#it was satisfying in itself but left space for everything to continue

[joelsmochi]

outside? no problem. - joel miller

rating: E 18+ pairing: joel x pornstar!reader summary: part four; after convincing joel to go on a journey within nature with you, you quickly realize that a long hike won't be enough to wear you out. warnings: porn with a little bit of plot, slightly proofread (expect errors), joel is a llittle nervous, some anxiety, unprotected sex, premature ejaculation without orgasm (look it up it's hot), use of daddy, creampie, public sex + risk of getting caught, joel experiencing love and affection!!!!!!, reader gets her first official hate comment (plus a couple horny ones just cus lol) wc: 2.5k my thoughts: this was a very random thought i had, but it's fun and nothing too serious. also i hate the title but oh well 🥲 part five will dive into emotions a little more than i have allowed for this series, but for now enjoy the smut lovelies <3

series masterlist | main masterlist

“How many miles so far?” You asked Joel, who shot you a quick glance before returning his attention to the trail ahead of him.

“So far eight,” he replied. “We really need’a do this today?”

“Oh, you mean after you came up with excuse after excuse the past three weeks? Yeah, we needed to do it today,” you sassed before steadying the camera to focus on the trees ahead.

“Can we take a break? My knees are killin’ me—“

He was cut off by your giggling and you managed to zoom in on the glare he was giving you.

“What?” He firmly asked, halting his progression forward.

“Old man,” you teased as you passed him.

A stinging sensation quickly seared across your right ass cheek causing you to jolt from the smack Joel planted there.

You yelped, laughing as you back away from him; he managed to snatch the camera out of your hands and pointed it at you as you tried to rub away the pain. Your shorts was unbearably wedged into your ass showing off more than enough of your butt, waistband folded down to expose more of your body than necessary.

“Smartass,” he grumbled. “You turn fifty fucking years old and tell me how your knees hold up after eight miles.”

You grinned, walking over to him and smacking his chest playfully. “My knees will feel fucking amazing because they’re used to a little traction.”

He chuckled, petting the side of your head endearingly, eyes softening as they examined your features. “I’ll just have to take your word for that then, huh?”

“You’ll have to take a lot from me,” you mumbled against his lips before closing the space between your two.

His tongue immersed itself into the world of your mouth, cherished the cool, wet slick cheeks, the grooves of your teeth, that serpent tongue of yours — he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t high on you 24/7 starting two weeks prior, when his brother paid you a visit.

You’d been making it up to him even though he continuously assured you there was nothing to make up for.

But he most certainly was not going to complain.

Suddenly, everything you did was just that much better to him, and not just during sex. He wanted to give you more than what you’d initially agreed upon. Love. A life. He didn’t just want you to be satisfied, he wanted you to be happy.

And he memorized every centimeter of your body, how it felt, how you reacted to his every move.

Every time his tongue slid across the top of yours he could feel your eyebrows furrow a little more.

Every time you deepened your grasp on his jaw or shirt, you wanted him to open his mouth a little more so you could reach further into him. To somehow be even closer to him.

And every time he moaned pleasure into your mouth your body melted a little more into his, and your lips curled into a smile.

It wasn’t until you’d heard footsteps nearby that you finally broke the kiss.

“Two more miles,” you whispered against his lips, giving him one final peck before continuing the hike.

He rubbed in the cherry chapstick you left on his heated lips and watched you walk away for a moment before following.

“We just reached ten miles,” you said to the camera that Joel smugly forced into your face, “and I’m so fucking— tired— why the fuck are the last two miles entirely uphill?!”

“Yeah, how those knees working now?”

“My knees are fine, fuck you very much,” you expressed between deep pants. “And I’ll prove it.”

“What about the ten miles back?” He said gleefully, nearly bursting with excitement at your breathless suffering.

“Oh,” you chirped, “old man afraid of some sex in the woods?”

“Wh—HERE?!”

“Not here. Maybeeee… There.”

“We’re not having sex in the woods—“

“Old man!” You shouted after you ran away into the trees.

“Fuck,” Joel breathed out before walking in the general direction of your disappearance.

After five minutes (which felt more like a half hour) of not being able to find you he began thinking the worst.

His palm became clammy, heart beating so fast it felt like punches, but the relief he felt as soon as he spotted you was well worth the worry.

Joel’s eyes scanned over your body, spotting a familiar pair of shorts and panties lying on the ground nearby.

His face didn’t change from the looks of anger however. You offered a bashful smile before settling your knees into the leaves and twigs on the woodland floor, sweatshirt covering the sweetest part of you.

“Don’t do that again,” he scolded, even going as far as to point a finger down at you.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” you replied, gently pressing a kiss to the heel of his palm. “I thought you were right behind me.”

“We’re not doing this. Not here.”

“But the camera’s already rolling… Be a shame to turn it off now.”

Watching you bat your eyes up at him while toying with the drawstring on his shorts was more than enough to get him to fold, but he was still hesitant. It was such an open and public space. Anyone could stumble into the woods and catch you two in the act.

Anyone could catch you…

“Make it quick,” he huffed.

You giggled happily, yanking his shorts to his ankles and allowing his semi-hard cock to spring free.

You hummed, giving his balls a gentle squeeze and tug while stroking his velvety shaft.

“Kiss it,” he said. “Yeah, that’s it babygirl… O-oh, fuck.”

Your tongue darted out to trail along the pulsating vein on the side of his dick, until you reached the bead of precum nestled on the tip of his head.

You pulled your head back, forcing Joel to watching the string of his precum stretch from him to you.

The last thing he expected was sex in the woods, but now that your were on your knees sucking him dry with a camera being held a few inches away it suddenly made sense why you insisted on recording.

Wanna make memories my ass, he thought, blissfully so as you were giving him full access to your tight throat.

“Hold it, hold— fuck. Right there, baby.”

He whimpered as you swallowed around him, big hand reaching to stroke and rub the side of your face, wiping away a few stray tears.

You pulled your head back enough to take a few breaths before repeating the act of deepthroating, going as hard and fast as you could handle for a while before forcing him all the way back in again.

Your cunt clenched around nothing, juices trickling down your thighs as your knees slowly buckled from the pain of twigs digging into your flesh.

He suddenly pulled out of your mouth, seemingly panicked with the rush of an orgasm, shouting, “Ohshitohshitohshit.”

You coughed, attempting to reach for his cock again but he stopped you.

“Fuuuuuck!” He finally moaned as two long, thick ropes of his cum shot onto your face and hair.

You grinned and grabbed a hold to stroke him, hoping for more to come out.

He let out a strained groan, relaxing his abdomen and letting the remaining cum leak out of his tip onto your tongue and the ground.

“Already?” You asked softly while you gave his hard shaft kisses and licks.

“That,” he hissed, “was buildup from you teasing me all day.”

He stepped out of his shorts and sat on top of them, pulling you into his lap.

“Ah!” You laughed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Those shorts were deeper in your ass than I was last night,” he retorted.

“Mmm, that’s not teasing,” you whispered, pumping his length slowly. “That’s giving you a preview.”

He tugged at your jaw hard, pinching your cheeks, using his index finger to smear the white streaks that were on your face.

“Time for the show then, hmm?” He hummed.

You did your best to smile, nodding against his strong hand.

“That’s right, daddy,” you answered compliantly.

He was patient while you got yourself situated, ass facing him, wet pussy grinding against his pelvis.

Joel tugged at your left cheek to spread you for the video, watching your holes pucker and clench eagerly as you teased yourself before finally sinking down onto his warm cock.

A long drawn out moan left your mouth as he stretched you out. Joel smacked the red bruise he left on you earlier and pinched the same spot right after, forcing you to yelp and stumble in the squatting position you were already struggling to maintain.

You reached back to smack his stomach but he only laughed, sitting up a little to give himself a better view.

He held the camera out enough to get the two of you in the frame as you started bouncing on top of him.

He threw his head back, certain he wouldn’t last long enough to for you to get off.

He’d just have to make it up to you.

Because your pussy swallowed him perfectly, the slight curve of his dick hitting the spot he knew was your favorite.

Your ass clapping against the soft peak of his belly was surely loud enough to echo within the trees, and a mixture footsteps and laughter could be heard not far away enough to give Joel the sense of security he usually required.

No doubt people passing by without headphones in their ears could hear your annoyingly high pitched moans, or the obnoxious clapping of skin to skin as you rode the older man relentlessly.

Joel’s free hand found your clit and he shove the camera between his legs for both a close up shot of you soaking his cock with your juices.

Joel tried to think about something, anything to stop the threat of cumming too soon, but all he could focus on was how deep your pussy felt, and how it was all his.

“This pussy belong t’me?” He growled beneath you, smacking your sensitive clit when you didn’t give him an answer.

“Yes, daddy! Yesyes—fuuuck!” You shouted, head bobbing as you bounced even higher and harder.

He gripped your hips hard enough to keep you still before thrusting up into you, forcing your moans to be louder and longer.

You could feel that tingle underneath your clit, the one that threatened to release itself if Joel’s forceful thrusts didn’t stop.

You became clumsy, falling forward and accidentally knocking the camera over, but work was the last thing on your mind.

You begged for Joel to keep going— “Don’t stop please! Don’t fucking stop, Joel!”

“You gonna cum? You gonna soak my cock pretty girl?”

With bent legs and trembling hands you tried to meet his thrusts halfway, forcing him to thrust even deeper into to you.

“I’m gonna—fuck!” You leaned back and used your hand to rub your clit painfully fast, that tingling now releasing itself.

“What? You’re gonna what?!” He encouraged, smacking your thigh to coerce the words out of you even more.

“I’m gonna cum, Jo— I’m gonna fucking…! Cum!”

An uncontrollable gush of liquids flooded between your bodies, the intensity of the orgasm overbearing your body through the gummy walls of your cunt and the small vessel beneath your clit.

You cried out at how overwhelming it all was but  not doing anything to stop it, wanting Joel to feel as much of your orgasm as you could give him.

Your pussy was throbbing, clenching tighter with every throb his cock forced you to endure; you wondered if he had anymore cum left to fill you up with.

As you squirted all over him he found himself on the brink of bliss. His body was planted firmly into the ground by now, letting your juices pool in the curves of his body.

He tried to stop you long enough to film it, but you were so dazed and set on making him finish he couldn’t get more than a strained grunt out before finally cumming inside of your swollen cunt.

His nails indented crescent moons into your waist, cock straining against your walls.

Joel nearly choked from breathlessly moaning your name, back and neck arching off of the cold ground. His eyes were screwed shut from the overstimulation as you eagerly bounced on his cock despite the burning in your joints.

It wasn’t until you finally stopped that Joel felt he could breathe again; his eyes slowly opened, he was immediately greeted with the smile on your face.

“You certainly made a mess,” he chuckled upon noticing the mixture of cream and squirt everywhere.

“You love when it’s messy,” you chirped.

“Mmhm,” he hummed after sitting up slightly.

He opened his mouth to say something else but he hesitated, taking the prolonged silence as a sign to keep his thoughts to himself and opting to just reach for the camera instead.

“Lift slowly— Slower,” he instructed.

You raised your hips up slow, just like he said, feeling that burning stretch one last time until his dick was finally out; you heard him moan and praise you as his cum slowly leaked from your hole down your lips, dripping onto the peak of his belly adding to the mess.

“Look at that,” he groaned, using his fingers to spread your lips. “You’re so fuckin’ amazing.”

Using one hand to spread one of your cheeks you looked back towards him and said, “Leave some in for the hike back.”

He used two of his thick fingers to stuff the little amount of his load back inside of you, biting his lips in an attempt to contain himself when your hips twitched at the delicious burn.

Soon after, you decided it was time to clean up and start the dreadful journey back to the car.

“Your knees gonna hold up, Grandpa?” You teased once you both were back on the trail; you were both unphased of the judgmental looks you received from a couple that was nearby. Even if they didn’t hear anything, your flushed faces and sudden appearance from within the trees was telling enough, but you couldn’t care less as of now.

Neither could he.

“They’re gonna have to,” he replied as he gently tugged your arm so that his lips touched your ear. “I’m gonna need them to bend you over later.”

“Oh, Joel, I will definitely be taking you up on that.”

DILF takes care of me when I get horny on the hike ;)

643K Views  |  96%  |  2 Days Ago  |  ♡ 3,354

Comments

user1 need a slut like that 😍

user2 fuuck this made me so wet

user3 first this bitch lets two brothers fuck her worthless ass at the same time (gross on so many levels) and now she’s fucking in the dirty ass woods ??this slut is disgusting and a waste of oxygen

         ⤷  yourusername if you keep talking dirty to me like that i’m gonna have to fuck your brother in the woods next to relieve myself 

[just-aake]

Everlasting Devotion - Part XIII

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel of Boundless Devotion Series. MedievalAU. With her coronation over, Natasha is now the queen of the Romanov Kingdom. However, the position comes with challenges from both old and new enemies as Natasha tries to maintain the peace while also navigating her relationship with you.

Masterlist Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14

Warnings: fluff, smut (sex scene), light angst

a/n: Since this is the first time I’ve posted smut on this site, please see my message about mature content for this chapter as well as for future fics.

Words: 8234

Natasha strides into the grand ballroom, her gaze sweeping across the space, taking in the flurry of activity as the final preparations for the evening’s masquerade are completed.

The castle staff bustle about, adjusting golden candelabras, ensuring the deep red banners bearing the Romanov crest hang perfectly, and polishing the marble floors until they gleam.

But her attention quickly finds the one person she’s looking for—her mother.

At the heart of the organized chaos, Melina stands with effortless poise, issuing commands with the authority only a former ruler could exude. Her presence alone is enough to ensure that everything is running smoothly, and yet, Natasha can see the slight furrow in her brow, the telltale sign that she’s still finding something to critique.

Taking a deep breath, Natasha makes her way over. She has been holding onto this conversation for days now, ever since Steve’s revelation about her mother’s actions after the Stark incident.

And now, with her mother momentarily alone, the opportunity presents itself.

“I need to talk to you about something,” Natasha says as she approaches.

Melina turns, momentarily surprised before her eyes narrow in immediate disapproval.

“Oh my—Natasha,” she exclaims, gesturing at her with a pointed glance. “You’re not even dressed yet! The guests will be arriving soon.”

“I will be,” Natasha assures her, brushing off the remark with a dismissive wave of her hand. “But first, there’s something I need to ask you. After the attack on the Starks, you—”

Before she can finish, Melina’s expression shifts. Her features tighten briefly before she exhales, and when she speaks, her tone is firm but laced with something carefully concealed underneath.

“Natasha,” she says, cutting her off before she can go any further. “I know you’ve been working tirelessly to fulfill your duties as Queen. But today is your birthday.”

She reaches out, placing a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, squeezing comfortingly.

“You deserve to enjoy this day for yourself,” she continues, her voice softening. “Especially after last year.”

Natasha stiffens slightly at the reminder, her mind momentarily pulling her back to that disastrous celebration—the one that had left you both hurt, distant, and struggling to mend what was broken between you.

Melina pauses, her eyes searching Natasha’s face before she adds, even softer now, “You and Y/n both deserve a night to be happy without worrying about something for once.”

A small frown tugs at Natasha’s lips. She hates it when her mother does this—when she manages to disarm her with carefully chosen words and wisdom that always seem to target the heart of the matter.

Because she is right.

Tonight is a chance to have one evening where the two of you can be together, uninterrupted, without the weight of secrets and expectations hanging between you.

With a quiet sigh of resignation, Natasha nods.

Melina gives a satisfied hum before swiftly shifting back into her commanding tone.

“Now, go and get ready. I refuse to let my daughter be late to her own party.”

As Natasha turns to leave, Melina calls out one last thing over her shoulder, her tone more amused than stern.

“Oh, and have someone check in on your sister. Kate stopped by earlier, and I have a strong suspicion those two are up to something.”

Natasha suppresses the slight smirk that immediately threatens to form at her mother’s words.

If only she knew.

Of course, Yelena and Kate were up to something.

But what Melina doesn’t know is that Natasha is the one who planned it.

With that thought, she leaves the ballroom to prepare for the masquerade celebration.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The lavish mask sits heavier on your upper face than expected—not in weight, but in the quiet anxiety that coils in your chest. The question of whether it is enough lingers in your mind.

Enough to shield you from the prying eyes that always seem to follow and judge your every move recently.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, a restless fidget betraying the hesitation creeping in. You linger just outside the grand ballroom, the muffled sounds of music and laughter seeping through the towering doors, a stark contrast to the uncertainty pooling in your gut.

With Pietro still upset, Wanda had chosen to stay behind at the manor, leaving you to arrive at the castle without a familiar, friendly presence at your side.

A part of you considers turning back—perhaps returning to the entrance, where Steve is stationed, checking each arriving guest.

At least he’s a familiar face in the sea of masked strangers.

But you know that leaving is not an option.

It would mean missing this night—a night meant to celebrate one of the most important people in your life.

And that? That’s simply out of the question.

So, with a steadying breath, you push forward, straightening your spine as you step past the towering double doors into the heart of the celebration.

The ballroom is alive with movement and sound. The music swells through the air, carrying with it the soft murmurs of guests deep in conversation.

Couples twirl across the polished marble floors, their identities concealed behind elaborate masks and flowing attire.

And for the first time in a long while, you feel free.

No suspicious glances. No whispered accusations as you pass. No nobles shifting uneasily in your presence.

Instead, smiles greet you. Friendly nods of acknowledgment.

A welcome change from the usual coldness that surrounds you.

Yet, even as you take in the splendor, your focus is on one thing—finding her.

Your eyes scan the crowd, searching for any sign of Natasha. But with everyone hidden beneath masks, distinguishing her from the guests proves more difficult than expected.

Still, you aren’t the only one searching for the elusive Queen.

Since your arrival, you’ve caught snippets of speculation and excited whispers—guests claiming to have spotted Natasha’s unmistakable red hair among the masked figures.

Each time you follow the murmurs, however, you find not the Queen herself, but something far more amusing.

On one side of the ballroom, nobles practically surround a striking figure with fiery red hair.

At first glance, it seems to be Natasha—poised, confident, effortlessly regal.

But then, a familiar canine at her side tilts its head at you.

Fanny lets out a single greeting bark in your direction.

The supposed Queen turns toward you slightly, and behind her mask, Yelena offers a mischievous wink before returning to her role, effortlessly imitating Natasha’s composed demeanor as nobles flock around her.

You shake your head in amusement, quickly piecing together what was happening.

Curious, you venture to the other side of the room, where another supposed Queen Natasha is encircled by eager guests.

Only this one appears significantly more flustered.

Lucky prances up to you happily, his tail wagging in excitement as you approach.

Your eyes land on this Natasha, her body tense, stiffly nodding as a noblewoman leans in much too close, speaking in a hushed, flirtatious tone.

The sight is all the confirmation you need.

Unlike Natasha—who would have effortlessly brushed off such advances—Kate looks moments away from losing her composure entirely.

You bite back a chuckle.

So that’s the plan.

Yelena and Kate, imitating Natasha, lure the attention of the nobles who would otherwise be hounding the real Queen with their endless requests and demands.

It’s a clever distraction.

But then, where is the real Natasha?

You retreat to the side of the room, taking a sip from the glass in your hand as you survey the room from a distance.

As you lower your cup, someone steps up beside you.

A masked woman, her long blonde curls cascading over her shoulders as she looks around at the ballroom with a curious gaze.

“Not a fan of crowds?” she remarks casually, her tone light and conversational.

You glance at her, noting the unfamiliarity in her presence. She doesn’t carry herself like the other nobles—there’s no stiffness, no air of calculated poise. Instead, she seems relaxed, approachable, as if she belongs and yet stands apart at the same time.

You shake your head lightly before offering a polite response.

“Just taking a moment to admire everything. The Queen’s mother always outdoes herself when preparing for these events.”

The woman hums in quiet interest, glancing around as if to see the truth of your words for herself.

“And you?” you ask, tilting your head slightly. “Are you enjoying your evening?”

She smiles then, with an almost thoughtful expression. Her eyes linger on yours a beat longer than expected, searching—like she’s looking for something beneath the surface.

“I suppose I’m more intrigued than anything,” she admits, her voice laced with quiet amusement. “This is my first time attending an event in the Romanov Kingdom.”

Something about the way she says it makes you study her a little closer.

“Where are you from?” you ask, curiosity laced in your tone.

She inclines her head slightly, dipping into a subtle bow.

“The Carter Kingdom,” she reveals. “And I must say, I’ve never seen a celebration quite like this.”

Her answer piques your interest, and you study her more closely.

The Carter Kingdom—a realm known for its neutrality, likely a result of its position between Stark and Romanov territories. Ever cautious, their kingdom has always walked a careful line and maintained a careful balance, never fully aligning with either side and distancing themselves from conflict whenever tensions threatened to rise.

So why is someone from Carter here, in Romanov’s court?

The thought lingers, but before you can dwell on it further, the woman’s gaze drifts across the ballroom, her following words pulling you back to the present.

“I was hoping to find someone tonight,” she admits, a touch of wistfulness in her voice. “But with everyone hidden behind masks, that may prove to be impossible.”

You nod in understanding.

“You’re not the only one searching for someone.”

The words barely leave your lips before you feel it—a hand slipping into yours.

The fingers intertwine with yours in a way that is both familiar and unmistakably intentional.

You turn sharply, and your breath catches in surprise.

Short, platinum hair. A mask covering part of her face.

But those eyes.

Brilliant, familiar, impossibly green.

Natasha smiles softly at you, her expression warm and full of love.

The blonde stranger beside you chuckles.

“Well, it appears they have found you.” Her words are laced with amusement as she inclines her head slightly. “Enjoy your evening.”

With that, she steps away, disappearing into the crowd.

Natasha watches the stranger go before turning her attention back to you.

“Who was that?” she asks, her voice calm but laced with curiosity.

You shake your head slightly, glancing back, but the woman has already disappeared into the crowd.

“I don’t know.”

Natasha hums thoughtfully, but the moment passes quickly as she focuses entirely on you.

Her free hand gently lifts yours, bringing it up as she twirls you slightly, making you spin in place before pulling you close against her.

“You look beautiful,” she murmurs, her voice dipping lower, just for you.

You smirk, tilting your head.

“And you look…different.”

Natasha grins. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s…an adjustment,” you tease, your fingers reaching up to ghost along the edge of her platinum hair, tucking in a stray strand of red hair peeking out under the wig slightly. “But I’d recognize those eyes anywhere.”

Her grip on your waist tightens slightly as she leans in, just enough for her lips to hover close to your ear.

“And I’ll always find you,” she whispers.

Your smile softens as you fondly run your hand along her arm before raising a brow.

“I assume this was all part of another plan of yours?”

She nods, her lips barely grazing your temple as she pulls back.

“I want tonight to be for us,” she says, sincerity woven into every word. “No distractions. No obligations.”

Her voice softens, her fingers gently squeezing yours.

“Just you and me.”

Your heart swells at her words. Cupping her face, you kiss her cheek lightly before whispering softly.

“Happy Birthday, Natasha.”

She smiles before extending her hand, her expression playful yet full of affection.

“Dance with me?” she invites, her green eyes twinkling beneath the mask.

You take her hand without hesitation.

“Always.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The two of you spend most of the evening wrapped in each other’s company, enjoying the rare ease of the moment.

No suspicious glances, no prying eyes—except once from Natasha’s mother, who seems to recognize her daughter from across the room despite the disguise.

Her gaze lingers on the two of you for a moment, then, with a roll of her eyes, pointedly ignores whatever suspicions she may have had, allowing Natasha’s plan to continue undisturbed.

You even manage to make brief contact with the other so-called Natashas scattered throughout the ballroom. Yelena and Kate’s performances, each their own exaggerated take on Natasha’s mannerisms, draw quiet amusement from you both.

Eventually, the night slows. The lively energy of the ballroom shifts, giving way to something softer, more intimate, as couples take to the dance floor with their partners.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, the two of you find yourselves swaying to the gentle rhythm of the music, lost in a world entirely your own.

Your hands rest lightly against the back of her neck, fingertips idly tracing along the warm skin there, while Natasha’s arms remain securely wrapped around your waist.

For a long moment, neither of you speak.

Then, in the quiet intimacy between you, you murmur, “Was there anything else you wanted for your birthday?” Your voice is soft and low—just for her.

Natasha’s forehead presses against yours, her breath warm as she holds your gaze.

“The only thing I want,” she whispers, “is for the rest of tonight to be a happy memory for both of us.”

Her words settle deep in your chest, weighty in their simplicity.

You contemplate them, your mind briefly flitting back to the memory that still lingers in the shadows of your heart—the last birthday celebration, a night marred by pain for the two of you.

But not this time. Tonight is different.

Tonight is a chance to rewrite the past—to make something beautiful, something worth remembering.

A playful smirk tugs at your lips as you glance around, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Not that anyone would know, but…want to sneak away? For old times’ sake?”

Natasha chuckles, her grin mirroring your own, the mischief in her eyes unmistakable.

“I’d go anywhere with you.”

Hand in hand, the two of you slip from the ballroom, weaving effortlessly through the castle corridors. Stifled giggles escape between hushed breaths, echoes of youth and recklessness resurfacing—reminiscent of all the times you once evaded Natasha’s royal obligations together.

As the distant hum of celebration fades behind you, replaced by the quiet hush of empty hallways, the atmosphere of the night seems to lighten even further.

You lead her to the castle kitchen—a familiar refuge, tucked away from the grandeur of the ballroom.

In the quiet solitude, with no one around, you shed the mask you’ve worn all evening.

Natasha wastes no time removing her disguise. With a few deft movements, she pulls off the blonde wig and unfastens the pins, her familiar red locks cascading down over her shoulders.

Without thinking, you reach out, catching a few strands between your fingers, watching as the soft curls slip through your grasp. A small smile tugs at your lips at the sight of the color that has always been hers.

“As good as the disguise was,” you murmur, your tone warm, “I like your real hair more.”

Natasha smirks, tilting her head playfully.

“Not a fan of blondes?”

A soft huff of laughter escapes you as you give her a light shove, rolling your eyes at her teasing.

Releasing her hand, you stride toward the cabinets, humming in satisfaction when you open a familiar one and find exactly what you are looking for.

“Same spot,” you remark, pointing to the hidden flask tucked away in the same position as last year. Instead of attempting to reach for it this time, you lean back against the counter, raising a brow as you flash Natasha a playful look.

“Do you mind?”

She steps forward, chuckling softly as she reaches up to retrieve the flask. Her hand brushes against yours on the counter—just a fleeting touch, but one that sends a shiver through you.

Like before, the motion brings her close. Too close.

Your breath stutters as the space between you disappears, your fingers clenching onto the edge of the counter in an attempt to ground yourself.

But Natasha doesn’t hand you the flask.

Instead, she places it behind you, leaning in further—enclosing you between her arms, her body pressing subtly against yours.

Her breath is warm against your cheek, her proximity overwhelming in a way that leaves you momentarily breathless.

This time, there are no barriers.

No interruptions, no poison, no looming danger—just the heat of her presence, her gaze locked on yours with an intensity that makes your pulse race.

Your hands lift instinctively, fingers clutching the fabric at her sides, pulling her closer as if afraid she might slip away.

She doesn’t resist.

Natasha tilts her head, her lips mere inches from yours, those impossibly green eyes watching you like she’s waiting—waiting for you to close the final distance.

“You know,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, “when we were in this position last year…I think I really wanted to kiss you back then.”

A small chuckle escapes Natasha, her breath mingling with yours.

“If you had done that,” she muses, “we’d probably already be married by my coronation.”

Her words catch you off guard.

You blink, huffing lightly, rolling your eyes in disbelief. “Sure.”

But Natasha doesn’t laugh.

Instead, her expression softens, her seriousness disarming. There’s no teasing in her gaze now—just quiet certainty.

“I love you, Y/n,” she says, her voice firm yet gentle. “I told you before, I don’t care what the others say. I only want you to be the one by my side.”

Her words strike deep, dismantling every lingering doubt you’ve ever had.

Your heart swells, your gaze softening as you tilt your head forward, finally closing the remaining distance.

The moment your lips meet, it’s soft at first—tentative, as if savoring the feeling. But beneath it, there’s something deeper, something unspoken that neither of you needs to say aloud.

The kiss lingers, unhurried yet filled with everything you’ve held back for far too long.

And when you finally part, your forehead rests against hers, your breath uneven, your heart pounding.

“I want you too, Natasha,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

Natasha exhales softly—a mix of relief and joy—and then she’s kissing you again. This time, it’s different.

Deeper. Hungrier.

Her hands thread into your hair, pulling you impossibly close, while yours settle on her waist, holding her against you like she belongs there.

The air grows heavier, tension mounting as kisses grow feverish and hands start to wander.

Somewhere in the haze of it all, the flask is pushed aside with a soft clink, forgotten.

But neither of you notices. Neither of you cares.

Natasha breaks the kiss first, only to trail her lips along your jaw, her breath coming faster, her voice barely a whisper against your skin.

“Come with me.”

It’s not just a request. It’s a plea.

And as her eyes meet yours—alight with longing, filled with love—you know your answer was decided long before she ever asked.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Without hesitation, you follow Natasha as she takes your hand, leading you through the quiet halls to her room. The journey is a blur of hurried steps and stolen kisses, the anticipation building until you reach her chamber.

Once inside, the door clicks shut, enveloping you both in the quiet warmth of Natasha’s private space.

The faint hum of the celebration down the halls is a distant memory now, replaced by the sound of your breathing and the soft rustle of fabric as Natasha turns to face you, her expression soft yet filled with desire.

Moonlight filters through the windows, casting her in an ethereal glow that makes your heart ache with affection.

Natasha takes your hand, leading you to the edge of her bed. She sits, her fingers moving to linger on your waist, and tilts her head to look up at you with a mix of love and adoration.

You stand between her legs, the quiet of the room broken only by the sounds of your breathing.

The weight of the moment settles heavily between you, an intoxicating mix of nerves and anticipation that makes your pulse race.

Tentatively, your hands rise to her shoulders, brushing over the smooth fabric of her tunic, warmed from her body. The feel of it under your fingers and the thought of what comes next sends a shiver through you.

Slowly, you let your hands drift downward, finding the soft, exposed skin at the hollow of her collarbone, where her pulse beats steadily beneath your touch.

You pause, your heart pounding. Lifting your gaze to hers, you search for reassurance, silently asking for permission.

What you find is a look that sets your soul alight—love, trust, and something deeper, something raw and undeniable, all shining back at you.

Taking a steadying breath, your trembling fingers move to the edges of her crimson and black vest.

You begin to work the buttons, one by one, the faint sound of fabric slipping free magnifying in the quiet. As the vest loosens, it slides down her shoulders, revealing the curve of her neck and the elegant strength of her arms.

You take it gently, placing it aside before your hands return to her, pausing at the hem of her undershirt—the final barrier between her skin and your touch.

With a featherlight caress, your fingers trail along her sides as you lift the fabric.

The shirt resists only briefly before surrendering to your movements, sliding upward to reveal the toned expanse of her abdomen, the curve of her waist, and the gradual swell of her breast as the fabric lifts, teasing at what lies beneath.

At the end, Natasha helps you pull it free, and the moment it leaves her body, the air in the room seems to change entirely.

You exhale softly, unable to help the way your eyes roam over her, drinking in the sight of her bare skin bathed in the moonlight, accentuating every contour, every line of her form.

This is not the first time you’ve held her close—felt the quiet power of her embrace—but to see her laid bare like this is entirely new, something that takes your breath away.

You look back up, meeting her gaze once more.

There’s a glimmer in her eye—a blend of amusement and triumph at your reaction, as though she’s both teasing you and utterly reveling in your awe.

Before she can form the teasing words you know she’s crafting in her mind, your lips find hers, leaning in close as you cup her face.

The kiss is deep and urgent, swallowing whatever clever remark she might have planned. It’s a clash of passion and hunger, your emotions spilling over into the fervent press of your mouths.

Natasha gasps softly, the sound like music to your ears, her earlier smirk dissolving as you thread your fingers through her red hair, tugging gently.

Time blurs as you both shift, gravity and longing guiding you onto the bed.

Soon enough, you find yourself straddling her, your knees framing her hips, the warmth of her body anchoring you in the moment.

Her hands move instinctively, trailing up the curve of your spine with a touch so light and reverent it sends a shiver through you.

It’s as if she’s tracing the outlines of a fragile work of art, afraid to press too hard and ruin its beauty.

When Natasha reaches the clasp of your dress, she pauses, pulling back just enough to search your eyes.

The question is unspoken but clear, lingering in the charged air between you.

You meet her gaze, offering a soft, steady nod as you shift slightly, giving her the room she needs.

Her fingers work with deliberate care, undoing the clasp with an almost ceremonial precision.

Each movement is unhurried, as though she’s savoring every second, stretching the intimacy between you like a thread. The fabric falls from your shoulders in a slow cascade, pooling at your waist before sliding off entirely.

The lace underneath slips away just as easily, joining the growing pile on the floor.

The cool air kisses your newly exposed skin, sending a ripple of awareness down your spine—a stark contrast to the warmth radiating between you.

For a long moment, Natasha doesn’t move.

She simply looks at you, her gaze sweeping over every newly revealed inch of bare skin.

But this isn’t a passing glance or a mere act of admiration.

No, the way her lips part slightly, her chest rises and falls in a slow, measured rhythm, and her green eyes darken under the dim candlelight.

She isn’t just seeing you. She’s memorizing you. Capturing this exact moment in her mind as if she never wants to forget how you look like this, just for her.

Heat blooms across your cheeks under the intensity of her gaze, a flutter of nervousness rising in your chest.

Instinctively, you reach for the discarded fabric, your fingers brushing against the soft material in a reflexive attempt to cover yourself.

But Natasha’s hand moves quickly before you can, catching yours mid-motion.

Her fingers entwine with yours, firm yet gentle, her touch grounding you.

And then, she lifts your hand to her lips.

The kiss she presses there is soft, reassuring—a silent vow wrapped in warmth.

Her free arm encircles your waist, guiding you effortlessly back into her lap until your bodies are flush against each other.

There’s no space left between you now, only the steady rhythm of your breathing and the quiet thrum of your heartbeats, aligned in perfect sync.

“Beautiful,” Natasha murmurs, her voice barely more than a breath.

The word lingers in the air, heavy with sincerity, and in that moment, every doubt, every flicker of self-consciousness dissolves.

The only thing that matters is you and her. Together.

Her lips find your neck next, warm and soft, leaving a trail of slow, open-mouthed kisses just beneath your jaw.

A soft sigh escapes your lips as your head tilts instinctively, baring more of your skin to her.

Natasha takes full advantage, trailing her mouth lower, her breath a gentle whisper against your collarbone before she presses her lips there.

A sound rises in your throat at the sensation, but you bite it back, refusing to give in so easily.

Natasha notices.

She pulls back just enough to glance up at you, her lips curving into a knowing smirk.

“Don’t hold back on me, Y/n.”

The teasing lilt in her voice sends a shiver down your spine, but before you can respond, her hands begin to explore, fingertips skimming over your skin with the slow reverence of someone unwrapping a precious gift.

A breathless sound escapes before you can stop it, and Natasha stills at the noise, her eyes flicking up to meet yours.

There’s a flicker of something triumphant in her expression, but it’s softened by the overwhelming affection in her gaze.

“You’re not playing fair,” you manage to say, your voice shaking with the weight of your own restraint.

But you’re already retaliating.

You know her weaknesses too, the places where her resolve frays.

Your lips find the sharp edge of her jaw, trailing lower, pressing kisses that gradually shift into light nips and teasing grazes of your teeth.

Natasha shudders beneath you, her breath catching slightly as her head tilts back, giving you even more access.

A faint hiss escapes her lips when you find the sensitive spot just below her ear, and a smug smile tugs at your lips at the way she reacts to your touch.

“Alright,” Natasha murmurs, her voice dipping into something lower, something more dangerous. “Two can play at that game.”

Her hand, warm and steady, trails lower, fingers ghosting over your skin with featherlight touches that leave your nerves alight with anticipation.

She pauses at your inner thigh, lingering just before the edge of where you want her, the maddening stillness making you whimper softly. Your forehead rests against hers, your breathing uneven as you fight the instinct to pout.

Natasha’s lips twitch in amusement, her competitive streak refusing to yield.

And then—she moves.

It’s subtle, just an innocent shift in her position beneath you, but it’s enough.

Enough for your hips to adjust and, for the briefest second, graze against one of her fingers.

The sensation steals your breath, and a surprised gasp escapes before you can stop it.

Natasha doesn’t move again, waiting.

Your eyes meet hers, a silent battle of wills playing out between you.

You know what she’s doing.

It’s the same challenge you and her always partake in, seeing who will give in to the other first.

And while you have been confident in your odds recently since the two of you got together, a flicker of hesitation appears in your stubborn expression at the feeling of her hand so close yet purposely still in its position.

As if acting on their own, your hips press down against her hand, a slow, seeking motion that makes a small, desperate sound escape your lips.

A knowing smirk ghosts across Natasha’s lips, but she still doesn’t move.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of her patience, the unbearable anticipation stretching between you.

And then, finally, your resolve cracks.

Leaning in until your lips brush against hers, you whisper, barely above a breath, “Natasha, please.”

That’s all she needed.

Her hand moves immediately. No more teasing, no more hesitation—just deliberate, unrelenting pressure exactly where you need it.

The relieved moan that escapes you is swallowed by her lips as she kisses you deeply, her mouth claiming yours in a way that leaves you breathless.

The moment she teases at your entrance, your entire body tenses, a strangled moan falling from your lips.

At the sound, Natasha pulls back just enough to watch you, her breathing heavy, her pupils blown wide.

She swallows hard, her expression shifting into something focused—determined.

And then, carefully, she presses a finger into you, slow and steady, watching your face for any sign of discomfort.

The sensation drags out a broken moan from you, your back arching slightly as your fingers tighten against her shoulders.

Natasha lets out a quiet, awed breath at the way you react to her, as though she’s just discovered something sacred.

Her movements are careful at first, but the second you whisper, “Keep going,” against her lips, Natasha adds another, and with a sharp thrust, you cry out, your grip tightening as your body responds instinctively.

Natasha groans softly at the way you clench around her fingers, the sound vibrating against your skin.

Her pace quickens, her movements more deliberate, her thumb pressing into you with unerring precision.

You let out a shaky breath, your forehead pressing against hers, your lips parting as you whisper, “You feel so good, Natasha.”

Natasha freezes for a split second.

And then—something shifts.

A quiet exhale falls from her lips before her pace increases, her fingers moving with a newfound urgency. As if your words have lit something inside her, her determination renewed at your praise.

Natasha thrusts deeper, her thumb pressing more firmly, her breathing growing heavier as she listens—as she feels the way your body responds to her.

Her other arm tightens around your waist, anchoring you and keeping you close as she works you closer and closer.

She can feel the exact moment when you’re teetering on the edge, your body trembling, your nails biting into her skin.

“Look at me, Y/n,” Natasha whispers, her voice hoarse but filled with a barely concealed need.

And you do.

Your gaze locks with hers, and for a moment, time stops as you take in her expression.

Her lips are parted in awe, and her eyes darkened with desire yet softened by something deeper—something that makes you feel completely seen and cherished.

Meanwhile, Natasha sees everything in your expression—the vulnerability, the trust, the overwhelming love.

“Come for me,” she whispers breathlessly in a soft plea.

And that’s what undoes you.

Natasha watches, utterly mesmerized, as you fall apart in her arms, her name spilling from your lips in a choked, breathless moan.

And as you tremble against her, she holds you close, whispering quiet comforts against your temple, her arms an unyielding shelter around you.

For a long while, the room is silent save for the sound of your uneven breaths mingling with hers.

Natasha’s hand strokes your back in soothing circles, her touch grounding you as your head rests against her shoulder.

Her lips brush soft kisses to your temple, each one filled with quiet devotion.

“You’re incredible,” Natasha whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

The quiet sincerity in her tone sends a warm flush through you. Your heart swells, the lingering tension in your body fading as you bask in the tender moment shared between you.

When the heady bliss finally begins to ebb, you summon the strength to lift your head.

Your gaze meets hers, and Natasha’s green eyes are an exquisite blend of softness and intensity, locking onto yours as if you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

The weight of her adoration is overwhelming in the best way, making your breath catch all over again.

For a moment, neither of you speak, lost in the quiet, unspoken reverence of the moment.

Leaning in, you brush your lips against hers, slow and unhurried this time.

There’s no urgency in the kiss—only a deep, mutual understanding of how deeply you cherish each other.

Pulling back, you cradle her face in your hand, your thumb tracing a gentle line along her cheekbone.

“That’s my line,” you murmur, your voice warm with affection, a playful edge just beginning to creep in.

In the pale moonlight, Natasha’s lips tug into a faint smirk—the kind of pleased, self-assured expression that never fails to both amuse and frustrate you.

You huff softly, your breaths still uneven.

“Don’t look so smug,” you warn lightly, narrowing your eyes with playful defiance. “It’s your turn next.”

Natasha chuckles, the sound low and rich, her chest rising and falling beneath you as her competitive nature sparks to life again, even amid such tenderness.

“Sure, we’ll see about that,” she murmurs, her voice carrying the promise of a challenge as her lips brush against the curve of your neck, leaving a trail of featherlight kisses.

Her hands roam your sides, teasing and confident, her fingers tracing patterns that send goosebumps skittering across your skin.

She thinks she’s regaining control.

But just as Natasha begins asserting herself again, you move swiftly and decisively.

In a blur of motion, you press her back into the bed, her head landing atop the pillows as you straddle her hips.

Her eyes widen in surprise, a soft gasp slipping from her lips, but the shock quickly gives way to playful defiance.

Leaning down, you meet her gaze with that look—the one you know she can never resist, the one that always makes her melt at your every request.

“Come on, Natasha,” you coax, your voice soft yet commanding, teasing yet undeniable. “I want to hear you, too.”

Natasha swallows, her breath hitching slightly, and for just a moment, her unwavering confidence wavers.

You smile at her rare speechlessness and decide to return the favor of her earlier teasing.

With deliberate slowness, your fingers trace a languid path—starting at her shoulder, gliding down the curve of her chest, then trailing lower, across the taut plane of her stomach.

The featherlight scrape of your nails leaves a trail of goosebumps in their wake, her muscles tensing beneath your touch in anticipation.

Your hand stills at the waistband of her pants, fingers toying with the fabric, dragging out the moment as you steal a glance at her.

There’s no resistance or hesitation in her gaze. Instead, the anticipation in her eyes burns hotter, her breath shallower as Natasha waits—trusting, wanting.

Finally, your hand slips beneath the fabric.

The first brush of your fingers against her heat draws a sharp intake of breath, a sound that sends a thrill through you—a rush of excitement at how completely she responds to you and at the revelation of how truly she was affected from earlier.

When you press further, Natasha’s breath catches, a faint groan slipping free as her hips shift toward your touch on instinct.

Her grip on the sheets tightens, knuckles whitening as her self-control wavers, visibly slipping through her grasp.

And god, you love seeing her like this.

Natasha—so effortlessly composed, so in control—unraveling beneath you.

Just as suddenly, you withdraw, leaving her breath hitching in protest.

Natasha exhales a shaky sigh, a moment of relief passing over her features, believing you’re offering her a reprieve.

But she should have known better.

Her breath stutters—a sharp, unsteady pause—when her eyes follow your next movements, watching as you lift your fingers to your mouth.

Your tongue darts out, tasting her, your gaze never once leaving hers.

Natasha’s lips part, pupils blown wide, and in that instant, the confidence she clings to begins to crack.

She’s completely at your mercy now. And she knows it.

Gently but decisively, you remove the last barrier between you, sliding the remaining pieces of clothing down her legs, leaving her completely bare beneath you.

Her breathing is heavier now, anticipation thick between you.

As you move back up to her face, Natasha expects a kiss—expects you to claim her lips again—but you veer off course, pressing your lips to her shoulder instead.

You trail kisses down her collarbone, across the swell of her chest, following the same path your fingers traveled moments ago.

Natasha’s body tenses beneath you, a shiver rolling through her as your mouth grazes her stomach.

Her breath hitches, her hands tightening in the sheets as you move lower, each kiss deliberate, each touch designed to build her up, to make her want, to make her need.

When your lips finally meet where she needs you most, her head falls back against the pillow, and your name spills from her lips in a soft, shaky whisper.

The sound alone sends warmth flooding through you, satisfaction curling in your chest.

Her resolve slowly crumbles with every calculated movement of your mouth, each flick of your tongue drawing her closer to the edge.

Mesmerized, you keep your eyes on her, watching every single detail of her reactions.

The way her lashes flutter, the way her lips tremble, the way her breath stutters in a battle between restraint and surrender. Her stubbornness only fuels you, only makes you more determined to see her fall apart as entirely as she did for you.

And she’s so close now, her body trembling, her breathing uneven.

But you want to hear her break.

Your grip tightens on her thigh, just enough to get her attention, to make her half-lidded eyes find yours.

“Let go, Natasha,” you murmur against her skin, your voice a soft but insistent command. Holding her gaze, you continue with a low whisper, “Let me hear my queen.”

The title shatters what little control she had left.

A broken, breathless cry rips from her throat as her body arches into you, as pleasure crashes over her in waves.

Her hands abandon the sheets, tangling in your hair, gripping onto you as if you’re the only thing anchoring her to the world.

You don’t stop—not yet.

Not until her gasps turn into soft, pleading whimpers, not until her body slackens beneath you, utterly spent.

Not until she’s completely yours.

Pressing soft, reverent kisses along her inner thighs, across her stomach, and back up her chest, you finally settle beside her.

And the moment you do, Natasha turns immediately, gathering you in her arms, curling against your side as if she needs you close, as if she never wants to let go.

Her lips brush against your neck, each kiss slow, tender, worshipful.

For a long while, neither of you speak.

The world outside seems to shrink to this moment—just the quiet rhythm of Natasha’s fingers tracing absentminded patterns along your skin, the slow, steady rise and fall of her breath against your shoulder, the warmth of her body molding perfectly to yours.

You don’t move. You don’t need to. You just exist together, tangled in sheets and moonlight, the scent of her still clinging to your skin, her presence anchoring you to something deep and unshakable.

Finally, Natasha breaks the silence, her voice hoarse, raw with emotion.

“I love you, Y/n. So much.”

The words land softly, but their weight sinks deep, settling somewhere comfortably in your chest.

Your breath catches for just a second before warmth blooms inside you. You tighten your hold on her instinctively, pulling her impossibly closer, pressing your lips to her bare shoulder in a slow, lingering kiss—your response whispered against her skin, wrapped in just as much devotion.

“I love you too, Natasha.”

Her arms tighten around you in response, as if she’s trying to etch the words into her very being, as if she wants to hold onto this moment forever.

For a while, you stay like that—wrapped up in each other, the silence stretching between you in the most peaceful way.

But then, the familiar spark of mischief creeps back into your voice.

“So…does this mean I win?”

You don’t miss how her body tenses slightly against yours, nor the sharp exhale following your words. It’s enough to make a grin creep across your face, though it quickly falters when Natasha shifts, propping herself up on one elbow, her expression a slow-burning mix of mock indignation and something far more dangerous.

She scoffs softly, tilting her head as if genuinely amused.

“Win?” she repeats, arching a brow. “Oh, no, Y/n.”

Her voice drops into a lower, velvety challenge, one that sends a familiar shiver racing down your spine. The same tone she uses when she’s already decided she won’t back down from a challenge.

“You have no idea what you’ve just started.”

Natasha’s confident smirk returns, sharp and knowing, and before you can so much as blink, her lips crash against yours, swallowing whatever retort you might have had.

The kiss is deep, consuming, decisive—leaving no room for argument, no room for anything but the two of you.

You barely register the way her hand slides down your side until you feel her nails drag teasingly along your skin, her touch deliberate, already mapping out the next way she’s going to undo you.

A sharp inhale escapes you, your body betraying you as heat stirs again, reigniting with startling ease under her practiced touch.

Natasha pulls back just enough to look at you, her green eyes dark and filled with intent.

Your breath is already uneven as you try composing yourself, but it’s useless—not when Natasha looks at you like that.

You sigh, part exasperation, part surrender—but mostly adoration.

“You’re so competitive,” you murmur, yet your hands betray you, already finding their place around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer until she’s atop you.

Natasha smirks, her confidence unwavering, her voice dipped in amusement.

“And you love it.”

You don’t bother arguing—there’s no point when you both know the truth.

Instead, you close the distance between you, capturing her lips before she can say anything else.

But her smirk only widens against your mouth, the victorious glint in her eyes undeniable as she pulls you closer still.

The night stretches on, time slipping away as the world outside fades, shrinking to nothing but the two of you—entwined in fire and tenderness, love and devotion, in a battle neither of you ever truly wants to win.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The soft, rhythmic sound of knocking on the door cuts through the quiet stillness of the night, causing Natasha to blink herself awake, the remnants of sleep still lingering in her mind as the soft moonlight pours through the window, casting gentle shadows across the room.

A gentle pressure on her shoulder draws her attention downward, and her features soften as her gaze settles on you, taking in your peaceful, sleeping expression as you lay beside her.

The memories of the intimate moments you shared earlier are still fresh in her mind, filling her with a warmth that momentarily drowns out the annoyance of the persistent knocking.

Careful not to wake you as she shifts beneath the blankets, she slowly slips out from under you.

Her hand lingers for a moment on your bare shoulder, as if savoring the warmth of your skin before she gently pulls the blanket over you, ensuring you remain covered.

She allows herself one more lingering look at you, her heart clenching with affection, before throwing on a simple set of night clothes and padding softly to the door.

Natasha opens the door just enough to peek out, a slight frown on her face as she prepares herself for whatever interruption this is.

The second the door cracks open, her gaze narrows at the figure on the other side.

“What do you want, Yelena?”

Her sister regards her with an appraising glance, her arms crossed and her expression rife with suspicion as she takes in Natasha’s slightly disheveled appearance.

Her hair is loose, her cheeks are faintly flushed, and there’s a glow about her that Yelena can’t ignore.

“Something about you is different,” Yelena comments, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as she peers closer before attempting to glance into the room, but Natasha quickly shifts her body in the doorway, blocking her view.

Before Yelena can investigate further, Natasha steps out into the hall, closing the door behind her with a swift motion. She turns to face her sister, her arms crossing as if to shield herself from Yelena’s probing gaze.

“Don’t even start,” Natasha warns, her voice firm.

Yelena’s lips curve into a slow, teasing smirk as realization dawns in her eyes.

“Ohhh,” she drawls, dragging out the syllable in exaggerated delight.

Natasha groans inwardly, but she doesn’t have the energy to deal with her sister’s teasing at the moment.

“What do you want?” she asks, trying to divert the subject.

Yelena’s grin only widens, but she doesn’t push further—yet.

“Mom is calling an emergency family meeting,” she replies with a shrug.

Natasha furrows her brows in confusion.

“Now? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I don’t know,” Yelena responds with another shrug, already turning to walk away.

Natasha casts a brief glance back at her door, her heart heavy with the desire to return to you, but duty calls, and she sighs before following her sister down the corridor.

“Ask her when we get there,” Yelena continues nonchalantly, though a mischievous glint dances in her eyes as she glances over her shoulder. “Should we invite Y/n, too? You know, since she’s still here.”

Natasha’s only response is a soft groan as she pushes her sister forward before she can turn back to the door.

Yelena laughs, her tone dripping with amusement, but she doesn’t press further.

When the two reach the family common room, Natasha immediately notices the tension in the air.

Her mother stands near the fireplace, her posture stiff and her hands fidgeting nervously. Her father sits nearby, his expression apprehensive, and his eyes avoid meeting hers entirely.

Natasha’s gaze sharpens as it drifts to the stranger in the room—a woman with golden-blonde hair, looking poised and unreadable.

In stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere, Yelena plops into a chair with a relaxed posture, one leg slung over the other as she watches the scene unfold with interest.

Natasha, however, remains standing, her arms crossing defensively as she turns to her mother.

“What did you want to talk about?” Natasha asks, her voice firm, though a thread of suspicion laces her tone that she will not like this conversation.

There’s a long pause, and Natasha watches as her mother hesitates, almost as if she’s unsure how to begin.

That in itself is a further warning sign to Natasha.

Finally, with a small gesture, her mother motions to the woman.

“This is Princess Sharon Carter of the Carter Kingdom,” she begins, her voice uncharacteristically careful. “She’s here to discuss the details of…a contract between our kingdoms.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow sharply, her voice dropping to a dangerous edge.

“A contract about what exactly?”

The room falls into an uneasy silence.

Her mother fidgets, her gaze flickering away, while her father shifts uncomfortably in his seat, still refusing to look at her. Even Yelena straightens in her chair, her curiosity clearly piqued as she watches the tension build.

When no one answers, the woman steps forward with an air of grace and confidence. Her movements are deliberate, and her posture is flawless as she inclines her head in acknowledgment.

“A contract regarding our engagement,” Princess Sharon Carter states, her voice calm and precise, the barest trace of a smile on her lips as she meets Natasha’s widened eyes.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14

a/n: Thank you for reading! 🫣

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[relicsongmel]

On Iris and Miles: the commonalities of Ace Attorney's most underrated duo

Ah, Iris and Miles...by this point it's no secret that the pair has one of my favorite dynamics in all of Ace Attorney. They're just...silly. Delightfully so. Autism-to-autism communication except their autism wavelengths aren't compatible in the slightest. Autism starers who hate being stared at lest the other see the hidden depths of their soul they’ve put so much work into hiding. Spacing out and getting lost in thought and needing to remind the other that they’re still there and the conversation isn’t over. Among many other charming little moments.

Of course, nothing in this series is surface level, and there's a lot more to be said about Iris and Miles aside from the fact they're both socially awkward disaster introverts who at times can barely seem to stumble their way through basic conversation (and believe me, I say that with nothing but love for them). In terms of fandom discussion, one of the most common things you'll see is conversations regarding Iris' canonical romantic feelings for Phoenix Wright versus Miles' subtextual ones (if it can even be called "subtext" at this point), and specifically how a certain bit of easily missable dialogue seems to imply that Iris is aware of Miles' feelings (which I give my thoughts on in this post here). And while analyzing their relationship from that angle can certainly be interesting...

There is so much more to Iris and Miles that I've never seen anyone else talk about.

Don't get me wrong; I don't think anyone's in the wrong for getting lost in Gay Lawyer Excitement. I'm far from innocent of it myself—it's compelling to think about, and the Narumitsu framework serves as a backdrop for much of my analysis on the franchise, BttT and Iris included. I just think it's reductive to focus solely on the possibility of love drama and jealousy between her and Miles, while ignoring everything else that makes that oft-referenced scene actually work—that being, the very way the two work exceptionally well together as characters, through the many, MANY parallels in their upbringing and traits that I can no longer be silent about.

In fact, I'm just gonna come out and say it: Sister Iris Fey-Hawthorne of Hazakura Temple mirrors Miles Edgeworth so goddamn much that she is quite literally the perfect choice for his first client as a defense attorney. And it's through this mirroring that his choice to defend her becomes so much more than a desire to help his childhood friend, or a chance to briefly live the life he once dreamed of at age nine—it's emblematic of his own personal self-acceptance and healing, and culminates his trilogy character arc in a beautifully full-circle, satisfying way. So, let's get into the details, shall we?

The first point I'd like to bring up is that Iris and Miles have a shared disdain of spirit channeling. There's some slight differences in how they express it—Iris' distaste is mostly directed toward the practice of channeling itself, as she states very early on in BttT. That said, she lives at Hazakura Temple even as an adult and continuously dedicates herself to her training, so she still has some level of respect (or at least tolerance) for spirit medium culture. Miles, on the other hand, rejects everything to do with channeling and mediums themselves/their lifestyle, as seen by how he angrily denounces Misty Fey at the mere mention of the Kurain Channeling Technique. The way his and Iris' lingering resentment presents itself is different, but the root of it is the same: The DL-6 Incident, an event that brought both of their families to ruin and left them with a great deal of trauma. They were inextricably linked by it years before they met—and though we never see Miles move beyond his denial of spiritual abilities (there's kinda a whole lotta other shit in BttT that needs to take priority), I like to think that he and Iris could have some very interesting conversations with each other on the subject post-canon.

Next, I'd like to point out that there's a noticeable parallel between Iris hiding herself away at Hazakura after Turnabout Memories and Miles “choosing death” after AA1. I'm of the opinion that neither of them had any intentions of returning to Phoenix, let alone explaining anything, when they set out to do so—Iris resolved to train endlessly as a form of self-flagellation penance, never appearing before Phoenix again so as not to hurt him any more, and Miles left his note at the Prosecutor’s Office with full confidence he would never again return to the courtroom (whether it was truly a suicide note is up for debate, but the game makes it fairly clear that before his offscreen epiphany Miles' initial choice was to leave his prosecutor career for good). They both wholly blamed themselves for being the reason they were even put in such a position, and their absences left Phoenix with unresolved grief as large as a mountain, and deep as an ocean. They both had events that brought them out of hiding—Miles chose to reforge his life and helped Phoenix from the shadows during Turnabout Big Top, and Iris received and accepted Godot’s request for help with his plan (though I’d imagine Phoenix’s presence caught her by complete surprise). They both were put through the wringer and came out of it resolving to reveal the truth. Phoenix, despite being hurt, wanted to believe in them both and ultimately decided to forgive them due to his unwavering faith.

Now, as for the events of BttT themselves, specifically Miles' choice to take up the mantle of a defense attorney and represent Iris in court, it's worth noting that he has multiple reasons for doing so. He just saw his best friend clam up in the hospital when pressed about Iris and wants to do what he can to help him heal, and in Miles' mind, truth in the most healing thing of all, so he becomes her attorney on the condition that she will eventually tell Phoenix what she's been hiding from him. The popular fanon joke about this is that Miles flew halfway across the world in a private jet when he heard his boyfriend was in peril, and took his attorney's badge simply because he couldn't say no to him—and they do have a point that that is an utterly Deranged™ way to express loyalty to someone...but I will argue until my dying breath that it wasn't just about Phoenix or Miles' latent feelings for him (or his latent jealousy prompting him to self-sabotage by pushing Feenris together). It was more than that.

Phoenix may have been the instigating factor, but I believe the reason Miles ultimately decided to defend Iris was because he empathized with her.

Because he saw himself in her.

A young, guarded individual stuck in the detention center for a murder they didn't commit. Going along with the punishment because even if the crime they're on trial for isn't the same as the one they committed, they believe themself guilty regardless. Stuck in a hopeless rut of neverending self-blame, and desperate to keep someone they care about from discovering the truth about them.

Sound familiar?

Miles doesn't make any promises to Iris initially, but after hearing her out...he learns of a tale all too familiar to his own experience in the defendant's seat two years prior, and he empathizes with it. He's far from upfront about his own feelings most of the time, but he demonstrates on multiple occasions that he actually has quite the knack for understanding other people's emotions (such as the end of BttT, when he explains to Phoenix that Maya is very emotionally resilient when there's someone she has to be strong for). Miles may have chosen the path of a prosecutor, but due to his upbringing of having been raised by Gregory, he has the instinct of a defense attorney—he feels strongly compelled to save people, whether they be the falsely accused or the victims of crime. And after finding common ground with Iris, he resolves to do the same thing for her as Phoenix once did for him—save her by proving her not guilty and giving her closure. It's an undeniably selfless act that speaks volumes as to how far he's come since we first met his douche-y AA1 self, and serves as excellent contrast for how we just saw Bratworth act in Turnabout Beginnings.

What really tips the scene over the edge, however...is that because Iris reminds Miles so much of himself, his offer to defend her becomes symbolic of his own self-acceptance.

While it's true he was proven innocent two years ago, and reinvented himself as the kind of prosecutor who can truly bring about justice for those who need it, and shows nothing but confidence in his newfound ideals...we never really see him acknowledge that he was worthy of such redemption. Certainly not with words, at least.

But thanks to Iris, we get to watch him prove it through his actions. Through his unyielding dedication to ensuring that this woman, who's clearly suffering from repressed guilt, knows that she is just as worthy as he was of being freed from her shackles, both real and self-imposed, by the all-encompassing light of truth. And I don't think it's a stretch to say that Iris found that inspiring. So much so that after a single conversation, she decides to finally let go of her need to obfuscate anything and everything about herself/her actions that could interfere with how she feels she has to be perceived in that moment, and begin to own up to the harm she's done by telling Miles what she did (in vague terms, granted, but this is the most progress ANYONE'S made in getting Iris to come forward with what’s on her mind to this point, which is still impressive). And for the first time, someone has helped her realize that maybe, just maybe...she could start on the path toward revealing the truth to the person most in need of the answers she's kept locked away in her heart all this time.

Iris wouldn't have found the courage to seek the truth if not for Miles. And it's because of Iris that Miles gets the chance to prove to himself that he was worthy of salvation all along.

They're perfect, your honor.

[littlelamy]

𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓵𝔂!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓪𝓼𝓴𝓼 𝓳𝓳 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓹𝓱𝓸𝓽𝓸𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓱𝓮𝓻

credits to @parfaitsinsatiable for the photos 🥰 and @rafesplaymate for inspo 🤭💗

The night wrapped the world in its fervent, pulsating energy that buzzed against the skin. JJ lounged like sin itself, the golden tips of his tousled blond hair gleaming under the last blush of the setting sun. His battered lawn chair creaked beneath him, a half-empty beer dangling lazily from his fingers. When you approached, his eyes flicked upward, a slow smirk tugging at his lips—hungry, cocky, and just shy of dangerous.

“Got a minute?” you murmured, halting within arm’s reach. Your sundress swayed around your thighs, teasing glimpses of soft skin with each shift of the breeze. His eyes swept lower, a flicker of heat sparking in his gaze before it returned to your face.

“Depends,” he drawled, voice heavy with mischief. “What’s the catch?”

You arched a brow, stepping closer, your perfume wafting between you like a promise. “You trust me, don’t you?” The words slipped from your lips honey-sweet, but with a razor-sharp edge that made him sit up a little straighter.

“Not even a little,” he shot back, though his grin widened, his tongue brushing the corner of his mouth. “What’s this about?”

Leaning down, you let your lips hover near his ear, the heat of your breath ghosting over his skin. “I need your help,” you whispered, low and silken, the kind of tone meant to tangle thoughts and dissolve resistance. “With something only you can do.”

His cocky demeanor faltered, intrigue darkening the blue of his eyes. “What kind of something?”

You let a small, calculated pause hang between you, biting your lower lip just enough to draw his gaze. “I want you to take pictures of me,” you said, your voice dropping into a whisper that left no room for misunderstanding.

“Pictures?” He blinked, straightening in his chair. “What, like for your Instagram?”

“Not quite.” You let the words linger, watching his brows knit as realization crept in. Then, with deliberate slowness, you ran your hands down your hips, drawing attention to the way the fabric clung to your curves. “Something raw. Something... sensual.”

His jaw dropped, and for a moment, he just stared, torn between disbelief and the unmistakable pull of desire. “You’re fucking with me,” he finally muttered, though the words lacked conviction.

You laughed—a soft, teasing sound that had him shifting in his seat. “Dead serious,” you said, stepping forward until the space between you was a whisper. The neckline of your dress dipped as you folded your arms, pressing your chest forward ever so slightly. His eyes flickered downward before snapping back up, the tips of his ears turning a satisfying shade of red.

“It’s for a magazine,” you continued, your voice steady, dripping with daring. “An amateur feature. I need someone who can make me look... unforgettable.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair as if trying to ground himself. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re scared,” you taunted, letting the corner of your mouth curl into a wicked grin. “Come on, JJ. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Don’t tell me you’re not dying to see what’s underneath.”

He groaned, the sound low and guttural, raking a hand over his face. “Fuck, princess. Fine. But if this gets me killed—”

“It’ll be worth it,” you cut in, already turning to walk away. The sway of your hips, the whisper of your dress brushing against your thighs—it was an invitation he couldn’t refuse.

The air in the bedroom was molten, heavy with the charged tension between you and JJ. His camera hung from his neck, momentarily forgotten as his eyes roamed your body, drinking in the sight of you sprawled across the bed. The sheets beneath you clung to your curves, the faint sheen of sweat on your skin catching the soft light you’d set up just right.

You arched your back, letting your legs fall open slightly, enough to tempt but not enough to reveal everything. The barest glimmer of slickness was visible between your thighs, and you caught the way JJ’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, the camera in his hands trembling just enough to betray him.

“Focus, JJ,” you teased, your voice low, throaty, the kind of tone that crawled under the skin and settled in the gut. “You’re supposed to be the professional here.”

He muttered something under his breath, shaking his head as if to clear it, lifting the camera to his face. But the viewfinder didn’t hide the way his hands shook, the way his breaths came faster, harsher.

You adjusted your pose, running a hand over your stomach, up to your breast, fingers brushing your nipple until it hardened visibly. “Come on,” you whispered, your voice dropping to a sultry purr. “You can’t capture this kind of heat just by watching.”

“Y/N,” he growled, his voice strained. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Am I?” You bit your lip, shifting your hips slightly, letting your thighs part further. The faint scent of your arousal reached him, and his breath hitched audibly. “I thought you were supposed to direct me. Tell me what to do.”

His grip on the camera tightened. “I... Fuck. Fine. Arch your back more. Turn your head—yeah, like that.”

You obeyed, but the look in your eyes as you glanced back at him wasn’t submission. It was challenge, fire, daring him to go further. You trailed your fingers down your body again, letting them slip between your thighs this time, brushing over your clit with the lightest touch that had you shivering.

“JJ,” you murmured, your gaze locking on his. “Come here.”

He hesitated, his jaw tight, the camera nearly slipping from his fingers. “This isn’t—”

“Do you trust me?” you interrupted, throwing his own words back at him. When he didn’t move, you pushed yourself up slightly, propped on one elbow, your fingers still teasing slow, lazy circles over your swollen clit. “Come on. I know you want to. Don’t make me beg.”

Something in him snapped. He set the camera down, his movements jerky, almost frantic as he crossed the small distance to the bed. His hands hovered uncertainly over your thighs, his eyes darting to your face for permission, for some sign he wasn’t stepping over a line.

You tilted your hips up slightly, pressing your hand against his, guiding him. “Here,” you whispered, breath catching as his fingers brushed against your slick folds. “Rub me, JJ. Right here.”

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath, his fingers finding your clit, tentative at first, then firmer as he watched your reaction. Your head fell back, a soft moan escaping your lips as he circled the sensitive nub, his touch unsure but oh so eager.

“That’s it,” you breathed, your hand gripping his wrist, urging him to keep going. “Don’t stop. Just like that.”

His free hand gripped the edge of the bed, knuckles white as he worked you with an intensity that left no doubt how badly he wanted you. His breaths were ragged, his eyes glued to the way your hips bucked against his hand, your arousal coating his fingers.

“Jesus, baby,” he murmured, his voice rough and reverent. “You’re so fucking wet.”

You let out a low, throaty laugh, your eyes half-lidded as you met his gaze. “This is what you do to me, JJ. Now keep going. Don’t you dare stop until I’m shaking.”

JJ’s fingers moved with growing confidence, the pads of them slick and gliding over your clit with an addictive rhythm that sent sparks shooting through your core. Your breaths grew heavier, more ragged, a soft gasp escaping every time he hit just the right spot. He watched you intently, his face flushed, lips parted as though he could feel every tremor coursing through your body.

"Faster," you whimpered, your hips arching off the bed, chasing the pressure that built steadily inside you. "Don't hold back, JJ. Give it to me."

His jaw clenched, a curse slipping past his lips as he obeyed, his thumb pressing against your clit now, working it in small, precise circles. He slid his other hand up your thigh, gripping the soft flesh as though to anchor himself. The room filled with the slick, obscene sounds of his fingers against you and your increasingly desperate moans.

"You're so fucking beautiful like this," he muttered, his voice rough, almost hoarse. "Completely spread out, soaking wet for me. Christ, pretty girl, you're gonna kill me."

Your body tightened, the coil inside you winding so tightly it was almost unbearable. You reached out, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and yanking him closer until his face was just inches from yours. His breath mingled with yours, hot and heavy, and the raw hunger in his eyes was almost enough to tip you over the edge.

"Then die happy," you murmured, your voice trembling but still commanding, your nails digging into his arm as his fingers worked you harder, faster, dragging you to the brink. "Make me cum, JJ. Make me scream your fucking name."

And he did.

Your orgasm tore through you, a white-hot explosion of pleasure that left you crying out, your back arching violently off the bed. "Fuck, JJ! Oh my god!" Your thighs clenched around his hand, trapping him there as your body shook, wave after wave crashing over you. You were vaguely aware of his low groan, his fingers still moving, drawing out every last tremor until you were a trembling, breathless mess beneath him.

When the intensity finally subsided, you slumped back against the bed, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your skin flushed and glowing. JJ sat back on his heels, staring down at his slick fingers like he couldn't quite believe what had just happened. His gaze shifted to you, his expression torn between awe and pure, unfiltered desire.

You reached out, catching his wrist and bringing his hand to your lips. Without breaking eye contact, you licked his fingers clean, tasting yourself on him, watching as his pupils blew wide with lust.

"Your turn," you whispered, your voice still shaky but dripping with mischief. "I think it's only fair I get to make you scream next."

part 2

[idleoblivion]

"The Dismal Story of Our Creation" Malleus Draconia x GN Reader

Spoilers for Book 7!

Synopsis: Malleus has put the island to sleep, but the dream he puts you in is an especially unique one.

Word Count: ~1200 A/N: Thank you to everyone who sent me happy birthday messages! I hope to finish a few more drafts soon to make up for my absence. I loved writing him as a yandere, it just fits him so well to me.

Warnings: Yandere Malleus, captivity? (trapped in a dream), forced kissing

Something wasn’t right.

He’d done it. He overblotted. Putting everyone to sleep, leaving them to their dreams. For their own good, to make them happy. That’s what he had said. 

So why was this your dream? What had happened to you?

You remember catching a glimpse of the unconscious forms of your friends, sleeping under the power of his magic. You remember the fear that washed over you as you expected the same fate. And you remember the satisfied grin he wore as he faced you, and then everything went black.

Darkness surrounds you now. You are stranded in a void, an empty black space. No floor beneath your feet, no walls indicating you might be in some strange room. You hesitantly take a few steps forward, and then in another direction. Still nothing. You are walking through some kind of purgatory, left alone with nothing but an endless darkness and eerie silence.

Until you hear footsteps behind you.

You whip around to see him, uncomfortably close to you. Looming over you, with that same smile as before.

“What…what did you do? Where am I?” You question, trying to keep your voice steady.

Malleus’ smile still doesn’t falter as he answers you. “Our home, Child of Man.”

As he speaks, the space around you starts changing. You blink repeatedly as a room starts creating itself from the darkness, walls and furniture forming from the shadows before manifesting as real objects. Everything appears in the same gothic theme you’re familiar with from Diasomnia.

“What do you mean, ‘our home’?”

He tilts his head at you a bit, mirth still palpable in his expression. “I think it’s quite self-explanatory. This is where we will spend the rest of our lives together.” Your head is spinning as you process his words. “Malleus, what are you talking about? I don’t understand, you’re scaring me.”

He frowns immediately at that. He sighs quietly before speaking again. “My apologies, Child of Man. I suppose I’ve yet to explain myself properly to you. Please, fear not. I never would wish you any harm, you should know.”

“Child of Man,” He starts after a deep inhale, “I know this may feel sudden, but I must confess something to you.” He reaches for your hand, and you cautiously allow him to take it. “I…I love you. I care for you so dearly, my Child of Man. You’ve brought life to my life, brought me a kind of joy that I’ve always considered unobtainable for me. I’ve never known someone as kind, brave and sincere as you. I love you, from the bottom of my heart. So much that I don’t know what to do with the feelings you stir in me sometimes.” He grinned softly to himself. “You treat me like no one else does. You seek out my presence yourself, you look at me with fondness in place of fear. You’ve taken over my mind and heart, and I couldn’t do without you anymore.”

“So,” he continues, “I’ve created a place for us, and only us, my love. I’ve put much thought into it, and come to the conclusion that it would be difficult for us to be together in reality. It would be blasphemy for me to attempt to introduce a human as my partner in Briar Valley. As heir to the Draconia lineage and future king, such a thing would never be allowed.” His brow furrowed at the thought. “And on your end, the headmaster is searching for a way to send you back, to separate you from me. There are many obstacles to our love. This is the solution I’ve come up with.” His hand moves to cradle your cheek gently, staring deep into your eyes. It takes great effort for you to not tremble under the weight of his gaze. “There is nothing but us here. No Crowley, no other world to return to, no royal duties or expectations, nothing at all to disturb us. We will hide happily in here forever, where nobody can interfere with us.” You’re shaking now, fear coursing through your veins as you realize the gravity of your situation. You are trapped alone with him, in a space of his creation and control, completely at his mercy. And he’s seemingly decided you won’t be going anywhere.

“M-Malleus, please. I don’t…I don’t want this.” You meekly speak, your voice hardly above a whisper. You’re terrified of rejecting him, but equally afraid of what would happen if you accepted his advance. “I don’t want to be asleep forever. And what about everyone else, my friends-” “Do not speak of them.” His harsh tone cuts you off and makes you flinch. There’s a new darkness to his eyes that makes your legs want to buckle. You avert your eyes from his to avoid it.

“Look at me.” He commands. You don’t comply, too nervous to meet the anger in his expression. He grabs your face roughly and forces you to tilt your head up. “I said, look at me. Do not speak of them again. This place is for us, not them. Your life is meant to be spent with me, not them. Your place in this world is with me, not them. You will not mention them again. I will not allow any others but myself to occupy your thoughts. Do you understand me?”

Tears start welling up in your eyes as you nod slightly, dread heavy in your stomach as the weight of your circumstances only seems to keep increasing.

He stares down at your teary face, eyes wet and lips trembling. He still holds your face in his large hand. His eyes soften the longer he looks at you, and after what seems like an eternity he starts leaning in towards you. You don’t dare to close your eyes, scared of what he’d do if you avoided him again. He gets closer, and you hold back a fearful whimper as his lips softly press against yours. Your stomach turns as he holds the kiss, leaving you anxious and uncomfortable. He pulls back and meets your gaze once more. 

“You’re…ethereal. Perfect, so perfect my love. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you. I’ve always wanted to claim you as my own.” He kisses you again, with more need and passion than the first. The tail of his overblot form comes to wrap around your waist and pull you into him, pressing your bodies together. His mouth is hot against yours as he kisses you with more and more fervor. His tongue slips past your lips and you let out a small groan despite yourself. He smiles against your lips before pulling away to press his forehead to yours. His demeanor had lost some of it’s intimidating aura as he looked at you completely lovestruck, strong hands caressing your back as his tail still held you in place.

“I’ll be all that you need, my love. I will be your entire reason for being, your entire purpose, as you are mine.” You shudder a bit in his hold, but if he notices, he pretends he doesn’t.

“This is my creation for us, dear. Our paradise. Doesn’t it make you happy?”

[ravencincaide]

The word that made the difference 

Summary:  You knew you had to get professional help even if you did not want to, Dazai’s words and actions made it absolutely clear to you he wouldn’t tolerate anything else, and Chuuya seemed to silently agree with him. Still the answer you got was not for the question you asked; but that one word was enough to make you reevaluate everything. 

Pairing: Dazai x Chuuya xfem! Reader (skk x fem!reader) 

Author note: An independent continuation of Desperate times series, and next part of  Happy unhappy home! Check that series out if you’d like more angst, skkx reader, new parents, all that and see more of what happened right before this scene! 

Warning: Cursing, depression/postpartum depression, New parents/exhausted parents =bad choices/reactions, Angst,  

Enjoy~

Pregnant

The word felt unfamiliar- surreal- like a misdiagnosis wrapped in excuses, wrapped in women’s issues and wrapped in reasons to get you out of the office. Yet it was as if that singular word explained everything you had experienced lately and nothing at all. Maybe it explained the hopelessness, the darkness, the unbearably tense existence that has become your home; but it could not explain the way you felt about the twins. The inability to connect with them. Or the inability to feel any warmths from Dazai and Chuuya. Perhaps, at this point, you were so ruined and wrong that you could not connect with anyone. Not the twins, not Dazai and not Chuuya. 

We think you have postpartum depression

A part of you wanted to stand up, run out of the medical office and into the waiting room right outside where the four of them were waiting. To rub it into the two mafioso's faces that they were wrong. Ha the geniuses were not genius enough to sidestep medical school, and it wasn’t as easy as to use some template they took from god-knows-where and assed you by it instead of talking with you, asking you, helping you. They were wrong- you were right. You won. 

But what was your prize? 

“ I have never had a reason to hit you. You’ve always been a smart girl- don’t give me another reason to do it. Again. If you’re sick- get help.” 

Dazai’s words from a day ago rang in your ears. His tone, the iciness in his gaze as he brought you down to the knees in cold standing water with a single slap repeated itself in your mind. Like a never-ending loop it played before your eyes. Your mind, the twisted bastard, hadn't left the image unchanged, but rather conjured up the way it must have looked from all angles; from the side, from above and even from below. Driving in the humiliation further. Like some dramatic exaggerated scene out of a soap opera, a middle aged housewives tv-series, and the act was meant to be a huge burden for the main stars in season one but then it gets solved three episodes later. 

Forgiven and forgotten.

But this wasn’t a soap opera, this wasn’t some lame drama created to satisfy lonely women as they waited for their loving husbands to come home from golf. This was reality. Your reality- your life. And soon, not only your own. That one realization grounded; it was enough to escape the clutches of shock and confusion and placed you back inside the small, simple medical office and the woman opposite you.  

“ Well yeah, it’s no wonder you’ve been feeling like shit the last few weeks. I’d say congratulations but really— “ 

Yosano’s voice faded into the background again; your mind tiffany twisted, drowned out her words as more flashbacks pulled you under the surface of reality. Simple things, comparisons like the joy last pregnancy brought and the dread this one carried. How caring, sweet and gentle it started but how difficult the previous one ended; and how difficult this one started while the thought of it getting worse filled you with dread. 

Blood rushed to your ears; your pounding heart overshadowed all sounds, dulled the quiet medical office into an obnoxiously loud space. Your vision blurred, tunneled and span. Inadvertently you pressed the fingers of your shaking hand to your eyes and rubbed them, then shook your head to try and clear the dark dots which played in your sight. 

You wondered how and why it happened. You couldn’t fathom the idea that you were, yet again, carrying a life inside you. No, it was absurd. Surely Yosano was mistaken, it hadn’t even gone that long since the twins were born and– 

All at once the reality came crashing back down again. You were back on the hard chair, back opposite Yosano and suddenly very aware of every inch of the office. And the continuation of her displeased rant; the way her tone grew louder, annoyance sipped into every syllable. The barely held back curses which evidently played on the tip of her tongue. Yet she tried to look casual, head rested in the palm of her hand, body language open and turned towards you. But the anger was undeniable in the way her second hand gripped the pen, almost snapped it in half and poured the goey black onto a pile of papers- the results that signaled your doom. “ I told the damned bastards to–” 

“ – But I thought you couldn’t get pregnant at least until 18 months have passed after birth” you interrupted her, your voice a fraction away from hysterical. You looked at Yosano expectedly, begging her for the confirmation that this was some weird biological fluke. A mistake that no one of you could have predicted.

You jumped as she slammed her fist against the wooden desk. 

“ Where the hell did you hear that bullshit from?” Yosano took a deep breath, slipped back into her composed doctor mask and did you the courtesy to reply to your questions calmly and professionally “It’s not recommended to get pregnant earlier than 18 months after delivery, to give the body time to heal. However, biologically speaking, there’s nothing preventing you from it once you’ve gotten your period. Some can get pregnant as early as four weeks after.” 

You bit your lips to hold back a curse, and hung your head at your own stupidity. “ But one time..” you mumbled absentmindedly as memories of an unromantic quickie on the same night the pair returned home from their months long mission ran through your mind. A disappointing act that drove a rift in your relationship. That became a silent fight you never openly addressed; just picked up your things and moved into the shoe-sized spare bedroom. Something which neither part of double black seemed to mind. 

If anything you swore your absence in the bedroom brought them relief. 

To your surprise, Yosano rested a comforting hand on your shoulder. “ Sometimes one time is plenty. Now then to break the news-” She moved away from you and began stomping towards the door which separated her office from the rest of the medical bay. And ultimately, the space where your so-called lovers waited with the twins. 

“ No wait!” you cried. In an instant up on your feet, both hands wrapped around Yosano’s arm. Although she was undoubtedly stronger, the action was shocking enough to halt her movements. She turned to face you, surprise edged into her features. But you couldn’t meet her eyes. No, you did not want her to see that the seemingly perfect relationship had been reduced to shambles. A broken thing which had become filled with responsibilities and fear. The thought made your cheeks redden in shame; never ever in your life would you have thought you’d be fearful of your lover's reaction to seemingly joyful news. And even more shamefully, feel the need to make excuses for it in public. 

“ Tell me honestly Y/N” Yosano’s voice was low, the accusation unmistakable. 

“ It’s Dazai’s” You answered in a heartbeat, met her gaze full on with the most earnestness you had ever displayed in your life. “ Undoubtedly his.” 

You dropped your hand from her arm and brought it back to your side, wrapped it protectively around your stomach. You forced your lips up into a smile, hoped it looked innocent yet nervous. Then mellowed out the look in your eyes to the point the blush looked more shy than guilty. “ W-well, you know, Dazai’s been wanting a child of his own since the twins and I.. just want to break the news to him in a special way.” The lie rolled smoothly off your tongue and Yosano seemed to buy it. 

She laughed at you, teased you for the still corny behavior while lightly reminded you this wasn’t your first kid as she sat back down and began going over essential medical information with you. Information you took in with a smile, nodded in appropriate places without really listening. But who could have blamed you? 

Your mind was for once on your side as it formed second by second a feasible plan for you. Not easy, but manageable. Drunk on thought that you, YOU, the innocent little weak dove had gotten away with such a blatant lie gave you the courage you needed to indulge in those thoughts. The thoughts you hadn’t even dared to think of before. Now they felt so close and so real. 

Although, admittedly, the lie you uttered wasn’t a complete lie. Indeed, you intended to make sure he would find out this news in the most unforgettable way possible. 

You just never said the surprise was going to be good… 

Author note: The first part of this chapter is dedicated to each and every person who thought A Hit Beyond Rock Bottom was not heavy /angsty enough and Dazai’s actions weren’t too bad.

The second part is for us who can see that the reader is strong and it's time to see that strengths manifest itself into something useful. Well hope you enjoyed this and until next time~

Click here for: Part 1 , part 2 and part 3 or Check out Raven's masterlist.

©ravencincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reposted/copied anywhere else without my consent, please inform me!

[nanaminokanojo]

BAD NEWS (part 61)

-just when you thought you were over your humongous crush on your older brother’s best friend, geto suguru, you couldn’t have been more dead wrong, except satoru doesn’t like suguru for you because he knows his kind all too well: a huge ass playboy who breaks hearts like he changes socks. but you think, MAYBE you’ll be the exception…maybe not.

CHARACTERS: drummer!geto suguru x you/afab reader | gojo satoru | various jjk characters

GENRE: full-length smau + prose | band au | college au | stupid pining | aged-up characters | friends to lovers (?) | smut

TW/CW: strong/mature language | adult content so mdni on some parts | mentions of alcohol, drugs | mentions of cheating, promiscuity, mild dubcon, etc. | god-awful pet names | toxic behavior | will add more if something arises

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER INDEX

<<prev part 61 next>>

You wished on all the forces of the universe to remove you from your current predicament. Have the floor swallow you whole, for the roof to cave in, make you disappear. Anything, any second now. But nothing. The universe isn't on your side, not this time. And you continued to stand between the counter and Suguru, gnawing at your lower lip so much, it's probably bleeding. All the while, you kept your eyes away from his unrelenting stare, fixing your eyes on the silver skull pendant that hung below his collar.

Suguru patiently stood his ground before you, not saying anything as time ticked by one agonizing second at a time. You can hear his every breath, fanning over your forehead. One minute movement and you'll be touching him. Not a good idea considering everything that happened. But it looked like there was no escaping this time.

Squaring your shoulders, you dared to meet his gaze, but you immediately shrunk back to your awkward state, except the words were already leaving your mouth before you could stop them. "You wanted to talk?" you croaked, your confidence dying in your throat when you saw the frustration dancing in his eyes.

Despite that, he was gentle in his approach. "That's what I said, kitten."

Or so you thought, regretting your next words. "C-can you um..." You motioned for him to move back, but he shook his head at you much to your chagrin.

"No. I don't think that's necessary."

You shrugged, sulking as you shifted your weight to your left leg. If he wasn't going to let you have your space, you can make it difficult for him, too. "Fine." You folded your arms over your chest, a satisfied smirk drawing itself across your lips when he slightly moved back at the action. "Talk about what, Suguru?"

His expressions were unreadable as he paused, evidently testing the waters. "Looks like I'm jumping all the hoops today, but I'll indulge you." He leveled his face to yours, mouth stretching into a grin. "Let's talk about that Sunday night you came home drunk. Particularly the part where you and I –"

"Okay, okay, I get it!" You were covering his mouth with your hand before he could finish, giving him a heavy look which he returned with one of understanding before you withdrew. You let out a loud exhale, feeling your knees go weak at the thought that the matter hangs between the two of you for discussion. You weren't ready, but you had to be if either of you are going to be okay with each other again without you evading him all the time regardless of how things would go.

You looked at him sheepishly. "Do you have to be this close though?"

He rolled his eyes at you. "You're not going anywhere this time, sweetheart."

Curse him for knowing you too well. "You're too close –"

"Getting shy with me now? Thought you wanted me this close." He arched a brow at you, getting in that pushy mood you disliked when directed at you.

"When did I say that?"

"Do you want specifics?"

"Now, you're just being exasperating." You did an eye roll which made him chuckle, but you were having none of his geniality. Instead, you pouted at him. "What about it, anyway?" you mumbled.

Suguru scoffed, the sound coming out with a little laughter of disbelief. "Did you seriously just ask me that, kitten?" He had taken a softer tone on you despite himself. "So, it's a trifling matter to you?"

You sighed. Talking about such things was hell on earth. You've taken drastic measures before just to avoid it, but he seems done with your nonsense. Suddenly, you felt tired, finally letting go of your guard and resting your forehead on his chest, prompting him to stand upright. You've always sought his familiar warmth without inhibitions, and you found comfort in the way he held you.

"That's not what I meant. It's nothing I can trifle with, as you put it. You're not someone I can just take for granted, and you know that."

"Y/N, that's exactly why I wanted to talk about it," he told you. "You're very important to me, too, and I don't want this to become the reason we fall apart."

The sincerity in his tone made you feel a little guilty although you knew it wasn't the intention. Suguru may have his flaws, some of which pissed you off terribly, but you can never deny that he cared for you, first, as Satoru's best friend, and second, as an actual friend to you. Your antics after what happened, something you even initiated, wasn't a good look, but you still felt like countering him on that despite the looming possibility of his words.

Stepping back a bit, you met his gaze, quickly regretting it when you saw just how intensely he was looking at you. But you leveled with him, all your unspoken feelings for him coming up to the surface and pretty much making your self-control crumble. He just held so much power over you, and he didn't even know it.

"Why does it have to make us fall apart?" you asked.

"Because..." He moved closer to you, large hands landing on your hips as he effortlessly lifted you up onto the counter, making you yelp and smack him on the arm from being startled. He chuckled as he stood before you, eyes lighting up as you pouted when he booped your nose. "You have a knack for avoiding things you don't want to deal with, better than you avoid your opponents on the field."

"I do not!" you protested, but it was met with a wry smile.

"Really now, kitten?" he challenged. "You managed to avoid me even in this house. Thought I wouldn't notice you sneaking out in the morning? Or how you made Megumi come here the day later just so you won't have to face me?" He feigned hurt but was unsuccessful in concealing the sly glint in his eyes and the slight upward twitch of his lips. "I made you hangover soup, you know."

You shrugged, feeling your face grow hot. "I'm sorry, okay?" you snapped, but the fight in you has long cooled down. "I just..."

"Yes, kitten?"

"I didn't know what to do about it," you mumbled. "I needed to think."

"And?"

You looked at him with narrowed eyes, silently considering what to say, and maybe you should be bolder like all those girls who pretty much got what they wanted from him one way or the other albeit momentarily. You weren't going to be one of them, were you? Come to think of it, he wouldn't even be around if the thought didn't bother him, would he? You just weren't sure in what manner, but you were going to make sure you weren't going to end up getting the short end of the stick.

Looking back to that night, he didn't force you into anything, even trying to stop you, but if this whole affair with him was one-sided, he wouldn't have done anything to cross that line with you at present and even a year ago.

"Does it bother you?" you asked him instead.

"Yes..." It was his turn to be uncertain and awkward. "Somehow, it does."

Huh, you thought, pushing further. "In what sense?"

"If you're asking if I regret it, kitten, I don't, and neither do I feel sorry in general save for the fact that you weren't clear in the head when it happened. I feel like I've taken advantage of you –"

"Okay, stop. I knew what I was doing, Suguru. I'm not exactly a kid you're supposed to babysit regardless of how you view me," you countered.

"Hmm. How exactly do I view you, Y/N?"

"Oh, I don't know. Your best friend's kid sister?"

Suguru arched a brow at you. "That's always been your opinion about me, sweetheart. I never said that. Otherwise, I wouldn't..." He let his words trail off as if he caught himself, but was hiding it under the guise of not wanting to state specifics.

You chuckled without mirth. "Do you realize what you're saying right now?"

His eyes went dark as he pushed his tongue against his cheek, jaw ticking as he ran his ring-adorned fingers through his hair in utter frustration. "Believe it or not, I do."

You faked a gasp, thrilled to your toes at his little revelation and deciding to make him 'jump the hoops' as he put it earlier. "My, my. My brother's best friend has the hots for me? Who would have known?"

"Y/N..." He sighed. "Kitten, don't say it like that. You make it sound like I'm some creep who stole your virtue."

You scoffed playfully. "You're the one acting like a damn virgin here since earlier. Now, I feel like the creep who stole yours."

"What?" He looked so appalled at your words that it was comical and you couldn't help giggling at his expression. "You little –"

"You're cute when you're flustered."

He rolled his eyes at you, but couldn't help but join in your laughter anyway. And as if nothing happened, you're back to being your silly selves around each other again. Or so it seemed in that moment which easily broke when he spoke again.

"So...did you dislike it?" he asked cautiously, looking at you from under his lashes. He sounded hopeful, and you couldn't help but think if he was ever any degree of vulnerable around anybody else.

"I don't know. I was drunk, remember?" you decided to bait him, and he bit it, making a face at you. You laughed even more at that.

"I'm serious, kitten." Suguru inched closer and closer, eyes hazy as he looked into yours, and you didn't even realize he was already standing between your thighs.

Shoot your shot, you thought to yourself, only hoping you won't regret it, but it seemed like a problem for future you. "I believe I made it clear just how I felt about it."

"Mhmm." His reponse was shaky at best, and you loved that you had this effect on him, too. "I can show you more, kitten," he whispered, lips almost touching yours, his piercing gaze daring you to make the next move as they shifted to your mouth ever so slowly, the intensity making you feel like he was touching you without even doing it, making you squirm.

But you weren't about to give in easily, inching back slightly even as your hand slid up his shoulder. "I don't know, Suguru." You smirked at him. "Can you?"

He returned the gesture, eyes smoldering. "Wanna find out?"

"I–"

"I'm home!"

Suguru jerked back at the sound of Satoru's voice from the direction of the hallway, leaving him with no choice but to stand awkwardly against the adjacent sink.

"In here!" you called out, picking up your abandoned sandwich, taking a bite as you suppressed laughter at nearly being caught by your brother who appeared by the archway and leisurely entered the kitchen.

"You're here, too? Didn't know you were coming over," he said to Suguru. "Had dinner yet?"

Suguru furtively glanced at you. "Was about to."

You winked at him then hopped out of the counter, taking your sandwich with you, motioning to leave the kitchen.

"That's all you're gonna eat? Is Utahime telling you to lose weight or something?" Satoru asked, noticing your food.

"Nah, too lazy to whip anything up." You looked at Suguru, your gaze pregnant with meaning. "I'll be in my room. Don't bother me."

TAG LIST: @lilc77 @strxkbylightning @lavender-hvze @maya-maya-56 @kibananya @nerdisthenewcool @darkstarlight82 @lysaray @ti-mame @ri-sa20 @diogodxlot @sugurubabe @guacam011y @yeehawslap @luvvmae @s-j320 @ichorstainedskin @iaminyourfloors @tanchosanke @hellyyy06 @tacobellfreshavocado @mrs-monkey-d-luffy @iluv-ace @clxvrs

Guys, I can't tag you: @starlightanyaaa

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI’S “JUJUTSU KAISEN”. [20240704]

PHOTOS/IMAGES/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS GO TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[specialagentartemis]

Fics about SecUnit 3 to Read Before We Get All Our Headcanons Jossed

Three! SecUnit 3! System Collapse comes out in one week and it seems like Three will feature prominently!

Three has been the subject of so much speculation and fascination for the fandom. We have a lot of different ideas about who it may become and who it might want to be.

Before all of that gets debunked by the new book, here's a rec list and roundup of some of the excellent fics that center Three!

-

Ficlets About Three and Murderbot Figuring Out How To Interact With Each Other

"Feedlog" by OnlyAll0Saw. 599 words. NR, Multi.

ART is a bit of a bully on the feed. MB is having none of it.

A well-done codefic that imagines the rocky early days of Murderbot, Three, and ART all figuring out how to get along with each other.

-

"Murder Mode Modules" by FlipSpring. 948 words. G, Gen.

3 what the fuck is ‘Murder Mode Modules, Do Not Touch Except For Situations That Necessitate Lots Of Murder?'

Hilarious, great voice, and surprisingly emotional for such a short space and silly tone :') Two excellent podfics!

-

"Real Things" by ArtemisTheHuntress. 715 words. G, Gen.

Three admits that it doesn't understand the appeal of fictional media.

This one's mine :) Murderbot and Three discuss media. There's a podfic!

-

Meatier One-Shots about Three Contemplating Its Identity, Who It Is, And What It Wants Now

"pink and green" by CompletelyDifferent. 5,100 words. G, Gen.

During a diplomatic trip to the university's home system to better establish the newly-formed treaty with the Preservation Alliance, Three tries to figure out who it is. Between exploring new hobbies and its sense of fashion, it attempts to figure out what its relationship with Murderbot 1.0 is, precisely. (Murderbot 1.0 ignores this, until it doesn't).

Hot Springs Episode! CompletelyDifferent @elexuscal writes character interactions SO well.

-

"Uncatalogued and Uncategorized" by lick. 3,033 words. G, Gen.

SecUnit 3 discovers that a hot shower is a good place to work out tangled thoughts.

I loooove this one and return to it regularly. The introspectio makes it a fantastic balance of character study, past trauma, and total confusion of what to do now with itself and its life. Includes a podfic by the author!

-

"Unacceptable Topics of Conversation" by lick. 4,500 words. Teen & Up, Gen.

Murderbot gives SecUnit 3 a haircut. They discuss the governor module.

lick does it again! The feelings are so fraught, the conversation held so gingerly.

-

Long, Plot-Heavy Stories About Three Finding Itself In The Universe

"Heuristic Analysis" by thefourthvine. 11,000 words. G, Gen.

Three makes some choices.

Three travels to Mihira with ART and its crew, gets involved in an AI Rights related mystery, and, as advertised, makes some choices. Well-written with some interesting worldbuilding concepts about the Pansystem University of Mihira and New Tideland!

-

"Seeking Safety" by petwheel. 57,000 words. Teen & Up, Gen.

Three assumes a new identity on Preservation, only to discover someone wants to kill it. To figure out who and why, Three has to delve into secrets from Preservation's past.

A plotty mystery, suspenseful and extremely creative, with some bold and unique takes on Preservation's history - and how Three can fit in.

-

"Function" by FigOwl. 65,000 words. Teen & Up, Gen.

"I have worked assignments solo before, and I have gotten used to the absences of SecUnit 01 and SecUnit 02. But I have not reconciled myself to the absence of Murderbot 2.0, though I know it is not logical. 2.0 made its choices, and fulfilled its purpose perfectly, and it seemed satisfied with that. I wish that I had any amount of such certainty and resolve." The continuing adventures of SecUnit03. How does a newly freed SecUnit make sense of everything without having consumed 35,000 hours of media for context?

Three goes off on its own self-actualization adventure after Network Effect.

-

Three On Preservation

"words left behind" by torpidgilliver. 4,400 words. G, Gen.

"How do you stand it?" Dr. Gurathin's tone is slow and even when he asks, "Stand what?" - SecUnit 3 shares its feelings with someone who might understand.

Three meets Gurathin. Also, a cat. Delightfully soft and gently sad.

-

"Social Competition" by scheidswrites. 2,100 words. G. Gen.

It's been a while since the last attempted murder/kidnapping, and life is good. Everyone is gathered for a celebration on the Mensah Family Farm. The rogue SecUnits invent a new sport. Drs Mensah, Gurathin, and Overse talk about work on their day off.

SecUnit sports! Murderbot and Three bonding without being too awkward about it! I love this.

-

"The Tree That Owns Itself" by BoldlyNo. 865 words. G, Gen.

There is a tree in the FirstLanding University Botanical Gardens that Murderbot is not thrilled about.

Murderbot and Three have conflicting feelings about a tree.

-

Miscellaneous But Also Worth Highlighting

"As Your Legal Counsel" by i_have_loved_the_stars_too_fondly. 1,000 words. G, Gen.

Pin-Lee informs Three of its options and legal status, should it choose to come to Preservation.

This one is so fun and sweet! Directly after Network Effect, Pin-Lee talks to Three about its options. Three is a little overwhelmed. Two podfics of this one, one by me :) Also @ilovedthestars your AO3 name is hard to type

-

"Past the Breakers" by Thylacine_Wishes. 5,300 words. G, Gen.

When Three is badly injured protecting ART's crew on a mission, Murderbot finds itself disagreeing with the safety protocols that it had written. It was supposed to be the SecUnit meat shield, not Three. It doesn't have time to figure out how it feels about that before it's diving in (literally) to rescue Three and maybe coming to terms with some things along the way.

Action! Adventure! Edge-of-your-seat drama written SO well! Almost drowning! Murderbot caring about Three!!!!

-

"Team of Three" by Lillow. 5,500 words. G, no category.

How Three of three became Three of many.

The tags say it best: the real team was the friends we made along the way. Or is it the real friends are the teammates we make?

Either way, Three finds a team, and people it belongs with.

[writeforfandoms]

I'm Still Tangled Up In You

Find the series masterlist

Soooo. Been a while, huh? I'm so sorry, guys. Totally lost all inspo for this. Regained it at random. Wrote this entire chapter in a day.

Yes, this is the finale of this story. But. If I find more inspo and continue writing in this universe, this won't be the last we see of these two. Just a little something to look forward to.

Warnings: Idiots in love, implied sexy times, kissing, Feelings, allusions to violence but nothing explicit, allusions to dragon harm but on par for the story.

Word count: 1.3k

Jack didn't tell you anything until after the two of you finally stumbled inside. He left his hat on its peg by the door, ruffling a hand through his already disheveled hair. 

“Everyone is fine,” he said before you could get too antsy, ignoring the kitchen for now in favor of settling into an armchair. He also dragged you down into his lap, apparently unwilling to relinquish his grip on you just yet. “No major injuries, nothin’ bad like that.” 

“And the dragon?” You couldn't keep the hopeful out of your voice. 

“I won't lie, darlin’,” Jack said with a low sigh. “She's in rough shape. She might not make it. But she's in good hands - Harry and Merlin will do whatever it takes for her.” 

You nodded slowly. Worse than you'd hoped, but better than you'd feared. Still. That she was alive and safe was better than the alternative. “And everything else?” 

Jack huffed softly but obliged you. “Didn't ask if Javier and Marcus figured out jurisdiction. Don't much care. Poppy was killed attempting to escape. Got plenty of evidence against her, and the organization.” His lips curled in amusement very satisfied smile. “The Golden Circle is gone, darlin’. Permanently.” 

You smiled and kissed him, relieved that he and everyone else had gotten out okay. Honestly, it was about the best outcome that you could have asked for. 

“Think I'll ever get to meet her? Eggsy's mom, I mean.” 

Jack made a complicated series of expressions before he shrugged. “Hard t’ say,” he hedged, in a way that made you certain there was already some kind of plan in place. “Need t’ see how she recovers, first. If she does.” 

You nodded, willing to accept that for now. That was good enough. 

“Done questioning me?” He asked, more playful than anything, even as he briefly dug his fingers into your sides to hear you squeal. “‘Cause I missed you like hell, and I've got better things I wanna do with my mouth.” He waggled his eyebrows at you. 

The two of you didn't talk any further about dragons or the events in Cambodia. 

Reality reasserted itself in the rudest possible way.

You had to go back to work. 

Jack offered to drive you, but you declined. It was well out of his way, and you should get some laundry done. Things like that. Probably needed to clean out your fridge, too. 

Having a bit of space from the situation helped too. Helped you think about what you wanted and where you wanted to be. 

Your apartment seemed very lonely now, with no dragons and no Jack. 

You ended up talking to Jack every night. Not about Cambodia, or even anything in particular. You just talked. Honestly, it was relieving, to just talk. To not have the Golden Circle hanging over your heads. 

You drove back to the ranch on Friday after work, drumming your fingers on the steering wheel, barely paying attention to the music coming through the speakers. Your usual bag lay on the floor on the passenger side, mocking you with one thought. 

What if it wasn't just the one bag? What if it wasn't just for one weekend? 

You had a feeling he felt the same - you two had been interrupted before Cambodia. He'd brought it up, albeit briefly. 

You wondered if he'd bring it up again, now that things were over and calmer. 

You wondered if you'd be brave enough to bring it up, if he didn't. 

You parked in your usual spot and took a moment to breathe, engine idling. This was fine. Nothing wrong here. 

So why had your nerves reared up again now?

Scowling at yourself, you turned off the car and got out. 

Jack grabbed you immediately, making you yelp. You hadn't heard him coming, hadn't seen him. But you forgave him the instant his lips touched yours. One big hand cupped the back of your head, cradling and keeping you close. Your fingers scratched through the short hairs at the back of his neck and base of his head, and he shivered and made a soft noise against your lips. 

You almost decided to forget your bag and take him inside, but he pulled back first. 

“If that's how you say hello, I should come grab you more often,” he teased with a grin, eyes sparkling. 

You couldn't help your little huff of laughter. “Only because it's you,” you told him. “Anyone else would get hit.” 

“Atta girl.” Jack grinned at you. “I got dinner started for us. You go on in and get comfy, I'll bring your bag in.” 

You didn't even try to argue, just kissed him once more, soft and sweet, and made your way inside. 

All was as you'd left it. The chairs and table sat as they always did. The armchairs looked the same. The warm smell of food made you inhale deeply, appreciative that Jack could cook too. 

This place felt homey. This felt more like coming home than your apartment did. 

Jack carried your bag in, putting it in the bedroom as he always did. 

“Smells good in here,” you told him, peering at the stove. 

“Glad you think so.” Big hands settled on your hips as he stepped up behind you, swaying the two of you to some unheard music. “There's somethin’ I wanted to ask you, darlin’.” 

“Mm?” You tipped your head back into his shoulder, moving easily with him, weight shifting in sync with his. You didn't need any music, not with this man. 

“Would you move in with me?” He spoke quietly, lips next to your ear. 

For a moment, you froze, forcing him to stutter to a halt behind you. You turned, forcing him to shift his grip on you, to put your hands on his chest. “Really? You mean it?”

“Really,” he murmured, lifting his hands to cover yours. “Wanted to ask you before, but then there was the Golden Circle…” 

“I understand,” you whispered, blinking rapidly. “We'll have to figure out some things, like my apartment.”

“Wait until the lease is up, or I'll help you break it.” 

“And my job.” 

“Is remote work an option? Or if you wanted to find a different job, I don't mind.” 

You smiled. “What if I wanted to help you?”

His grin was all the answer you needed. “Already taught you most everything,” he murmured, thumbs stroking over your skin slowly, tantalizing and soothing. 

“And the dragons like me,” you added, giddy and mischievous and breathless. 

“Better'n they do me, some days,” he agreed, leaning forward slowly, pushing against your hands. 

“Might make things easier, to have two of us doing the work,” you whispered, completely caught up in his pull, not trying even a little to get away. 

“We know we work well together,” he agreed. “Be a damn shame to pass up such a golden opportunity.” 

“I agree.” You licked your lips, watching his gaze drop to follow. “I'll enjoy the short commute.” 

“Speaking of short commutes…” Jack leaned back slowly but kept you pressed to him, guiding you slow and steady back towards his room. 

Your shared room, now.

“You have something in mind?” Despite knowing well and good what was on his mind, you couldn't help but play, raising one eyebrow at him and trying your best to keep your smile off your face. 

“I do indeed,” he purred, flashing a grin as he guided you around the two armchairs. “Gotta welcome you home properly, after all.” 

Your heart lurched. Home. Your home. 

Your kiss was the only answer you could come up with, and the only one he needed. 

Everything else would wait. For tonight, you needed to celebrate your new job, your new coworkers, and, best of all, your new home. 

[need-more-meta]

I was very inspired by this wonderful prompt by wonderful @spnj2fanlw and I want to share a little teaser for what’s coming because I’m too excited and can’t keep it to myself.

Set in season 10.

You, My Curse (You, My Cure)

the mystic deliria, the madness amorous, the utter abandonment

Walt Whitman

Chapter 1

Dean Winchester hates witches, but boy does he love killing them.

“You couldn’t do it before she lunged for me?” Sam asks, looking down at himself, splattered head-to-toe with the exploded witch’s blood.

Dean gives him his ‘sorry-dude-I-don’t-care’ shrug, which is met with Sam’s ‘fuck-you-dude’ glare.

The important thing is the homicidal witch is dead; Sam’s neat freakishness is beyond the scope of Dean’s responsibilities.

“It’s in my fucking mouth,” Sam continues griping, like the teenage girl he is. He spits onto the floor, then sticks his tongue out and scrapes at it with his fingers.

“Dude, ew,” Dean says, which is usually Sam’s line, so it feels extra good to throw it back at him.

Sam’s glare moves into the ‘seriously-fuck-you-dude’ territory. It’s hilarious.

Not waiting for his brother to come back to the world of non-bitches, Dean looks around the room, which served as the witch’s office, filled to the brink with magical stuff.

“Should we—?” He makes a circle in the air with his finger, indicating the entire space.

Sam stops trying to pat the blood out of his clothes.

“Yeah,” he says, still sounding sour. “Let’s loot.” He walks toward the bookshelves stuffed with thick tomes, parchments, and other reading material. “I’ll take the books, you look into the artifacts.”

Dean nods and drifts toward the shelves overflowing with all kinds of exotic trinkets. He finds a couple of curious-looking knives that would complement his collection nicely. There are loads of animal bones, and Dean finds it slightly disturbing how easily he can identify them at this point in his life. He pockets some shiny stones with etchings that remind him of a language he’d seen in the bunker library. Sam might like those.

As Dean goes over the drawers of the witch’s desk, something catches his attention—a simple gold ring, wedged between the witch’s journals. He takes it, instantly mesmerized. There’s nothing in particular about the thing that makes Dean feel like it’s something valuable, but he can’t put it down.

He finds an inscription on the inside in what looks like Latin. The words ‘amore’ and ‘morte’ stand out, but the general message escapes Dean.

“Hey, nerd,” he calls and throws the ring across the room to Sam, who catches it in the air. “Can you read that?”

Sam peers at the ring. Dean feels uncomfortable without the thing in his hand, and he saunters toward Sam, while Sam translates.

“With love, comes death. With death, comes love,” Sam reads and gives the ring back to Dean, who feels better right away. “I think it’s a wedding ring.”

“Bit morbid for a wedding ring,” Dean says as he watches the light from the window catch on the gold.

An idea strikes him, brilliant as ever.

“Hey, Sammy?” He grabs Sam’s left hand and slides the ring on his fourth finger. “Say ‘I do.’”

Sam’s glare promises Dean a slow and painful death. Before he can make good on his unspoken threat, Dean feels something cold wrap itself around his own fourth finger. He lifts his left hand, and he and Sam both stare stupidly at the ring shining there, identical to the one Sam’s now wearing.

Dean grins.

“Guess we’re married now, little brother.”

“Is everything a joke to you?” Sam asks, ever a bitch.

“Yes,” Dean says brightly, satisfied when Sam’s entire face scrunches up in a grimace.

It takes Sam a few seconds to decide that he isn’t murdering Dean right now, which Dean already knew. Sam’s face shifts into a thoughtful frown as he considers the rings.

“Do you—feel any different?” he asks, poking at the ring on his hand.

“It’s the happiest day of my life.” Dean keeps the grin going.

Sam sighs and mutters something most likely unflattering.

There, it’s already a perfect marriage, as far as Dean’s concerned.

[naluwalker]

Brain bugs, brain bugs, someone get them out of my head

So, I have no idea about Game of Thrones, I have no idea about House of the Dragon, and even less about A Song of Ice and Fire, but I desperately need a Fairy Tail reincarnating in Westeros fanfiction.

Which is a very silly thing, because Fairy Tail is everything that George RR Martin's works are not, and by that I mean the power of the script and of friendship in all its splendor.

Make no mistake, I love Fairy Tail and everything related to it, but even I have to admit that Fairy Tail and A Song of Ice and Fire are complete opposites. My Fairy Tail babies would give them something if they had to spend too much time in Westeros and that's something we can all agree on.

But all that aside, I'd really like to see something like that, and since no one has done it, I'll write down the general idea and quickly forget about it to move on.

So, from what I understand a lot of the shit that happens in Game of Thrones originates from everything that happened in House of the Dragon, and I'm really indifferent to Rhaenyra, and I don't give a damn about Alicent, Viserys and Daemon, for that matter. what they will be demolished by my brain bugs and cast aside. When the Dance of Dragons happened and the entire war almost took out the entire family, ruining many lives in the process, so that in the end Rhaenyra's son who took the throne was basically left with the worst part: half the family dead, a stupidly uncomfortable throne, equally stupid children, dragons finally becoming extinct, and a pitch-black future for the rest of the nation. It's screwed, but everything in Westeros is screwed, so to fix it my babies will arrive to spread love and affection until everyone vomits rainbows out of their asses.

Although it's not that I don't feel sorry for Rhaenyra and also for Rhaenys, because what happened to them was screwed, but they will be sacrifices for this, and by the time the little tyrant king that I will put up takes the throne, all the girls of the seven kingdoms will be empowered, just wait.

Suppose the gods of Planetos saw the future shit crashing into the fan and said "Shit, we're all screwed," so they decided to bring in the purest, noblest, most destructive souls in the entire cosmos to fix it for them, and they had It had to be early, so that the disasters to come could be corrected.

So here we go, and with shipper glasses, to spread the crumbs that Mashima denies us:

Natsu Dragneel dies at an advanced age without remorse or sorrow, he married the love of his life, an incredible woman, he had children, he had grandchildren and lived to meet his great-grandchildren, he belonged to an incredible guild and has even more incredible friends and companions. He died a satisfied man... and then he wakes up again to a pretty fucked up world, but hopefully he's not alone.

Nataerys Targaryen is born with great vigor and even greater lung strength, his newborn cries pierce the ears of everyone in a radius of an entire palace and his movements are strong even when he is barely minutes old, he is everything a father could wish. Thus, on a hot summer day in the year 82 AD, the son Aemon Targaryen and his wife Jocelyn Baratheon are born.

Although luckily for Natsu, and for Westeros itself, he is not the heir to his grandfather's throne, as most might think, no. That dubious honor belongs to his five years older brother, Zaeferon.

Zeref Dragneel, after causing a war and attempting an invasion all for the sake of destroying space-time and finally dying, was unexpectedly able to partially fulfill his wish (the most important part, in fact) thanks to the power of love and most impressive woman he knows. But it seems that whatever god cursed him still wanted to continue chewing him like the cosmic toy that he is and let him be reincarnated in a shitty world, where he has become the heir to the throne of an even worse country, and a family to boot where they marry relatives as close as sibligs, and my god, he has an older sister.

But not everything is as bad as it seems, he recognizes the face of one of his aunts and for a while, he and Lucy use their time to keep each other company, read and research about this lost Valyrian magic and comfort each other so that if all else fails and in the end they are the only ones here, then they can marry each other and live the rest of their days among books in peace.

Luckily, that only lasts until on a day so hot the rocks melt, Natsu arrives into this world making a scandal that stirs up the entire Red Keep and they are able to completely ditch the backup plan when Zaeferon again recognizes a face among them his cousins.

Moving forward with family introductions, Lucy Heartfilia is born three years after Zeref as Luciaenya Targaryen as the last and youngest of the daughters of King Jaehaerys Targaryen and his sister-wife Alysanne, and the younger twin sister of Gael Targaryen. Lucy attempts to complete the first rites of a baby's life at top speed and spends the next two years of her life with her chubby little arm wrapped around Zaeferon's, swearing that she'd rather marry him than any of her other siblings or nephews. Therefore, the noisy arrival of her husband from another life at the palace is the breath of fresh air she needs to relax and refresh her brain.

With this in mind, her next steps are how to manipulate her parents to allow her to marry her nephew two years younger, and how to get her beautiful and sweet Gael a husband who will treasure her, care for her and protect her, and most importantly , to get her out of this den of vipers that is her new home. Later she will think about how to help Zaeferon accumulate power to put his ass on that stupid throne and take over the place, with the future goal of empowering all the women in the country. Never let it be said that Zeref does not respect the opposite gender.

The last reborn within the royal family also turned out to be the person Zeref wanted to see the most, luckily for him.

Mavis Vermillion, passing away peacefully after helping the love of her life fulfill their mutual wish to finally rest in peace, and with hopes placed on her children to protect the guild, is reborn as the daughter of two siblings, Baelon and Alyssa Targaryen and being the older twin sister of Aegon Targaryen. However, as in another time, Princess Alyssa died six months after a difficult birth and her twin Aegon died before his first year, so Maevys Targaryen became the beloved little princess of her father Baelon and his sons Viserys and Daemon Targaryen.

After the initial panic of discovering that she could be forced to marry any of her older brothers, Maevys joined Luciaenya to help her in her family manipulation plans and somehow get her sometimes not very well-liked grandfather to allow her to marry his heir, and Maevys is nothing if not smart, so she'll pull it off somehow. This time she will walk down the aisle with Zeref, whether the gods want it or not.

With the mere arrival of the four to the royal family things are already changing, the seven kingdoms will shake when Lucy and Mavis finally put Zeref's lazy ass on the Iron Throne.

Other reincarnates include Gaery Stark, grandson of Alaric Stark and current lord of Winterfell known for his Skinchanger ability; his wife Julianne Tully, a half-Dornish whose maternal grandmother belonged to the Orphans of the Greenblood; Erza Connington, the first female knight in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, whose mother is the first female Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and daughter of Aerea Targaryen, Irene Connington; Gerard Arryn, stepson of Daella Targaryen and older brother of Aemma Arryn; Wendeline Royce, a young but prodigious healer who calls herself a doctor, and is one of Maevys Targaryen's ladies-in-waiting; Garrett Umber and his wife Levina Reed, who are in the service of Gaery Stark, of whom Garrett is a cousin on his mother's side; Laxion Lannister, whose grandfather Marrek Lannister married Vaella Targaryen, younger sister of Jaehaerys Targaryen, who is always accompanied by Fredegar Westerling, Bilrentheus Banefort and Everwood Serrett; and Laxion's wife, Maenora Velaryon, daughter of Victor Velaryon and Marybel Massey, who is the older sister of Saelora, Elaerion, Laenyra and Vaenyra Velaryon, who are equally reincarnated.

With this in mind, Fairy Tail has been given enough political power to destroy a continent and can only pray that there is some left after Zeref Dragneel is named king.

[monsterfloofs]

The leaves whisper as wind chimes pluck a lovely tuneless melody. The sky above is a soft blue, with the clouds hanging like ornamental decorations. Heavily shadowed with a majestic grey blue at bottom, but light from the falling sun has the tops illuminated with white and soft purples. Golden hour, a tricky time for travel, when the sun sinks low upon the horizon, but beautiful nevertheless. Those last rays of sunshine casting golden shadows, bathing everything it can touch with a curtain of warm light.

You step on the porch and listen, the leaves, the chimes, the very wind itself. The chill of fall that promises the crisp height of the season, apples in the orchard, a cup of hot tea clasped with cold fingers. The last drop of warmth that melts away into winter's frigid embrace. You breathe deeply before grabbing the broom that is propped against the wall of the little grey house and descend the stone stairs of the porch.

You flick a cap onto your head with a satisfying snap, making sure to carefully secure the flaps over your ears and button it underneath your chin. You continue walking, reaching the willow tree in the front of the yard. Its branches bowed with leaves that flutter and brush against your face and arms. At the center where the trunk of the willow sits, there is a wide ring of space with roots and little grass. Where the drooping branches create a cradle that surrounds you. A small retreat from the outside world. The wispy branches spin and twirl outside of this makeshift sanctuary. You slide one leg over the broom, with two hands grasping the handle, and let your weight fall forward.

One foot and then the other. The ground falls away until you can almost reach up and touch the high branches of the tree. You tuck oner leg around the shaft of the broom. Sinking back down until the very tip of your shoe touches the earth. Arms out and open, spinning, a soothing motion that brings childhood beckoning, to the dreamy days sitting under this tree in an air chair strapped to a sturdy spot. You would swing and spin and spin and spin. That first feeling of weightlessness that had never left your heart, your mind. The feeling that gave you wings and perhaps that first little spark of wonder.

You stop spinning dreamily and do a loop around the trunk before you carefully leave the sanctuary behind and soar, up, up, up into the sky.

[farore05]

Chapter 10 bonus scene.

Small smut scene that got cut for pacing issues (and the fact I didn’t like the way it was turning out. ) Fair warning this isn’t as polished as everything else.

Ivy sat up and took her bra off, his hands immediately lifting and squeezing her breast. He leaned up and began kissing and sucking on them.

He pressed the flat of his tongue against her nipple, her hands spread over the back of his head, scratching and soothing his scalp. His teeth sank into her skin, and she immediately winced at the sharp pain he caused. He pulled back slightly, exhaling as though to steady himself, before taking another lick, this time more cautious but no less indulgent.

Her head tilted back, exposing the elegant curve of her neck as a soft sigh escaped her lips. The sight made his cock twich, a quiet thrill that he expertly masked behind his composure.

“It feels so good when you do that.”

Emmrich’s lips quirked into a sly smile as Ivy’s soft admission reached his ears. Her voice was tentative, and it sparked something within him. A satisfied sound rumbled in his chest. He continued kneading her breast and licking her nipple, savoring the way her body relaxed further under his touch.

“Would you… like me to do the same to you?” she asked suddenly, her voice gentle, almost bashful, as if the thought itself was a bold act.

Emmrich paused, studying her, his thumb brushing across her erect puffy nipple. He brought his lips to it, pressing a slow, tender kiss against where he left small surface level teeth marks. “Do you want to do that to me?” he asked, his voice a touch lower now, almost testing her, teasing the space between sincerity and indulgence.

She nodded, her cheeks dusting with the faintest blush as her eyes darted away from his. The corner of his mouth curved slightly, and his thoughts began to wrestle with the burgeoning warmth that spread through him.

So willing, so eager, so inexperienced, he thought, his heart tightening.

It was up to him to guide her, to show her what it meant to give and receive, to enjoy and indulge.

He let her hand rest against his chest, his voice smooth and even. “I’m yours, darling.”

She began much the same as he did, licking and palming him. Emmrich leaned back on his elbows, balancing on one as he took her hand. “I haven’t much to grab onto.” He chuckled. “Do this instead.” He took her wrist and rested it in his chest and brought her finger to his softened nipple, gesturing her to flick it with the tip of her finger. He sighed at the sensation. Emmrich took her finger away and brought it to his mouth, licking it before pushing it back to his chest.

Her hair fell around her face as she kept licking and nibbling on his other.

[Manfred interruption]

[kalijhomentethi]

"you must be so cold, darling."

closer does evelynn scoot, not that there really was any space between them to begin with. a deft hand reaches behind her own body, gently stroking along akali's hardening length before lifting one of her legs. "let me keep you warm."

akali can only offer a sleepy, agreeing hum in return, choosing to burrow into the covers and pressing her nose against the back of evelynn's neck. her arm is slung over the demon's torso, keeping her locked in with akali. winter is coming, so that means temperatures have been steadily dropping with each day. their shared blanket is by no means light but that doesn't mean the cold doesn't bother them. she nuzzles her girlfriend's shoulder as evelynn moves just the least bit closer, also wanting to remove any space left between them.

nothing could have prepared her for the hand that wraps itself around her cock, sliding along it and causing her to groan into evelynn's skin. her voice is husky as she lets out the moan, thick with sleep. the combination of warmth and soft friction are more than enough to have her length harden under the other's touch. "babe..." a groggy murmur. her hips move of their own accord, moving back and forth slowly, matching the gentle pace. soon enough, her precum is spread with their combined movement, cock becoming slick with her own arousal. her breathing becomes heavy, still nosing the crook of her girlfriend's neck. she just wants evelynn's fingers around her dick, reacting to the delicious sensation even with her eyes still closed.

then she feels movement, bed dipping as she feels evelynn shift slightly. feeling comfortable already and not wanting to chase away what little sleepiness she’s still feeling, akali begrudgingly opens her eyes…

…to the sight of a leg being lifted in invitation.

another groan. she can’t resist such a tempting treat. “okay.” she exhales into evelynn’s neck, powerless and unable to deny that she wants this. and she moves, angling her hips differently and letting the hand guide her into her girlfriend. she sinks into her all too easily, hilting herself into her with one smooth stroke. "'you can warm me up by letting me cum in you, baby." a heated whisper in the darkness of their bedroom, arm previously resting around evelynn moving to grip her hips. "gonna make both of us warm once we're done."

and she's back to that same tempo, panting against evelynn as her length enters and slides back out continuously, hand squeezing her girlfriend's hips as if to steady herself. it's delicious torture to maintain the slow, teasing pace but it's mind meltingly good at the same time, feeling herself throb as time passes. her cock comes out of evelynn more wet each time, coated with their combined wetness. "you feel so good, baby." she whines, eyes closing once more, hips stuttering as she starts to deviate from the original pace. "i wanna fill you up."

soon, akali's thrusting into evelynn with vigor, not quite satisfied with the sideways position, already slightly pushing the other into the mattress with how she's angled now. her grip tightens and teeth are all over evelynn's neck, the rapper huffing and grunting with effort. wet, slapping sounds fill the room as she chases the high they both want. "i'm close." she groans. "i'm close, baby."

one more thrust after another, cock hard, bed shifting underneath them, and then akali cums.

she hilts herself back into evelynn and stays buried inside as she cums. she fills her up, making sure to make evelynn take everything she has. she loves having her girlfriend take it all and knows fully well that the other enjoys the feeling. she stays inside even as she feels some of her cum dribble out, intent on doing her best to make her cum stay inside, groaning all the while.

now she's sufficiently warmed up.

she's not going to be moving for the rest of the night.

[truths33k3r4]

TW : Medical based fears, PTSD, nightmares, needles

CHAPTER 7 - Leo's Promise

After taking some time to prep in the Med Bay, Leo was finally satisfied with his work station. He got out his phone and texted Don.

' Hey. All set here. Can you bring the girl mutant to the Med Bay? '

Don was quick to respond in a matter of a little less than two seconds.

' Yeup. And thanks to a quick conversation, I'm now aware that her name's Lotus. '

' Oh. Got it. Thanks. '

' *thumb that is up* '

Leo tucked away his phone, and checked over his mental and physical checklist for the fourth time. Everything was accounted for and ready to go. Just how he liked it. He gave a small smile looking down on his hard work. The moment of pride was briefly cut short by the sounds of footsteps coming to the Med Bay door.

Raph emerged through the door with Lotus slumped over his shoulder. Somehow she looked even worse compared to a few hours ago, with her spindly legs shaking and her eye lids barely holding themselves open. Despite the many hours she had been sleeping, she still looked exhausted. Deep lines were etched under her eyes..

Leo's excitement and sheer pride of his prepared work space vanished in a blink. His eyes fell on Lotus like a little girl looking down at a wilted flower. His anxiety decided this was the best time to rear it's ugly head and make itself known. He felt the sticky sensation of sweat forming on his forehead, and he had to hold his hands under his arm pits to hide the obvious shivering.

' Calm down. Everything's fine. Can't look like I'm not confident in my field. I. Am. The. Medic. I can do this.. I can help her. '

Leo took as subtle of a deep breath as he could to help calm his nerves. He, as his brothers liked to call it, "turned on his Medic Mode", searching over Lotus for the many injuries and wounds he would need to treat. His eyes winced as he noticed just how skinny she was.. Her legs and arms looked as though there was no muscle wrapped around the bone, but instead just a tight layer of flesh. Her thighs and crooks of her elbows were covered in all sorts of bruises, which Leo guessed was from the experimentation..

His train of thought went careening off the track by the loud THUD from Lotus fully collapsing, barely being caught by Raph. Her body was now completely limp, but her eyes fluttered with consciousness. Don came running through the hall into the Med Bay and helped support Lotus with his twin. After Raph balanced her, he turned his gaze to Leo.

" BRO- Where do you want her?? "

" On the table! Here! " Leo gestured to the surgical table with a small grey pillow and the flimsy medical blanket. Raph and Don nodded and gently lifted Lotus onto the table, Don being quick to tuck his hand underneath her head onto the pillow.

Lotus' mind was swimming in a murky lake as she panted from exhaustion. She internally cursed herself and her body for failing to make it through the STINKIN HALLWAY before embarrassingly falling into the arms of Rapha- RAPH.

' COULDN'T EVEN WALK TEN STEPS. WHAT A WEAK, PATHETIC EXCUSE OF A- "

Her nose sensed something...familiar. She took a deep whiff.

Disinfectant. Rubbing Alcohol.

' NO... '

Fear flooded her heart like a tidal wave. Her breathing became raspy and shallow as she began hyperventilating. Her limbs began to shake as if she were in negative degree weather.

' NO... PLEASE NO... '

Nightmares disguised as memories plagued her mind, flashing in and out with every shaky breath. Everything in her SCREAMED TO RUN.

TO ESCAPE.

Her heart seemed to try to pump out of her chest.

" No.. NO. NO! NO! GET AWAY FROM ME!!! "

Lotus used what tiny amount of strength she had left to kick and wave her arms.

" PLEASE LET ME GO!!! "

Her eyes burned with stinging tears as Don and Raph grabbed and held down her thrashing limbs.

" LOTUS!! It's OK!! " Don stated.

" I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!!!!! "

Lotus' screams tore into her throat. Those same ghosts of her memories taunted her, encouraging her to continue crying out for help.

" LOTUS!! Leo is going to HELP you!! " Don shouted. He could see he was losing her to her fantasy. The phantoms of her past were succeeding at smearing her reality.

' I CAN'T LET THAT HAPPEN. '

" You are safe! Leo will NOT hurt you..." Don spoke boldly but still with a calmness in his tone, " YOU CAN TRUST HIM. He's doing this to help you HEAL. He's doing this to take away your pain. " Don targeted his gaze on Lotus' panicked, darting eyes.

" LOTUS. LOOK AT ME. "

The firm words of Donatello broke through the scattered voices in Lotus' mind. She timidly turned her gaze back to him, till their eyes locked.

" LOTUS. You.. are... safe. Everything is ok. " Don's eyes remained grounded and steadfast as he continued to stare into Lotus'.

In her mind, the voices taunted her to not trust the brothers. To run and hide..... But..

.. Lotus couldn't accept that.

She didn't know how or why, but Don's words, she believed, were true. Even though she just met these carapace- covered crackheads like a DAY ago, something in her... almost an instinct... told her she could trust them.

Lotus sank her head onto the pillow, and slowly placed her legs and arms back onto the surgical table.

With her heart still racing, but a very faint peace in her eyes, she turned to Leo. Her whispers clawed at her sore throat, but she didn't let that stop her.

"... Do.. what you must to help me, Leonardo... B-but... P-please..." Tears began to stream down her face as she shakily gulped the bile bubbling up her throat, " .. don't hurt me. "

Leo gave an understanding smile and snapped on his pair of gloves. He used every fiber of his " good big brother " voice he could muster to bring Lotus some comfort.

" I will do my very best Lotus. I promise.. "

Leo's face lit up with a kind smile resulting in Lotus' tense shoulders to relax a bit.

" ..You won't feel a thing. "

As Leo popped off the cap of the first syringe, Lotus' teeth clenched and her body became stiff as a plank.

Years of experimentation never did her any favors in the medical- based fears department..

Her hands crunched down into the blanket under her and her shoulders shot right back up.

The needle came closer.

Lotus' pupils shrank more and more as her eyes continued to widen.

Closer.

Her breath turned into weak huffs.

CLOSER.

Just as she thought her heart would burst from her chest, her pupils dulled, her breath slowed, and her eyes rolled back dropping her into peaceful, quiet darkness.

Don barely made the catch of keeping her head from slamming into the table.

The room went silent.

Raph and Don slowly looked over to Leo, whom now had such shock and guilt stricken all over his face, still standing there holding the syringe.

Raph decided to kill the unbearable silence.

".... Well.. that's ONE way to calm her down.."

Every other conscious being in the room slowly turned their glares at him. Raph's shoulder twitched thanks to another punch from Don.

" WHHHATT??? "

Whooo! That was a long one! :) Story's actually starting to move now!!

If you have any questions about my story or characters, I'd love to hear them! You can go ahead and send me an ask or message! :)

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

Masterpost <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

[fruitsofhell]

Actually I'm bored so I'm gonna follow up with what I said in the last rb's tags.

There's nothing wrong with wanting to add depth to a character in headcanon, but you do gotta respect that more depth wasn't like a missing component to an original work sometimes.

Like I write complex Kirby headcanon out the wazoo, but with a very distinct understanding that 1) I dont think I'm doing this to "improve" much because I'm satisfied with (99.8% of) this series' writing, and 2) That the writing I'm doing is in a style incompatible with how canon just works. I dream of story-dense drama-heavy Kirby Lore RPGS, but that's cause that's a me thing, Hal doesn't make those and I know they never will.

They also just don't WRITE things traditionally, the framing device of the series is often centered around Kirby, so through the eyes of an innocent child if often the mode of expression. And that's what makes this series this series and WHY I write headcanon for it. It's a great starting point, but that doesn't mean I think my landing point is more superior. I'm a big proponent that more detail =/= better with writing which is often why I fixate on mechanics of children's media, cause it's a real skill to pack so many ideas into short, simplistic stories. That's why I like Kirby so much, I think the team is masterful at that, not at writing sprawling political sci-fantasy operas.

What Kirby does is it alludes to those space opera elements in a way specifically meant to spark the imagination, but that's not a page left blank, it's more of giving you an extra notepad and pencil at the end of a story. When Taranza finishes his sad fairytale role of a misunderstood crony, and the rest of the series portrays him as depressed after everything said and extracted from KTD, they're not bastardizing him because they're not continually writing him new lore. Like, they're done-zo with his character and that's fine. They're just showing him like that so you understand the state he was left in after his arc finished, and you can personally extrapolate from there if you wish. He is not supposed to have anymore to his character than what was done in his story, now it's your turn to mess with him and give him whatever extra stuff you like, but that's intentionally left for you.

This isn't actually what the previous reblog was about per se, but in a way I think what Kirby does is a fun building upon the purely fairytale/fable writing of something like The Lorax. The games already have strong execution of their themes, and then a lot of hidden extra detail to give a fun amount of depth and pathos for more mature fans, and then that allusion lends itself to interpretation and speculation. All while still being able to execute an about similarly simple story on the surface (with action-adventure science-fantasy aspects ofc).