed something strange. One by one, many of them nodded slightly toward you, as if acknowledging you personally. You frowned, confused by the unexpected attention.

"Where are we?" you asked finally, your voice quieter now.

"This," Krennic said with deliberate pride, "is called the Death Star."

The words landed with a weight you could not immediately process.

The Death Star.

Your steps slowed, mind spinning as you tried to grasp the enormity of what you were seeing. You had heard whispers in passing over the years, but nothing more than vague rumors. Now you stood inside it.

He led you deeper until you entered a vast observation platform. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the planet of Jedha below. The room was filled with high-ranking officers and officials, all wearing their pristine uniforms and polished rank badges. The air itself seemed heavier under the collective weight of their presence.

As you entered, a cold voice greeted you. "Director Krennic."

You turned toward the speaker and immediately recognized him from briefings and files. Governor Tarkin. His sharp cheekbones and pale eyes were as cutting as his reputation. He stood at the edge of the platform, arms folded behind his back.

"I see you are late," Tarkin continued, his voice cool. "Bringing company, no less."

Krennic’s smile was thin but controlled. "She is the reason this project was completed ahead of schedule." His voice carried with it something strange, almost like pride. "Her contribution was... crucial."

For a moment, you froze. It was the first time you had heard him speak of you that way in public.

Tarkin’s eyes shifted to you, studying you like a specimen. You straightened instinctively and spoke. "Governor," you said with a formal nod.

"At least she possesses better manners than you, Director," Tarkin said without a trace of humor, his gaze returning to Krennic.

You watched the brief flicker of tension between them. It was unmistakable. A subtle battle of egos played out silently between their glances. There was bad blood here, and you could feel it.

"Shall we proceed, Governor?" Krennic said calmly.

"By all means," Tarkin answered.

Krennic turned toward the technicians standing at their stations. The mood shifted instantly as his voice rang out with quiet authority.

"Prepare the weapon."

You followed his gaze to the massive superlaser slowly aligning toward the distant planet of Jedha.

"Target locked," one of the technicians confirmed.

Krennic’s voice was cool, almost casual. "Fire."

The chamber vibrated softly as the giant green laser beam erupted from the weapon’s dish, piercing the darkness like a god’s judgment. The beam struck Jedha’s surface, burrowing deep before erupting into a massive explosion that consumed the horizon. The planet’s crust tore upward into the sky, collapsing into itself as waves of dust and debris billowed into space.

The room fell silent.

Even you could not breathe. You had seen power before, but nothing like this.

"Ooh... it’s beautiful," Krennic whispered, almost reverently. His voice seemed to bring the others back to life. There were collective breaths, but no one dared speak first.

"Dear stars," you whispered under your breath, barely able to process what you had just witnessed.

Tarkin broke the silence next. "I believe I owe you an apology, Director Krennic. Your work exceeds all prior expectations."

"It is impressive, is it not?" Krennic replied, though his eyes first met yours before shifting back to Tarkin.

Tarkin’s expression remained neutral, but his words held weight. "The Emperor himself was briefed on today’s demonstration. He was most pleased."

Krennic allowed himself a faint smile. "His Excellency has authorized a formal celebration to honor those who contributed to the project’s success."

Tarkin gave a nod, his voice cutting as always. "Quite fitting. After all, stability must be recognized as well as enforced."

The tension between them simmered beneath every word. It was clear neither man intended to surrender control easily.

Without another word, Krennic gestured for you to follow him once again. You obeyed, still dazed, your mind struggling to keep pace with what you had just witnessed.

He led you away from the observation deck, the hum of the blast still ringing faintly in your ears. The corridors of the Death Star were pristine, cold, and humming with restrained energy, but you could barely focus. You followed behind him, still trying to process what you had just witnessed.

Then Krennic stopped, turning to face you fully. His voice was calmer now, but thick with the kind of pride that made your pulse catch.

"You saw it." His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied you. "But what you do not fully see is how it was made possible."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice, his words deliberate and sharp.

"The Death Star is my creation. The culmination of years spent pushing against incompetence, interference, and delays." His tone darkened for a breath before softening into something far more intimate. "But your work, Agent… your words allowed me to silence all of it."

He let that hang in the air for a moment, watching your reaction.

"Your propaganda campaigns stabilized the sectors that resisted my resource allocations. You gave the governors and the civilians comfort while I took what I needed behind their backs. The materials. The labor. The funds. No questions. No rebellions. No blood spilled."

He gave a small, almost pleased smile.

"While others fought with weapons, you fought with language. Your words became my secret weapon long before this superlaser ever fired."

You felt your stomach tighten, his words hitting heavier than you expected. You had always known your assignments were important. You had never fully understood how close to the center of his war you truly were.

Krennic’s voice lowered even more, like a quiet confession meant only for you.

"And that," he whispered, "is why they will never replace you."

******

The shuttle descended toward Scarif’s glittering coastline, where glass towers cut into the sky and pale blue waves lapped rhythmically against the shore. This was Krennic’s domain, far removed from Coruscant’s politics and shadows. Unlike the polished marble of the ISB, Scarif pulsed with quiet, absolute authority.

You followed him as he disembarked. The moment you stepped into the facility, you could feel the difference. The personnel moved with precision, efficient and almost reverent. Each time you walked behind him, you noticed it again. Officers and technicians nodded toward you as you passed. It was subtle, but unmistakable.

You leaned slightly closer, your voice quiet. "Director, is it just me, or are they nodding at me?"

Krennic did not slow his stride, but the corner of his mouth curled faintly. "They are."

"Why?"

"They acknowledge the one who made this project move forward." His voice was smooth and controlled, as if the statement required no further explanation. "Your work allowed this station to exist."

The statement struck deeper than you expected. He said it so matter-of-fact, like discussing routine supply manifests. But you knew the weight behind it.

As you continued, the two of you stopped before a medical suite. The durasteel doors hissed open, revealing pristine examination rooms within. The faint scent of sterilization lingered, cool and sharp.

Krennic signaled the physician with a small gesture of his hand. "Examine her." His head tilted slightly toward you, eyes briefly meeting yours.

You blinked. "Me?"

"I am treating my assets with appropriate care, Agent."

The physician nodded briskly and gestured for you to sit. The medical scans passed over your shoulder, the familiar whirring sound filling the quiet. A soft blue light pulsed across your skin, reading beneath the surface.

The doctor spoke after a moment. "The soft tissue in her shoulder is strained from impact trauma. She should minimize upper limb activity for a short duration to avoid further damage."

"But she may continue her duties?" Krennic asked, voice as calm as ever.

"Yes, Director. With caution."

"Good. Very good," Krennic said, almost pleased, as if the outcome had been preordained.

When the examination concluded, you rose once again and followed him out of the sterile room into open air.

The beach stretched endlessly before you, waves glittering under the pale twin suns. White sand glistened at the water’s edge while Scarif’s massive shield array shimmered faintly above like a second sky.

Krennic stopped at the edge of the platform and raised his hand, pointing upward.

"See that?" His voice was quieter now, but carried the same weight it always did.

High above the clouds, like a second moon, hung the silhouette of the Death Star. Even from this distance, it radiated silent dominance, its superlaser dish casting a faint shadow against the stars.

You stared up at it, your breath catching. That massive sphere, capable of destroying entire worlds in seconds. You had seen it fire, seen Jedha reduced to ash. And now, here it hovered, its size dwarfing everything beneath it.

Krennic spoke again, his voice distant with memory. "I have spent almost twenty years building that."

He exhaled softly. "Years of setbacks. Delays. Sabotage. And endless pressure from the Emperor and Tarkin." His jaw flexed at the name, but he let it pass.

"I nearly lost it all more than once. Resources dried up. The Senate grew restless. The Rebels attacked supply lines." He paused, then looked directly at you, his voice turning deliberate.

"Until I recognized the simplest truth. Words."

He took a slow step closer, lowering his voice into something more personal. "Words are a weapon far more efficient than any blaster or starfighter. They can reassure the frightened, enrage the loyal, and bury opposition beneath waves of false comfort."

He let the weight of it settle for a moment before continuing.

"Your propaganda was my weapon long before the Death Star’s superlaser. While others fought in the Outer Rim, I secured the resources quietly. The ore, the labor, the funding, all came willingly. You drowned their doubts before they could speak."

For a heartbeat, his voice softened, more honest than you had ever heard. "I carried the weight of this station for years. And in doing so, I failed to see how much of that weight was crushing my right hand."

You stared at him, the words hitting heavier than you anticipated. "So you see me as your equal, Director?"

Krennic smirked faintly, recovering his usual confidence. "Do not get ahead of yourself, Agent." The sharpness returned to his voice. "I said I acknowledge your work. The Emperor does as well. Together, we have built the greatest weapon in the galaxy, unlimited power delivered with flawless precision."

Your stomach tightened as you stared once more at the massive sphere in the sky. The reality of it all pressed hard against your chest.

Krennic spoke first, his voice softer than usual but still edged with pride. "It is magnificent, is it not?"

You kept your gaze on the death star. The weight of its existence still pulsed inside your chest. You answered simply. "Yes."

So this is the result of the propaganda you created. Your sleep and rest had been stolen for the sake of this deadly weapon. No wonder Krennic had made your life so stressful. He had been under pressure to finish it.

Krennic turned his head slightly, almost as if he had expected resistance, or at least hesitation. But you offered none.

"The Empire will be stronger," you added. Your voice remained even, almost cold, as if you were stating a fact rather than expressing any excitement.

For a brief second, Krennic studied you. The admission caught him off guard. He had anticipated the usual careful neutrality you often carried when he spoke of his work. But not this.

"You surprise me," he said finally. "I half expected you would quietly disapprove. That you would fear what it represents."

You exhaled slowly, eyes never leaving the massive sphere above. "The Empire. The Republic. It is the same story, Director. War. Death. Chaos. Shifting sides, new banners, different names. The outcomes rarely change."

He gave a small nod, watching you with renewed interest. "So you understand how politics work."

Your voice lowered, a small flicker of something more dangerous beneath your calm exterior. "I learned long ago that morality does not feed you. Righteousness does not shelter you. And loyalty to a side only matters when you hold the power to protect yourself."

Krennic’s eyes narrowed as if studying a rare specimen. "That is a very Imperial perspective."

You allowed yourself a faint smile, though it did not reach your eyes. "I grew up beneath insects, Director. Hiding. Starving. Waiting for leaders who spoke of hope while sacrificing those beneath them. That is what the rebellion gave me."

The wind shifted slightly, carrying the salt air between you.

"Now," you continued, "I have a name. A position. Influence. I am not that girl anymore. I will not go back to being powerless."

Krennic's lips curled, both pleased and intrigued. "You are full of surprises tonight."

"Survival changes people," you said. "Ambition keeps them alive."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Only the soft crash of waves filled the silence. The Death Star loomed above as a symbol of everything both of you had become part of.

Krennic finally broke the pause, his voice regaining its smooth, commanding tone. "I have arranged something for you. Since the Emperor wishes to celebrate our success, there will be a formal gala. I have already secured an appointment for you with one of the finest tailors in the capital district."

You turned your head toward him, mildly surprised. "Why?"

His smile was faint but calculated. "Because when you stand beside me that evening, I expect every eye to see precisely what you have become. And perhaps I owe you something for what you have given me."

The way he spoke made your pulse tighten once again, though you kept your face composed.

And once more, Krennic studied you in silence, as if savoring every moment of your quiet acceptance.

You slowly nodded, your voice soft but steady. "Alright. I will go with you. At least this time you asked nicely."

Krennic allowed himself a small smile, one that was less sharp than usual, almost genuine beneath his polished exterior. "Consider this a moment for you to finally stand where you belong. You have played a far greater role in this project than most in that grand room ever will. It is time they see that."

For a brief moment, you felt a strange shift in him. The usual weight that always hung over his shoulders seemed lighter. Perhaps now that the Death Star was finally complete, the burden he carried for years had started to lift. The man standing before you still carried his arrogance, but there was something else now. Relief. Satisfaction.

Then his voice softened again, almost contemplative. "I realize something. Both of us share a trait."

You lifted an eyebrow, already preparing for whatever twisted comparison he intended to draw. "I am not narcissistic, heartless, or an egomaniac," you replied, your tone cool but edged.

He let out a low scoff, the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. "No. Though your courage in saying so has grown." His voice lowered, turning thoughtful. "What I meant is this. We both started at the bottom. Neither of us was handed anything. No family legacy. No favor. No safety net." He paused, his eyes holding yours. "We had to claw our way here. Alone."

You exhaled slowly, the truth of his words sinking deep. "Yes. We did."

For a moment, the wind whispered between you, carrying the scent of saltwater and polished metal. And in that silence, you both stood there, beneath the shadow of the very thing your sacrifices had built.

******

Next day, you arrived at the exclusive boutique in Coruscant. Elegant, quiet, expensive. The kind of place without a name on the door, only invitations.

The assistant greeted you with a respectful nod. "Ah, Miss. Director Krennic informed me you would arrive. Please, come in."

Inside, the boutique gleamed with shimmering fabrics, subtle lighting, and holographic displays projecting design options. You tried not to gawk. This was far above your usual world.

"It is my first time here," you admitted awkwardly.

"Not to worry, Madame," the tailor said with a grin. "The Director brings only the most special clients. First time he has sent a lady."

You blinked. Lady. Special. The words made you hesitate.

Before you could respond, the tailor continued, smiling as he prepared his tools. "Such a lucky man, your husband. Shall we begin the measurements?"

You froze. Husband. Your mind screamed to correct him, but your mouth failed to respond. The fluster settled over you like a fog. And then, the door chime rang softly.

You turned.

Krennic entered, white uniform pristine, cape swaying behind him, gloves removed, hands folded behind his back. His eyes locked onto yours immediately, the smug satisfaction clear in his gaze. He planned this.

You narrowed your eyes slightly. "What are you doing here?"

His lips curved faintly as he stepped further into the room. "I construct the greatest weapon in the galaxy. I oversee advanced military engineering beyond anything this Empire has seen. You would be surprised how easily I can also oversee the design that will make you the most… commanding presence in the room."

You exhaled quietly, biting back the remark forming on your tongue.

"Ah, Director," the tailor beamed. "We were just starting with Madame’s measurements."

Krennic’s gaze flicked briefly between you and the tailor. He heard the word Madame. He could have corrected it. He chose not to.

"Excellent," he said smoothly, his amusement barely restrained. "I trust you will ensure my wife looks flawless."

You inhaled sharply, shooting him a glare that he met with quiet satisfaction. His eyes glinted as he basked in your discomfort.

As the tailor worked, taking your measurements, Krennic circled like a predator observing its prey. His gaze trailed along your neckline, your waist, your hips. It never turned vulgar. It was calculated. Territorial.

"We will want something that commands attention," he instructed the tailor. "She must be the star of the event. Not gaudy. Powerful."

"Of course, Director," the tailor responded with enthusiasm. "Understated dominance. Grace with impact."

"Exactly," Krennic whispered, his eyes locking with yours.

Your pulse quickened. You tried to focus on the tailor’s measurements, but you could feel Krennic’s gaze on your skin like a slow, burning heat.

When the tailor excused himself briefly to retrieve fabric samples, the heavy silence returned, thick and charged.

"Wife, huh?" you asked softly, testing him.

Krennic stepped closer, entering your personal space. You felt the heat radiate from his body without a single touch.

"You did not correct him," his voice lowered into a velvet murmur.

"Neither did you," you countered, challenging.

He tilted his head slightly, his voice dropping even further. "There are worse assumptions. And perhaps not entirely inaccurate. Professionally, of course. After all, who else polishes you, shapes you, perfects you like I do?"

Your breath caught sharply in your throat, the heat rising under your skin. The air between you grew electric, heavy with the unspoken tension neither of you dared to fully acknowledge. Your defiance met his authority in a silent collision, neither backing down, both dangerously aware of the invisible line being drawn between you.

His voice dropped lower, slipping into a whisper that laced every word with quiet possession. "When you walk into that gala, they will not see you as mine because of a ring. They will know it by how you shine."

The words wrapped around you like silk, both intoxicating and suffocating. Your pulse quickened, your chest tightened, but you forced your face to remain composed, unwilling to give him the full satisfaction of seeing you unravel beneath his gaze.

At that moment, the tailor returned, completely unaware of the charged atmosphere hanging between you. He beamed, his voice cheerful as he broke the silence. "Perfect. The final design is ready. You both will be the stars of the gala."

Krennic’s smirk was slow and deliberate, full of satisfaction, like a predator savoring a silent victory. You kept your posture still, your eyes carefully avoiding his. But despite your best efforts, you could feel the heat in your cheeks, the subtle flush betraying you.

And Krennic watched, drinking in every flicker of your restraint, knowing exactly what he was doing to you.

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fr0stf4ll · 7 months ago

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A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 2

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 4k

notes; hello hello, thank you so much for all of your comments on the last part. I'm so happy that you guys want to read more of the new fan fiction. Here is the part 2, please don't hesitate to comment or to ask to be on the tag list. Bisous bisous

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Early morning light painted Velaris in gentle pastels, the snowy streets glowing beneath a sky that hinted at a clear day ahead. The hostel’s front step creaked softly as you left, having already arranged to keep your horse and belongings there for a few more nights. With your cloak drawn tight against the crisp winter air, you stepped onto the cobblestone path, the familiar scent of the Sidra mingling with the freshness of newly fallen snow.

You knew the way well enough, even after centuries away: to reach Madja’s quarters, you had to skirt the edge of a quiet residential district, pass through a small courtyard where a fountain tinkled with ice-rimmed water, and turn down a short lane lined with lanterns and blossoming plants enchanted to survive the cold. Before heading straight there, though, you caught a whiff of something enticing—fresh pastries, warm bread, the sugary hint of glazed treats.

Following your nose, you discovered a small bakery tucked between a tailor’s shop and a candle-maker’s stall. Its sign hung overhead, carved wood depicting a loaf of bread and a swirl of steam. The door, painted a soft teal, stood slightly ajar, letting out the heavenly aroma. Inside, rows of sweet rolls, tarts, and delicate pastries awaited. You remembered how Madja always had a fondness for morning pastries—she used to claim that a little sweetness helped start the day on a kinder note.

Stepping inside, you selected a variety of treats: sugar-dusted pastries, flaky croissants, and small fruit-filled buns that gleamed with syrup. Alongside them, you chose a crusty loaf and a few savory rolls for balance. Wrapping them carefully in parchment, the bakery’s clerk smiled warmly, admiring your thoughtfulness. You paid without hesitation, a slight grin touching your lips at the idea of surprising Madja with these morsels of delight.

With your package of pastries cradled in one arm, you pushed open the door and stepped back onto the street. Distracted by the lingering taste of sweetness in the air and the memory of Madja’s grateful smile, you didn’t notice the tall figure coming around the corner until it was too late.

Your shoulder collided with something solid—very solid—and you stumbled a step, clutching the pastries protectively to keep them from spilling. Looking up, you saw a broad chest encased in fighting leathers and, as your gaze traveled upward, a pair of strong, dark wings folded neatly behind his back. His face was turned toward you now, brows lifted in mild surprise. He was tall, toweringly so, with an air of alert strength that suggested he rarely found himself caught off-guard.

“Pardon me,” you said quickly, voice low and genuinely apologetic. You stepped aside, adjusting your hold on the parchment bundle. The last thing you wanted was to cause a scene or lose these treasured pastries to the snowy ground.

For a heartbeat, you noted the faint surprise in his eyes—he’d expected perhaps a greeting or a challenge—but you had no time for curiosities now. You had a meeting to attend and pastries to deliver. Without waiting for his reply, you nodded, a brief dip of the head, and continued on your way.

The sounds of the city moved around you: distant laughter, the whisper of wings overhead, and the muffled crunch of your boots in the snow. You cast one last curious glance over your shoulder, the winged male already merging into the morning bustle of Velaris. Then you pressed forward, heart light with anticipation. Soon, you would be face-to-face with Madja again, and this time, you came bearing both sweets and your renewed commitment to the healing art she had first taught you.

You had barely raised your knuckles to knock on the old wooden door of Madja’s office when it swung open with a gentle creak. Standing just inside was your old mentor, her silvered hair braided neatly, the familiar warmth in her eyes gleaming even brighter than you remembered. Before you could utter a word, she stepped forward and wrapped you in a gentle, enveloping hug.

The scent of herbal poultices and clean linens—scents forever associated with her—filled your senses as you leaned into the embrace. For a moment, all the centuries and miles you’d traveled fell away, leaving only the memory of countless afternoons spent under her watchful guidance, the hush of the healing rooms, and the soft murmur of her patient instructions.

“My dear child,” Madja said, her voice trembling slightly with joy, “it feels like a lifetime since I last saw you.” She held you at arm’s length, scanning you from head to toe. “Look at you, so grown, so poised. It’s hard to believe you were once that quiet apprentice peeking around doorways, curious about every tincture and suture.”

You smiled, a surge of tenderness filling your chest. “It’s been too long, Madja. I’ve been… everywhere, I think.” You lifted the carefully bundled pastries and bread you’d carried all this way. “I know how fond you are of sweet treats in the morning, so I made a stop on my way here.”

Madja’s eyes lit up at the mention of food, the lines at their corners deepening with delight. “You remembered my weakness!” she teased, ushering you inside and closing the door with a gentle push. Her office had changed little: jars and vials lined shelves, each meticulously labeled; scrolls of medical diagrams were rolled and tied with ribbons; a comfortable armchair waited near a small, round table. A thickly woven rug covered the floor, and a window let in gentle winter daylight, illuminating dust motes that drifted lazily through the air.

As you set the pastries on the table, Madja peered at them with undisguised pleasure. “Oh, look at these,” she breathed, selecting a delicate fruit-filled bun to inspect before taking a small bite. The way her face brightened was like sunshine on fresh snow—pure and sincere. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this. Not just the pastries,” she added quickly, laughing, “but you, my dear. Knowing you would return gave me such comfort these last months as I considered my retirement.”

Her words stirred something soft inside you, a gentle ache of gratitude and affection. “You knew I’d come back,” you said quietly, resting your hand on her arm. “I never forgot your lessons. Everywhere I went—Summer Court, Dawn Court, even across the sea—I carried your voice in my memory. It guided my hands, reminded me of compassion and patience in the face of suffering.”

Madja smiled, the emotion shining in her gaze. “Oh, child. That means more to me than all these treats combined. And trust me,” she said, biting into a sugar-dusted pastry, “that’s saying something.”

You both laughed softly, the sound rising and falling in the small, familiar space. Outside, the city hummed with life, and the snow continued to lend a quiet hush to the streets. But here, in this moment, you and Madja were safe in the past made present—teacher and student reunited, ready to pass the torch and write the next chapter of healing in the Night Court.

“Come,” Madja said, beckoning you to sit. “Eat with me, and tell me of your travels. Then we’ll speak of what must be done next. We have so much to catch up on, my dear. So very much.”

Time slipped by like melting snow beneath a warming sun. One conversation bled into another, memories overlapping with new tales as you and Madja shared a quiet feast of words and understanding. Seated by her small, round table, you sampled the pastries you’d brought and she sipped a mild herbal tea, letting it cool on her tongue as she listened with rapt attention.

You spoke of the Summer Court’s lush jungles and how their healers used exotic flowers to treat fevers. You described the Dawn Court’s libraries, where you learned surgical techniques from scrolls older than the High Lords themselves. You detailed the human realms and distant continents, where you discovered remedies made from plants that grew only under strange red suns. And, with a hint of satisfaction, you recounted the new healing methods you developed—mixing herbs in precise measures, using controlled spells to mend bone and flesh faster, more cleanly than ever before. Every word you offered up was met with pride in Madja’s eyes, as if the knowledge you’d gathered were the rarest jewels.

She questioned you about your power, the subtle magic that allowed you to sense illness and pain with startling accuracy. You admitted it had grown stronger with practice: now you could slow a hemorrhage with a whisper or soothe a maddened mind with careful, empathic focus. Through it all, Madja smiled quietly, nodding now and then, her delight and approval like gentle applause in the hush of her office.

Eventually, though, the mood shifted, and the laughter died down into a more somber tone. With a careful breath, you ventured into more painful territory. “I heard about the last war with Hybern,” you said softly, your gaze drifting to the distant window where a smudge of pale sky marked the passing of morning into afternoon. “I should have come back sooner, but I was too far—lost in the deep continent. By the time I got the news, it was already over. I… I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help.”

Madja’s expression grew gentle, understanding etched into every line. “It was a hard time for all of us, child. Many who lived through it bear scars not only of the flesh, but of the heart and soul. The war was brutal, and there were moments when all seemed lost. But we survived—at great cost, yes, but survived nonetheless.” She reached over, placing her hand over yours. “You cannot blame yourself. The world is vast, and news travels slowly. You followed your path and gained what we now need.”

You met her eyes, searching them for certainty. “And now you say… a greater danger looms?”

Her shoulders rose in a slight shrug, but her eyes hardened with quiet resolve. “Yes. Rumors stir—more than rumors, in fact. Whispers of powerful forces converging, alliances hidden in shadow. The next conflict may surpass anything we have ever witnessed. The time will come when Prythian, and perhaps the world, will need every skilled hand, every healer who can do more than close wounds. They will need a leader who can guide healers and armies alike, someone who understands not just medicine, but people. Someone who’s traveled far and wide, who knows how to adapt and improvise.”

Your heart squeezed gently in your chest, understanding dawning like the slow rising of a sun behind storm clouds. “That’s why you’re retiring,” you said, voice hushed. “Because you can’t help as you wish anymore, and you believe I can.”

Madja nodded, eyes shining with conviction. “I’ve given my centuries to this court, to its people. But my hands grow stiff, and my eyesight dims. I know my limits, my dear. And I know your capabilities—greater, more flexible, better suited for what is coming. I trust you to take up my mantle and lead in ways I no longer can.”

A hush settled between you, broken only by the distant murmurs of Velaris and the faint crackle of a log shifting in the hearth. You saw in Madja’s face not only the mentor who guided your shaky first steps, but a visionary who understood when to pass on her legacy.

You bowed your head, acknowledging the weight of this new responsibility. “I will do my best,” you said softly, resolve steadied by her faith.

Madja’s smile returned, quieter but no less sincere. “I know you will, my child. It’s time for the student to stand at the helm. And this city, this court, will need you more than ever before.”

Azriel’s POV

“It’s really happening,” Cassian said, disbelief coloring his tone. “Madja’s actually retiring.”

Azriel stood near the window, wings folded neatly behind him, his dark gaze drifting between the three others in the room: Rhysand, Feyre, and Cassian. They had gathered in a private meeting chamber with a broad table at its center. Beyond the glass, Velaris shimmered under the soft winter light, a gentle hush settling over the streets below.

Feyre leaned against a chair, her voice quiet and steady. “We knew this day would come. She’s served this court for centuries—long before any of us held these positions.” There was a reverence in her tone, as if recognizing that an era was ending.

Rhysand, standing beside her, tapped a folded piece of parchment against his palm. “Madja sent a message this morning,” he said, his voice level. “She wanted us to know that her replacement has arrived in Velaris.”

Cassian crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Already here?” he repeated, frowning slightly. He didn’t sound angry, just unsettled by the rapidity of this change. It wasn’t that any of them doubted Madja’s judgment; rather, it was strange to think of someone else stepping into her role so swiftly.

Feyre shifted her weight, curiosity and concern mingling in her eyes. “Do we have a name? Any details?” She glanced first at Rhysand, then at Azriel, as if seeking confirmation that all would be well.

Rhysand’s violet gaze dipped to the parchment. He unfolded it and scanned the lines. “Her name is Y/N,” he said. “She left centuries ago to travel the courts and even beyond Prythian’s borders, expanding her healing knowledge. Madja describes her as someone she raised after the first war with Hybern—an orphan of that conflict. She took the girl under her wing, trained her, and now says she’s more skilled than ever.”

Azriel remained silent, his shadows stirring subtly at his shoulders. If Madja trusted this Y/N to succeed her, to guide the healers of the Night Court, then that spoke volumes. He could sense the unease mingled with acceptance in the room. Changes like this did not come often, but when they did, they tended to carry immense significance.

Cassian exhaled, one hand lifting to rub at his neck. “If Madja believes in her, we should give her a chance. Still, it’s hard to imagine anyone filling Madja’s shoes.”

Azriel caught Rhysand’s faint smile, a subtle tilt of the High Lord’s lips. “We’ll arrange a meeting today,” Rhysand said, setting the note aside. “We need her expertise, especially if the rumors we’ve been hearing prove true. If a greater conflict is brewing, we’ll require a healer who can lead effectively and adapt quickly. Madja wouldn’t hand us just anyone.”

Feyre nodded, the tension in her posture easing slightly. “Then we should welcome her properly,” she said softly. Azriel noted the determination in her eyes—Feyre had always been good at making newcomers feel at ease.

Cassian grunted in agreement, leaning back as if resigned. “Fine. Let’s meet her.” He didn’t sound hostile, simply accepting that times were changing again, as they so often did.

Azriel finally moved from his spot near the window, stepping closer to the table. Outside, the snow-dusted city remained unaware of their deliberations. This Y/N must be formidable, if Madja thought her worthy of such a mantle. He exchanged a glance with Rhysand, who gave a faint nod, understanding passing silently between them.

They would meet her soon, and then they would know if Madja’s faith was well-placed. Azriel let the thought settle in his mind like a quiet promise: a new ally, a new guardian of life and health amidst all the uncertainties of a changing world.

Later that afternoon, standing in one of the House of Wind’s halls, Azriel and the others awaited the arrival of Madja and her chosen successor. The space was quiet, warmed by braziers that chased away the winter chill lingering outside. Feyre stood to Rhysand’s right, her posture poised and welcoming. Cassian hovered nearby, arms crossed but relaxed, appearing more curious than wary now. Azriel took his place slightly behind Rhysand, shadows flickering softly around his shoulders, keen eyes focused on the grand doors.

He heard them before he saw them—the soft padding of footsteps, the gentle murmur of Madja’s voice as she guided her protégé. Azriel noted a subtle change in his companions: Rhysand and Feyre straightened a fraction, their gazes sharpening, while Cassian let out a quiet breath. The old healer’s arrival was expected, but who accompanied her was still an unknown that drew all their attention.

The door opened smoothly, revealing Madja first. She moved at a calm pace, the lines of age and wisdom etched into her face. At her side was a taller figure Azriel instantly recognized. He stiffened, remembering the morning’s brief collision. He’d caught only a glimpse of her then—enough to register her beauty, but not the details. Now, with the bright lamplight and open space, he could take in every nuance.

Y/N was indeed a High Fae, Azriel guessed, based on the gentle taper of her ears and the timeless look in her eyes. She stood tall, her posture neither arrogant nor meek, just quietly assured. Long hair, light brown and lustrous, fell behind her back, with small curls at the ends that softened the lines of her figure. She’d tucked the strands behind her ears, revealing a face that mixed elegance with warmth. Her eyes were a deep, rich blue—Azriel thought of midnight skies reflected on calm waters—steady and clear as she surveyed the room.

A soft smile curved her lips, genuine rather than practiced. He recalled how quickly she’d left him this morning, offering only a brief apology. Now, seeing her fully, he understood why his memory had clung to that brief encounter. Hers was a beauty that felt natural, not forced—grace in the set of her shoulders, kindness in the soft curve of her mouth.

Madja stepped forward, inclining her head to Rhysand, Feyre, Cassian, and Azriel. Her companion followed, a respectful dip of her chin acknowledging their status. Azriel watched as Y/N’s gaze flicked over each of them—first Rhys and Feyre, her eyes brightening with recognition of their roles, then Cassian, and finally coming to rest on him. For a heartbeat, their eyes met, and he could have sworn he saw a hint of amusement there, as if she, too, recalled that small mishap by the bakery.

He did not look away. He simply acknowledged her presence with a subtle nod, shadows stilling around him, curious and contemplative.

Madja offered a small smile of encouragement to Y/N as Rhysand and Feyre stepped forward. The High Lord’s posture was relaxed yet attentive, violet eyes reflecting quiet curiosity, while Feyre’s calm warmth radiated outward, creating a welcoming atmosphere. Cassian, still a step behind, nodded in greeting, arms loosely at his sides now. Azriel watched it all unfold, shadows settling into a content hush around him.

Rhysand’s voice was smooth and cordial as he broke the silence. “Madja, thank you for coming. We received your message,” he said, inclining his head to the old healer. “And this must be Y/N, your chosen successor?”

Madja nodded, gently touching Y/N’s elbow in a familiar, reassuring gesture. “Indeed. As I explained, Y/N has returned from her travels—more skilled and knowledgeable than ever. I believe she will serve the Night Court well, especially with what may lie ahead.”

Feyre’s gaze shifted to Y/N, her expression warm. “Welcome home,” she offered simply, the sincerity in her tone unmistakable. “We’ve heard much about you—and I’m sure we’ll have plenty of questions.”

Y/N’s smile deepened, the tension of meeting these influential figures easing a fraction. “It’s an honor to be here,” she replied, voice carrying a steady calm. “I’m grateful Madja trusted me enough to call me back. I hope to prove worthy of that trust.”

Cassian snorted lightly, not unkindly. “If Madja trusts you, that’s already a high recommendation. The rest, I think, will fall into place soon enough.”

Madja tilted her head in gentle agreement. “We will not rush this transition,” the older healer said, her tone practical and kind. “I’m not disappearing tomorrow. For the coming weeks—perhaps months—Y/N and I will work side by side. She will get to know our healers, understand their rhythms, and learn the intricacies of how our wards are organized. By the time I step back fully, she will have found her footing and earned the confidence of every healer under this roof.”

Azriel quietly observed Y/N’s reaction to these words. There was no flash of panic, no tension coiling in her shoulders. Instead, just a measured acceptance, as though she’d been preparing for this for a long time.

Y/N nodded, turning her gaze to Madja briefly, then to Rhysand and Feyre. “I appreciate this gradual approach. It will give me a chance to reacquaint myself with the Night Court’s traditions. I’ve learned much elsewhere, but integrating it here—especially if a war is on the horizon—requires care.”

Her mention of looming conflict stirred something in the air. Azriel noticed how Rhysand’s jaw tightened just so. Feyre’s eyes flickered with a hint of steel beneath their kindness. Cassian’s grin faded slightly, replaced by a sober light in his hazel eyes.

Rhysand offered Y/N a small, approving nod. “Caution is wise. We will likely rely on your skills, your counsel, and your ability to coordinate healers in the field if trouble does come knocking.”

Feyre chimed in softly, “We’ve seen how vital good healers are, not only for soldiers but for civilians, for stabilizing morale. Your presence isn’t just medical; it’s strategic.”

Y/N’s lashes lowered briefly, acknowledging the weight of these words. “I understand,” she said, a calmness threading through her voice. “Healing is more than closing wounds—it’s about maintaining hope, ensuring that fear doesn’t consume everyone. I’ll do my best to uphold that.”

Madja’s smile warmed the room. “You see why I chose her,” she said quietly, pride evident in every syllable.

Azriel inclined his head at Y/N, a quiet gesture of respect. She seemed to notice, meeting his gaze for a fraction before turning back to Rhysand and Feyre. He thought back to their brief encounter that morning—the quick collision, the apology, her hasty departure. Already that memory seemed distant, replaced by the impression of a calm, capable presence who might very well become an anchor in the uncertain times ahead.

“Well,” Rhysand said, after a moment, “I suppose all that remains is to officially welcome you into this role. Y/N, you have our full support. In the coming days, we can introduce you to the healers, and you can start making your own assessments.” He paused, a faint tilt to his smile. “And, of course, do not hesitate to call on any of us if you need assistance.”

Cassian smirked softly. “Just don’t ask me to bandage anyone’s wounds—I’m all thumbs with that,” he teased, the tension in the room easing into something lighter.

Feyre rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “Ignore him. He’s quite good at following orders when it counts.”

Y/N let out a gentle laugh, and even Azriel’s lips curved slightly, the corners of his mouth barely lifting but enough to notice. The wind seemed to ease outside the windows, the hush of snow falling quietly on Velaris’s spires. Within the House of Wind’s halls, the new healer had been welcomed, the path of her mentorship and eventual succession laid out clearly.

Madja’s eyes shone with satisfaction. “Then it’s settled. We’ll begin tomorrow morning. Y/N, I’ll show you around the wards, let you meet a few of the lead healers.” She glanced at Rhysand and Feyre, and then at Cassian and Azriel. “The rest will follow naturally.”

Azriel considered the moment: transitions were often fraught with uncertainty, but here, in the presence of trust and openness, they felt manageable. He said nothing more, content to stand by and watch as a new cornerstone of the Night Court’s strength stepped quietly into place.

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amialunatic · 8 months ago

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Just trust me baby..

divider credits to @anitalenia

Based on anon request: would you be willing to write a sam fic about his first time between him and reader where she has scars from her time with a vamp nest (say she was taken a while back and that’s how she got into hunting) and she’s insecure and a little anxious with having his mouth on her body because of the way she was once treated but sam is very patient and understanding. basically just really sweet and sam is catering and talks her through it :,)

Warning: Light smut, Fingering, Sam Winchester/ Hunter!Reader, Fem!Reader, brief mention of readers time in vampire nest.

A/N: Omg my first actual fic. I'm quite stoked to be putting it out. Nervous too. I hope you all like it. I'm starting simple and soft core ig.

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

“Hey, you awake?” Dean called from the driver’s seat. That jolted you from down the memory lane. They were returning from the hunt. It was rough. At least 10 vampires. 3 newly turned, innocent, and pain-stricken but unable to control themselves. You guys had to kill them all. Everyone sustained injuries. That was natural. You getting bitten was not. You tried your best to not get bitten as it brought back nightmares that lasted quite a while than you cared to admit.

Sharp teeth piercing you had been a routine for weeks. Until you were rescued by Bobby and the boys. They found you on the brink of death. Several weeks of hospitalization later, you were fit to hunt. You hunted alone, focused mostly on vampires. And sometimes with the boys if the targets were nests. Helping those trapped there brought you catharsis. You wanted to be the hunter you needed all those weeks. And you strived your best to be that.

As you got out of Impala to the motel you were staying, you realized how tired you were. Slumped shoulders and bitten forearms, you moved slowly to your room. In the background, you hear Dean invite Sam for a drink and he refuses. As soon as you enter the room, you get into the shower. Maybe warm water can block out the sensations, the fangs that haunt your mind when you close your eyes. It never has, but you always hope it does this time. As you get out, red from the shower, you hear a knock. Sam’s voice calls out “Hey, it’s me.”

You open the door to see him standing at the door frame all fidgety. “I didn’t think you’d be showering.” he looked unsure almost second guessing his decision.

“I was done.” You moved back as he let himself in. Awkwardly standing with his arms on the chair, brows furrowed he asks “You okay?”. “As ok as you’d be after ganking a bunch of vampires I guess” you tried to lighten the situation. But Sam was having none of that “ You got bitten”. “Yes Sam, vampires bite. That’s like their whole MO.” you poured sarcasm to derail the conversation. This enraged Sam. “Don’t downplay this” his voice raises.

Reaching your breaking point and seeing that Sam wouldn’t leave you without a confrontation, you spit out the truth “You wanna know? OK. I’m fucking tired and I’ll probably have nightmares for days." Your outburst continued as you paced the room in a dressing gown. "You wanna know how weak I am, how the thing that happened to me years ago still brings me to my knees? There you go”. These moments were always followed by tears for you. But he didn't have to know that. You move across to the window facing the half-empty parking lot and turn away, not wishing to humiliate yourself further.

You hear the shuffling of feet as you feel two large hands wrap around me. “Y/N..” his voice laced with sympathy and concern. You lean into his familiar hug, your back nestled against his chest, his warmth enveloping your core. “Sam. I..I don’t want you..guys to see me weak. I am not weak.” you sigh. Sam chuckles “Now that’s the dean-est sentiment I’ve heard you express.” you appreciated his efforts to cheer you up.

“Hey it’s not like you too to sit around and express your feelings” you counter.

He sighs “I know. Me and Dean. Not the greatest examples of sharing feelings. But..you can tell stuff to me. You know that right?” He continues. “Also I don’t think you’re weak at all. Infact you’re one of the most badass hunters for recovering and facing your fears.”

You look down with a grateful smile “Thanks Sam.” As you turn around to face him, you take in his face. His eyes look desperate. Like he is trying to convince you that he can be your safe place. That you needn’t be scared of being vulnerable. And you can’t help but place a kiss between his furrowing eyebrows. Those lines that form when he is worried. You wanted to stop those and let him convince you. To forget the pain and nightmares even for a moment.

“Kiss me”

He looked at you, slightly surprised. “Now? You sure?”.

They had made out before. But this felt different. Somehow more intense, somehow more desperate.

“Yeah Sam, kiss me. Now.”

He didn’t need more encouragement. He bend down, caught your face with his hands as he pressed his lips on to yours. Restrained strength flowed through his hands that he tried to keep in check while pure gentleness caressed your lips. He lifted you effortlessly so your faces were leveled as he continued kissing you, gently tugging your lower lip with his teeth drawing out sighs. You mindlessly tugged his flannel, wishing it’d disappear.

“Patience” He chuckles as placing you on the desk, your back against the wall. You hastily removed the buttons one by one while he untied the knot of your dressing gown in a nanosecond. Your freshly showered skin glistening with water drops stops him in his tracks. As he stares at your underwear-clad body mesmerized, he stops to notice the bite on your forearm, still fiery red, even with the ointment around it. Around your shoulder and neck were faint scars. He caresses the skin around the bite, careful not to cause you any pain. After gently running his fingers along the scars when he looks back to your eyes he only notices your fierce stare, bestowed on his eyes, his swollen lips, and his now visible body, muscular and oh so strong. How you wanted him to take you then and there.

Not wishing to drag it any longer, he starts kissing you again as you gently run your hands through the battle scarred abdomen of his. Moving down to trace a drop of water from your jaw to your neck, he presses gentle kisses coaxing you to lean back your head opening up your neck and chest in the process. He practically groans as he gently nibble across you neck connecting to your shoulder.

In a flash, you freeze and push him away. All of it happened so sudden, Sam stared at you one feet away, confused. In a moment of clarity, it dawned on him. He gently came close to you and tentatively caressed your sides. Your apologetic eyes said everything it needed to. He lifted your chin up to him.

“hey hey..baby. , it’s ok. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” He looked at you concern etched in his forehead. When you remained silent he coaxed you “Baby, talk to me.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just..I..was bitten..mouths on my body.” you shudder, visions running through the back of your eyes

“ Does it bring back memories?” He gently asks

“Sometimes, I just can’t block it. I want to Sam, believe me. I want this. I want you..so bad.” I look at him desperate.

“I know. But you know I won’t do anything that you’re uncomfortable with right? We don’t have to do this at all”

“I want to. Sam. I need you.” you lock eyes with him, forehead burrowing

His eyes searched mine for any trace of hesitation. Seeing none, he reaffirms gently “Do you trust me, baby?” “I do” I whisper as I breath out.

“You can stop me whenever you need to.”

A corner of his lips curled revealing the deep dimple. “So no biting I guess?”

“Yeah, no biting.” You bit your lips slyly. “ Well not you anyway”

“I look forward to it, sweetheart” He nudge your lips again easing them apart. As the same time, his hands part your thighs as he stepped impossible close.

You feel his hands slipping the robe off you. Before long, his long fingers were moving closer to your core. His fingers slipped in to your panties and finding the wetness pooling, he groans. I met his gaze, my eyes a blend of desperation and embarrassment at being so affected by him. “Sam..”.

“I know baby” He looks at you for permission before plunging his finger in the wetness. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, your fingers never managed to reach that deep. He ease it out. And again and again until you were a slobbering mess. To add to the torturous pleasure he lifts his palm so each thrust is paired with your clit being rubbed enough to cause friction but not enough to tip over. This was agony but delicious agony.

Sam looks into your convulsing face, his features radiating nothing but the desire to please you. To make you forget, to have a moment of pleasure, away from the darkness that consumes both of you. As you almost reach the height of pleasure, he adds in yet another finger. Through your hazily closed eyes, you don't see him kneeling. Suddenly you feel his warm mouth enveloping your clit. You gasp as your eyes flew open. “Sam..Sammy..” you say tentatively.

“Trust me baby..this will feel good” his voice is laced with soothing promise.

Before you can have further doubts, pleasure blankets you and drags you up to the height of it. As he sucks and laps gently, your hands involuntarily wander through his luscious locks. Finally with a cry and grasp of his hair, you tip over. His hands and lips soothe you through the fall with barely-there touches of your slit.

“oh god..that was..” you breathe heavily through your mouth as you struggle to push words out. Sam leans over and kiss you sloppily, with a goofy smile. “it’s cute to see you all thoughless and spent”

“Sam..you little jerk” you say in amidst panting.

“Hey remember I was the one making you moan my name a moment ago. Some gratitude” he smirks.

“And I’ll make you do the same, just you wait” you rope your hands through his neck pulling him.

"Is that a threat or a promise, honey? Either way, I'm all in." He interlocks his lips with yours, the deepening kiss tasting like an invitation for round two.

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

MAybe there should be a second part! Idk. This felt long but not long enough at the same time. Please let me know if anyone would like a second part. I'll try to write one (meaning I'll probably stress over it and write it in 2 weeks)

#spn #supernatural #sam winchester #sam winchester smut #jared padalecki #sam winchester fluff #supernatural smut #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester x reader

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kanmom51 · 4 months ago

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Respect for AYS editors

JK said it all.

Not sure that their antics were even editable.

*Side note: Just mull on that one for a second. Jikook did them. So much so that they weren't even sure that there would be a way to edit it as a show. You have got to know what that means, right?

Anyway, apparently Jikook weren't the only ones worried now, were they?

Yep, they said it too.

And once again, y'all know what that means.

But, at the end of the day, kudos to the editors, because they managed to do it (at times with some clumsy or questionable editing, but they made it all the same).

Saying all that, oh boy did we still get some very "OMG WHAT DID WE JUST SEE/HEAR" moments.

And because you asked for it, here are just a few examples of those "wtf did we just see/hear?" moments.

I like to split it into two:

a. The questionable; and

b. The WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

There are those little questionable moments that make you raise an eyebrow, and yet aren't shockers. Yes, it sounds or looks a little too much, or if you want, a little (or a lot) GAAAYYYY, but can live within the realm of deniability. The realm of "yes, they are a little much, but..."

Such as:

Little comments made matter of factly.

A little too playful in bed.

Some naughty pool fun.

Kissie kissie?

Ramen talk followed by a very probable shared shower.

What's even this?

JK's morning woody.

Like how did that one get in, right?

And if we are already referring to the woody morning, let's allow ourselves a second here to go back to the whole Jikook shower together.

They say you need to watch something multiple times to see things, well they were right. I wrote a whole post about Jikook showering together. I even mentioned JK walking into that bathroom while JM is still there showering saying that perhaps he was going to shower with him, maybe not, but at the very least he was walking into that bathroom where JM was showering ever so naturally, no knock on door, no problem to walk in on a naked JM. What I didn't realise, and this is on me, I admit, is the editors captions for this moment:

Yep.

Let's...

Let us...

US.

As in not just I. As in more than one. As in the two of them.

Let us, as in JM and JK, go shower.

A preemptive perhaps seeing that JK does eventually follow JM into that shower?

Or just because this is what they do, and they know that's what they do (ahm... JK told us so himself), and as part of AYS this is something they want to establish as a normal for those two...

The soft launch we all have been thinking and talking about.

Just thoughts.

And last but not least of these questionable moments that found their way into AYS, thank you editors we have the hot and cold tubs and the Jacuzzi from Sapporo.

You may ask how do they edit these in without it being too much? Good question. But seeing that they gave us this in BV4:

I guess that there is little they won't show? Even back in 2019? But then again, this is with another 5 members around them. All while here in Sapporo it's just the two of them.

So, we got 2 hot tub moments (hot tub and Jacuzzi more like it).

One on the more awkward side,

the other more relaxed and intimate.

Both could be considered a little much. MANY cuts. A few glances at the cameras, lol. Lots of interesting sounds (not sound effects, lol). Very interesting to say the very least.

And then you have those WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK moments.

Those moments that you ask yourself "what was the editor on when editing this one into the show?" or "what in the actual fuck did I just watch?"

tumblr

Yeah, this bed scene. Even being highly edited. Really highly edited, it still leaves you with a feeling of "what did I actually just see?"

It's not that we didn't get intimate moments in AYS, but this one was WAAAAAYYYYYY beyond. Friends can share a bed. Friends can be touchy feely. This here was not a friendly exchange. Know them, don't know them. Know Korean culture and skinship or don't know it. This whole interaction, the touches, soft (JK softly lowering JM's leg to cuddle into it), less soft (JK slapping JM's butt only to then caress it), JM playing footsies around JK's crotch followed by JK turning to lie on his stomach grunting. Seriously. The whole thing was just WTAF!!!!

And I'm sorry, but wtf was this????

In what world is this considered not gay? JK, that man, he just pulled JM up by his hair. And JM, having ZERO issue with that. Like NONE.

And people, did we forget this moment?

The way it's delivered. The way it's taken.

Nothing to see here folks. Just a couple talking over dinner...

What about this my friends?

youtube

Like what were they thinking? Really?

Why don't we take away the video? I mean, they did it for us at the start too...

Seriously!!

And if I'm already talking about sounds we got to hear off camera, there might also be these couple of questionable edits posted by @hon3ymo0n:

And if those weren't enough, they gave us this for the photobook.

God almighty, what were they thinking?

In what world is this not screaming "he's my man" (going both ways, JM marking JK and JK owning it)?

Now, once again, my take on these scenes that were left in, more so some of them, because that JK pulling JM's hair in the pool was just so NO!! Anyway, my take is that these were perhaps part of the soft launch the show was giving us. And not necessarily meaning that the two will be officially 'coming out' once military service is over. But more so the solidification of them as a unit. A clap back on the whole JK and JM aren't close. Clarifying the incredible closeness they have and in a way foreshadowing what's to come once they are out of the military.

They are close. They spend their time together at work and beyond. They shower together. They mark each other (hickeys, tattoo, sun screen, lol). They live together (?). Take it as you will. Think what you may. This is them. They don't have to tell us what it means, if you have a brain you get it, but if you don't, well that is enough to protect them from backlash that would come from an official 'coming out'.

Is that what they are planning? Well, obviously I don't know. But it is most definitley an option. One thing for sure is that I truly believe that things won't be going back to the way they were pre enlistment and AYS.

Finally, if this here was the mild. If this here is what we were allowed to see. What they felt safe enough to edit in. Makes you think about all the shit we weren't allowed to see.

Not those moments JK or JM turned off the camera for a PRIVATE moment.

Emphasis on the "again"!!

I'm talking about those moments the cameras were on, and yet they were doing their thing. Their own thing being deemed unwatchable or uneditable.

Yep.

Jikook and the producers feeling they might not be able to create an end product that we can see.

Mull on that.

#Jikook #Kookmin #Minkook #JungJi #AYS jikook #Jikook AYS #Youtube

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hoshinasblade · 1 year ago

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second best |1| hoshina soshiro

PART 1 | PART 2 | BONUS: PART THREE

DISCLAIMER: this fic has a detail that hasn't been mentioned in the anime yet. it isn't a big give-away but if you are sensitive about that kind of thing, please do not proceed. pairing: hoshina soshiro x f!reader genre: slight angst, comfort, childhood friends to lovers, a bit of that miscommunication trope snippet: hoshina soshiro always ranks second at everything in his life. god forbid he falls behind in the bid for your heart too. word count: 3K trigger warnings: author's note: this fic has two parts - part 2 will be posted a week from today :) likes, replies, and reblogs are always appreciated but please do not repost or steal my writings. this is quite long, but i gotta make you guys work for it. i have also set up a taglist for the second part and the other fics or drabbles, please sign up if you wanna be tagged! as always, feel free to let me know what you think or give me a prompt by sending me an ask here!

hoshina soshiro can claim with extreme conviction that he rarely regrets the decisions he has made so far in his life.

from the time he has set his sights on taking the aptitude exam necessary to be recruited in the anti-kaiju defense force, to following captain ashiro mina to support her as the vice-captain of the third division, to religiously adhering to his daily routine of working out even during his off days so he can stay in peak condition - everything he's done is driven by soshiro's lone motivation: to rise and come on top.

unfortunately, as he sees you walking in the hallway of the training building with his brother, soshiro realises that this is one of those rare occurrences where he hopes he gets a do-over.

it was barely 6 in the afternoon so there was still light from outside; the rays of the setting sun penetrating the transparent windowpanes cast an orange glow to the furniture in soshiro's office. it made him remember how he used to always be assigned as the student to clean the classroom back in junior high school: he would sweep first then rearrange the chairs before closing the windows and drawing down the curtains. he would rush up to the rooftop, in time to watch the sun dip below the horizon. he would stay for a few precious minutes, dreaming of a chance to get out of their town. he was fifteen then.

soshiro shook his head a bit. he decided that today - of all days - will not be when he will have a trip down memory lane. yes, despite the number of times he would get reminded of his past today, he refuses to get sidetracked.

the floor is eerily silent, save for the momentary opening and closing of doors; soshiro is aware that almost everyone has left, flocking to the local izakaya not too far from the base to celebrate. he had half the mind to prompt himself to hurry up in order to make it to the get-together on time. the long and gruelling application process took three months before the vetting could begin, but finally, the third division of japan anti-kaiju defense force honoured its new officers that morning. as the nominated head of the selection committee, he oversaw the entire thing, and at the end, he could not help but to feel confident that their force would become stronger from here - this year their roster of applicants boasts high-profile names like that of the very daughter of jakdf's director general and the young master of the prestigious izumo family.

okonogi, sitting in front of him at his office, was sorting the personal forms of the recruits, a big stapler in her right hand. "i can take care of this, vice-captain", she said to him, "they cannot miss you there."

soshiro smupled to his swivel chair, obviously fatigued by the task he and okonogi had been trying to finish for half an hour already. fighting and defeating kaiju is the main part of the job, but handling the paperwork proves to be as challenging. "right, make sure the headquarters get this by the morning along with the report of all their numbers -" the sound of footsteps nearby interrupted soshiro's train of thought.

there were three loud knocks and the door opened, a man with the same eyes as soshiro peeping inside. even okonogi glanced over her shoulder to identify who the intruder is. soshiro stood up.

"just wanted ta drop by before i head back ta himeji", hoshina soichiro's undeniable accent dripped. spotting the huge pile of forms littering the desk, he commented, "seems like ya are a little preoccupied though."

"hoshina fuku taichou, good evening." your voice was firm yet jovial as you greeted him, the kansai inflection rolling off your tongue. you appeared beside soshiro's brother, still wearing the same standard-issue uniform you wore during the event several hours ago when you were sworn in as a new defense force officer. the outfit is snug on you - soshiro had noticed at the ceremony earlier, but up close the top looked almost skintight, the skirt coming up a little above your knees. soshiro can be a high-ranking official within the force, but he is also a man. if only briefly, he stared. "aren't ya going ta the party?"

taken aback that you would drop by his office, it was out of his mouth too fast he couldn't stop it - "how about ya? what are you still doing here with him?" soshiro responded pointedly at you, throwing you the same query but not answering what you asked him. it was too late to take it back; he sounded like he was interrogating you about your presence with the captain of the sixth division. soichiro winced; soshiro pretended not to see. "i- i was just thinking ya went with the officers on the way there", he added, calmer this time.

"oh, i was just catching up with hoshina-kun", you replied without missing a beat. soshiro doesn't know if the accidental force in his question just seconds prior did not intimidate you at all or you simply ignored his tone. "i mean with soichiro-kun. considering ya are hoshina too", you chuckled. soshiro stole a glance at the man at your side while maintaining an empty expression. he found his brother smirking at him; soshiro willed himself not to picture soichiro as an ugly kaiju with a butt for a face.

okonogi who is now attentively eavesdropping on your conversation caught your attention. "pardon for the bother, hoshina-san. we'll be off now."

for an instant, it looked like you were waiting for soshiro to say something in response. to say what, he doesn't know. the eye contact between you and him held up for a moment but broke as quick as it began. tension prickled in the air briefly then ebbed as you turned away from soshiro. "i'll see ya at the party, vice-captain", you gave him a bow before exiting the room. soshiro wanted to stop you; he didn't.

soichiro sighed. "it was nice seeing ya, 'lil bro", he addressed soshiro, his hand patting the latter's shoulder once, twice. "i have paperwork ta worry about too so as much as i'd like to, i won't be able ta attend your division's party. just in case ya want ta know." soshiro didn't look like he had a crumb of interest to know about his brother's occupational responsibilities; he shrugged soichiro's hand off.

soshiro saw you standing outside, leaning on the wall, when he ushered his brother out. "i'll be driving her to the izakaya though", soichiro informed him. "ya should visit our folks when ya have the time. ya should come home sometimes", soichiro continued, a hint of concern evident in his voice. when soshiro did not respond, surprisingly the older hoshina did not look a tiny bit disappointed. instead, soichiro put on a charming smile and waved at okonogi. "okonogi-chan, see ya around!" he tossed a playful wink at her.

soshiro merely watched as you and soichiro walked together, your pace matching his. a few meters away, he saw you listening intently to something soichiro was saying - he is too close - and although he is not within earshot to hear what is being said anymore, he knows it is another one of his brother's bad jokes. it looks like you were trying to suppress it, but a smile was about to dawn on your lips. soshiro felt sick to his stomach all of a sudden.

the party was already in full swing when soshiro arrived - everyone is hungrily feasting on the expensive wagyu beef, drinks flowing endlessly from the bar. everyone is enjoying themselves; even captain ashiro mina can be seen having small talk with the newly sworn-in officers who were eagerly taking notes from her.

you had easily made friends with the other rookies who are now sitting next to you; it was thanks to your group that this event was planned - after enduring long sessions of strenuous physical training every day of every week, you all deserved a night of everyone just gathering to have a good time. soshiro seems to be exempt from the festive atmosphere though.

he picked the seat next to his captain, who greeted him with a curt nod. he proceeded to grab the mug of beer served to him; the first sip registered a sharp bitterness through his mouth but soshiro relished on the flavor as it overtook his senses.

"everything alright?" captain ashiro from his side asked without lifting her gaze from her own drink. "you are being -" she paused, carefully searching to find the right words, “uncharacteristically quiet.”

soshiro picked the glass of beer again, and when he was about to put the lid on his lips, he could sense someone’s intense stare locked on him. years of being the vice-captain gifted him with equal parts instinct and paranoia so he could not help but scan the room, only to find you, sitting across the room, watching him with a curious expression.

a rowdy group of rookies surrounds you; they are high-fiving each other, laughing at their silly pranks, not minding that all of you are squeezed together at a crowded circle. soft music in the background swelled as everyone cheered and clinked glasses.

soshiro's eyes remained fixed on yours, lasting for what he felt like forever. the buzz of chatter dulled to a distant hum, fading into an almost white noise. his heart raced as he felt his breath catch and his mouth go dry. the corner of your lips curved into a smile and maybe it is the alcohol in his system, but he is certain his cheeks are flushed now.

"huh", captain ashiro lowly exclaimed. soshiro quickly snapped a glance at her. "you talked to her yet?" she asked him. ah, she caught his little moment with you.

soshiro was on the verge of playing it cool and putting on an act; he was about to outright lie to his captain by saying "talk to who?" as if he had no idea what she was referring to. he settled with silence. he was grateful his non-response only earned him a sigh from the captain who did not press the topic any further.

"to you newbies, congratulations!" captain ashiro raised her glass, still half-filled with alcohol. her voice rang out over the place, everyone's conversations immediately falling quiet. "may the third division always be victorious in our battles to come", she recapped her speech.

the party showed no signs of slowing down. hibino kafka, a recruit in his thirties has been the centre of intrigue that has spanned for weeks now. hibino ossan - as what the others nicknamed him - had revealed in a bathroom conversation with other male rookies that he grew up with captain ashiro. ashiro mina likes dried squid; ashiro mina used to raise pets in grade school - everyone consumed any and every tidbit of trivia hibino disclosed about the usually stoic and serious third division commander. soshiro was among those invested in the rumor and you knew why. for a while, you also wondered how he would react once the rest of the troops learned about your own past with their vice-captain. would he deny it? or would he brush off any potential gossip that may arise from the revelation? if everyone discovered your shared history with hoshina soshiro, would it make him want to reconnect with you?

“you lot will start duty monday next week, but tomorrow will just be another workday for vice-captain hoshina and i”, captain ashiro said, having stood up from her seat, preparing to take off. “no, you can stay”, she said to some of the newbies who have started to get up too.

“nah, captain, why don’t we bring them along to help us file all the tedious paperwork?”, soshiro interjected in his familiar upbeat tone. the crew bursted into snickers; captain ashiro gave soshiro a perplexed look, obviously puzzled about the sudden shift in his mood. testing her theory, she looked at your direction.

captain ashiro couldn't make out why, but you were giggling at whatever your seatmate had said, elegant hand covering your mouth, eyes crinkled. she understood soshiro then - she was not foreign to feeling uneasy inside when she sees someone so physically near someone she cares about after all. "let's go, hoshina", she tucked her pity for the vice-captain away.

"do you guys think they are dating?" a particularly tactless rookie sitting at your table had asked immediately after captain ashiro and hoshina were out the sliding doors.

"i bet they're not", you blurted out a little too soon, a little too sure. you did not mind clipping your accent, your kansai-ben thick and heavy. your fellow officers looked at you, expecting an explanation for your outburst. "i mean -" you stuttered, "that would be awkward, i guess."

"you know to think of it, you're from himeji too, right?" a few more recruits have started to listen in on the exchange. these people can smell the truth off me, you thought. you wanted to smack yourself in the face.

"we went ta the same high school together, that's all", you admitted, feeling backed in a corner. tomorrow when you get questioned for this imprudent behavior, you can probably blame it all on the alcohol. "and grade school", you continued, loose-lipped now.

you still liked wearing pink bows in your hair when you met him. an only child of kind parents, you never experienced having to ask for something you like; you were doted on and spoiled so you were reasonably upset when a young hoshina soshiro did not give you the time of his day. your family has just moved to hyogo shortly before that, and you were anxious to make friends; since your early age, you had made it your mission to make soshiro acknowledge you.

"you dun wanna play with me, because ya are stupid", you told soshiro-kun once. "oka-san said all boys are stupid", you had the nerve to elaborate after he pouted at you, his unkempt bangs sticking on his sweaty forehead, his clothes dirty from training all day.

"yer pretty", he responded and you felt the blush crept up on your cheeks. "pretty annoying."

"come on, spill some tea!" someone's palm connected with the table, jolting you out of your trance. "we have another hibino-senpai situation on our hands!" they declared, grabbing you by the arm and shaking you a bit. if it was meant to encourage you to tell more childhood tales between you and the vice-captain, it worked really, really well.

"he's always had that haircut even as a kid", you said, misinterpreting the kind of story your companions wanted you to tell, judging by their disappointed looks. “i- i don’t know what else to tell you guys”, you held up your hand in surrender.

“do you have a crush on him?” you choked on your drink, caught off guard.

vexed at his absent-mindedness, soshiro was walking back to the izakaya place alone when he heard the commotion. he is going straight to bed once he gets back to the base, but he would have to retrieve his uniform jacket first from his seat earlier.

“you totally do, don’t you!” it stopped sounding like a question and more of an accusation you could not deny. “you like hoshina-san!”

“i -i do, yes... but what of it, huh?" he couldn’t see you but he would recognize the soft timbre of your voice anywhere. soshiro felt like a victorian gentleman getting a glimpse of a woman’s ankle for the first time listening in on the uproar of cheers after your confession.

“the three of us attended the same high school, soichiro-kun was a grade ahead”, you said. soshiro froze. you are talking about his brother. “he has always been good at everything, t'was hard not ta like him.”

soshiro closed his eyes, attempting to steady his breathing. he always had his suspicions - for the ceremony earlier his brother even took a day off his busy schedule as the commander of the sixth division to attend as a guest. he should have known.

last year, soshiro’s squad fought a lizard-type kaiju with a fortitude of above 8. like the reptile, a cut made on any of its limbs was useless due to advanced regeneration. a fractured rib, extremely bruised arms, and a dislocated shoulder were what it costed soshiro to win against the monster. his bitterness threatening to consume him, he cannot believe that you confirming his worst fears would hurt more than that fatal experience.

of course, he said to himself. it’s not like he can fault you for liking soichiro - everyone did. as the firstborn son, their father always had favored him. soichiro has been the more skilled swordsman between them; he was the golden child, charismatic and talented with an effortless charm - like moths to a flame he would attract people, and even in his silence he would overshadow soshiro.

soshiro didn’t stand a chance against his own flesh and blood.

he was a teenager when he dreamed of running away from the constant but inevitable competition he had with his brother. scouted for the third division, he relished on the freedom. but how do you escape the reality of the one you love loving the one person you could never measure up to?

#hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro #soshiro hoshina #hoshina x reader #kaijuu 8 gou #kaiju no. 8 #kn8 x reader #kaiju #hoshina #dont worry guys #i will make them kiss in the end #hoshina soshiro fic

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