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llettucestuff · 1 year ago

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This was supposed to be a short thing about a hc I have where Chase’s frame is a bit colder than normal, and Heatwave’s a bit warmer. Instead, this kind of derailed and became… whatever this is. It’s very self-indulgent and probably a little OOC lol. This particular fic has Chase and Heatwave as Amica Endura’s btw, but I won’t always write them like that.

ALSO I haven’t written for Transformers in like, a REALLY long time so please excuse any missed terminology :]

ALSO ALSO Chase is kinda inspired by @/delkios HCs here on tumblr from like 2016, and this series on AO3, which is also inspired by delkios. More on that in the tags. Enjoy!

———

Chase muses about the general nuances between him and his Amica, and their overall relationship in relation to Griffon Rock.

Or, Chase runs cold. Heatwave runs hot. They make it work.

—

Despite his core temperature being at an optimal point for functioning, Chase still ran decidedly cold, through no fault of his own. He’d been that way ever since he was a sparkling, sitting in front of heaters trying to warm up his endlessly cool servos and pedes, never really feeling truly warm, servos always either burning hot or in their natural state of permanent cold.

His Amica, the mech after Chase’s own spark, on the other hand, ran hot like an earth furnace. Chase recalls being told various stories of Heatwave trying to cool himself down, sneaking into freezers and other places mechlings like him shouldn’t be. It was almost funny, the way they were trying to achieve the opposite of what the other was. Maybe that’s why they work so well together.

Chase’s servos were always a touch too cold to be pleasant or fully “normal,” digits sometimes stiff with inclement weather coupled with a chilled frame, Heatwave’s palms always warm and grounding, frame hot like his temper.

They were equilibrium for each other, opposites in the regard of outward frame temperature, always ready to cool one down or warm the other up. It worked, and that’s why they were Amicas.

(Not just for that sole fact, Chase would input, musing that Heatwave’s companionship meant much more to him than his admitted handiness as a personal heater).

That fact, that is, their cool and heat swapping tendencies, hasn’t changed in the many, many vorns that they had known each other, even pre-Amica Endura status. So, given that, it isn’t expected by either of them for it to change once they meet the rest of the Sigma-17 rescue team, where they meet Blades and Boulder, or when they hit Griffon Rock and discover their new mission— and it doesn’t, as they predicted so.

(It’s a touch curious and a bit of a wonder how neither Boulder nor Blades discovered their Amica status before Griffon Rock. It’s not like either we’re being particularly subtle, but they supposed that their combined general professionalism probably skewed the other two bots’ perception of them, and any private time between themselves was usually during recharge time, or so subtly done that it was overlooked. Chase would find it funny if he wasn’t so concerned about his friends perceptiveness.)

Apparently, after scanning their new vehicle modes, Chase and Heatwave’s frame temperature translated, to a degree, to the inside of their cabins. This doesn’t necessarily cause a bad problem, but, minor complications do arise.

Sometimes, Kade would gripe about the heat during the summer months, complaining that the heat made him sticky. Sometimes, Chief Burns would be a touch chilled when first entering Chase’s cab, though he never really commented on such.

Both were easily fixed and placated with the flick of a dial that had the Chief murmuring gratefully, sinking in to the warmth with a subtle but firm pat to the dashboard. On the other hand, it had Kade and Heatwave grouching at each other loudly until Heatwave finally cranked the AC as high as it would go, and, in a most petulant manner, they would spat for a few minutes longer, then acquiesce; although both Chase and Cody were proud to announce the fact that these spats and arguments had become fewer in frequency over the course of time, a fact that they took immense satisfaction in: it meant they were getting along, working together, tolerating each other’s presence. They still fought, surely, because that’s just who they were as people (and cybertronian).

(Chase would not divulge Heatwave’s late-night ramblings about his parter, ranging from words not meant for the likes of little audials, to worries about his human friend. Heatwave was shudder-to-think that Kade would actually realize that Heatwave listens to him, much less cares about him, in the covertly roundabout way that Heatwave does when he meets new people that seem to grow on him. Yes, Chase was sure Heatwave’s quiet affections were born out of nothing but pure concern about the fragileness of his squishy human partner and the rest of the Burns family.)

At the end of the day, when they had the time to spare and a near-certain guarantee of no impending emergencies to disrupt them, Heatwave would sit on the bot-sized couch, Chase’s helm cradled delicately in his lap, and they could bask in each others’ presence and talk in their native vernacular, occasionally watching human TV or reading datapads and books alike. Of course, they would swap positions interchangeably— it all depended on how the two felt on that particular night.

Heatwave’s heat would leach into Chase’s cool, and the two mechs would sit there, basking in the steady, familiar equilibrium of their soothed sparks and evenly-temperatured frames.

Sometimes, one of them would instead lay down on the couch like it was a squishy berth, and the other could lay on top, trading coolness for warmth (and vise versa), and let the steadiness wash over them, EM fields melding lazily, and systems shutting down to fall into an easy, quiet recharge.

It was peaceful. Routine, when they could afford it. Nice, even, though they would argue on separate fronts that any one-on-one time with their Amica was beyond just “nice”.

It was the perfect way to recharge, Heatwave thought, never one to shy away from physical affection (in the many gruff forms he typically dished it out in) with someone he loved. If Chase could have it his way, they would do this every night, holding servos and muttering halting words and conversations half-thought out to each other into the gentle quiet of the bunker.

Chase’s normally rigid, borderline inexpressive field going almost wiggly and boneless, blanketing over them as he grumbled tiredly over his Amica, shifting as he knocked their helms together gently in a spur of the moment bout of (what sometimes felt like an overwhelming amount of) affection.

Heatwave gave his servo a gentle squeeze, making soothing little sounds to calm the policebot back into recharge and settling his own field over the two of them, engine purring quietly in contentment. Heatwave was quick to glare and snap at any of the other bots that might come near them that were in the “living room” part of the bunker with them, mostly for fear that they might make a nasty comment on their admittedly compromising condition, though that happening in and of itself was a rare occurrence due to the timing of their little quiet moments, and the sheer respect the other two held for them.

It was actually Boulder who found them the first time it happened on Earth, Heatwave recharging so deeply his engine was stuttering, with his helm cradled in Chase’s lap with one of Chase’s servos supporting his neck plating.

Boulder had stopped and looked, eyeridge quirking up in a decidedly learned human gesture, to which Chase merely brushed him off with a wave of his free servo and a flick of his field dismissively, returning to his datapad. Boulder, ever the calm, non-confrontational mech, had never mentioned it after the fact, drawing his own conclusions in the privacy of his mind (with maybe a few snapped photos for his memory files, just in case).

The second time, it was Blades who found them, Chase soundly recharging while leaning against Heatwave, their servos clasped between one another even in his recharge. Heatwave glanced up from the TV and glared at Blades with a viciousness that would earn him a scolding later, who skittered off without a word of question, a touch too skittish to try and ask the angry firemech until much, much later.

Heatwave was protective and touchy when it came to his Amica and their status, sue him.

Over the months, Boulder finally gathered some courage to ask Chase about their potential relationship, with all the grace of a thudding ballerina.

“We’re Amica Endura,” Chase had simply said after Boulder’s shy, stuttered question, almost smiling and most definitely pleased with himself, if the way tender emotion seeping onto his faceplate was any indication, “and have been for many vorns.”

“I see,” Boulder had replied, grinning and nodding, grateful that admittedly tactless way he asked the question hadn’t upset the policebot. “You two were partners back in the Academy.” It’s more of a statement than a question, prodding at the prospective double-meaning of the word.

“Heatwave was the only mech who wanted to be around me back in the Academy, given my… unique circumstances.”

“Unique—? Oh. Right. Sorry, Chase, I didn’t—“ realize, didn’t remember, didn’t know it affected your life like that— a frown, field tugging in, then Chase’s reassurance:

“It’s quite alright, Boulder. No bodily damage or any vulgar obscenities said, as the Chief says.”

“You mean ‘no harm, no foul’, Chase?” Heatwave entered the room with thudding pedesteps, looking between the two with half-formed suspicion lingering in his optics, arms crossed right against his chest. “What’s this about?” His field tugged at Chase’s with question and apprehension lingering between them, a silent what’s going on both said and not.

“Boulder was just inquiring about our Amica Endura status,” Chase informs, tone bordering on bright, his audial twitching in a different direction— most likely he heard something from upstairs, “And I find that we are the most probable source of reliable information about the subject, Heatwave, and our friend was merely curious.”

“Right.” Heatwave grunted, field tugging Chase’s briefly in something like relief and acceptance before patting his shoulder armor firmly and moving on, the brief contact exchanging both pleasant warmth and much-needed coolness.

“I think he’s a little…” Boulder trailed off, searching for a word that was less-rude than “prickly” or “overly worried”.

“Protective?” Chase hummed in question, helm tilting to the side, “I feel the same, but it is entirely warranted, given our past, and he is my Amica.” Chase says, like it explains everything, and, well, maybe it did, “I will stick by him, rites-willing.”

Boulder smiled in that soft, knowing way of his, optics warm. “Must be nice, having a sparkner all this time. I’m glad you have each other.”

“As am I. I’m grateful to have Heatwave for so long, and I’m want for nothing more in a partner.”

“That’s awfully sweet,” Bounder’s field went all soft, his affection tugging at Chase’s stiff field. “You balance each other out, now that I think about it.” Remembering all of the times Chase was able to calm Heatwave when he was on an irate, angry warpath with a servo to the shoulder plate and some hushed words exchanged in soft Cybertronian; all of the times Chase was stuck in a cyclical, logical thought-process and couldn’t see things from a different light had Heatwave telling him the facts point-blank, trying to drill his way through and urging Chase to attack the issue from a different, still somewhat logical connection.

Now that he thinks about it, Boulder recalls how Heatwave was always the mech that ran the warmest when they were on the Sigma, practically radiating heat in the endless, desolate cold of space that even they could feel. Chase was always the coldest, seemingly emanating a unique sort of cool that seemed permeated the space around him in some circumstances.

Opposites, indeed. But, Boulder thought, it was kind of fitting. Chase’s mouth tugged into that half-grin of his, “That we do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Boulder, I have some studying to do.” And with that, Chase sauntered off, likely in search of his police manual.

“Huh. Wonder how we didn’t see it before.” Boulder mumbled to himself, shaking his helm fondly and turning around to go back to the bunker through the garage.

“See what?” Blades asked, turning the corner, “If there’s any gossip, I want to know!” Primus, he was sounding more and more like Dani every day.

“I, uh. Well, you see,” Boulder attempted, still unsure if the two Amicas wanted their relationship aired out.

Blades shot him a look, both teasing and intrigued. “Well?”

Scrap.

#OKAY SO quick lesson on the headcanons for Chase:#he’s something called a NET patient #which was a series of experiments on bots to make them behave a certain way #like certain bots of certain frames already had some similar personality traits #but NET took this to the extreme and shut of parts of mechs sparks in order to cut off certain emotions #Chase is one of these NET patients and struggles a little with things that aren’t totally logical #I don’t lean into it TOO too much BUT #spoilers for the fic past THIS tag so yk:#the part where Chase mentions ‘unique circumstances’ is reference to how he struggled to fit in during his Rescue Academy days #with mechs just in general being rlly mean to him EXCEPT for heatwave #then they became partners then amica’s (I called it sparkners at one point cuz like. spark-partner. sparkner. I thought it was clever LMAO)#but ANYWAY GO READ THE THINKER THE FEELER #I feel like it’s a bit of a fandom staple and I love it #I read it a few years ago when I was a little younger and as someone looking for rep in media #seeing chase portrayed like that will always be something near and dear to me #tf #transformers #tfrb #rescue bots #transformers rescue bots #tfprb #rescue bots heatwave #heatwave #rescue bots chase #chase #rescue bots Boulder #Boulder #rescue bots blades #blades #Cody burns

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llycaons · 1 year ago

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imo the novel and donghua both have a lightheartedness to many of their scenes that almost comes off as bizarre, jarring when you consider what else happens in the story. they jump between arcs and tend to abruptly shift tones, and the scenes that are supposed to be happy often come off as extremely irritating. to me. might have been a translation issue? meanwhile cql has committed many timeline crimes but I'll always prefer its more serious tone and gravitas, which makes wwx feel like a more grounded and realistic character and makes the dramatic scenes hit so much harder

#not that cql doesnt have its tonal issues. still so mad at the dog scene in 33 #but reading all these fics just reminds me of how annoying a lot of the book scenes were #it didnt feel authentic or genuine that wwx was suddenly so happy w lwj despite their history #but moreso wwxs unreliable narration and frantic #and careless energy just made the novel really tiring emotionally and confusing as well #idk how to articulate it but the emotional consistency in the show was SO much better #and it made the happy scenes that much more valuable too bc they felt real #like ik wwx has to have trauma!! he mentions it sometimes! but in the novel and donghua he doesnt rly act like it #in cql its only a bit better but at least I get a sense thats hes haunted by his past and struggling deeply to overcome his grief and loss #not to want him to be miserable Get Crying Idiot you need the catharsis #cql txp

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sttoru · 11 months ago

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·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒. love; you wonder if the king of curses is capable of feeling that emotion too. so, you take on a more direct approach to ask him.

word count. 1.7k

note. sukuna brainrot sorry. . .

tags. true form!sukuna x female reader. angst (+ comfort) / fluff. size difference mentions. eh sukuna’s a bit mean. established relationship, but you’re like v early into the relationship.

it was a calm sunday evening. both sukuna and you had fulfilled your duties for the day. all you needed after working hard was the presence of the person you admire most. thus, you had made your way over to sukuna’s chambers. to your surprise, you already found him sitting on the engawa which led to the connected backyard.

sukuna noticed your presence, but didn't utter a word. he simply shot you a glance before continuing to stare into the distance. he seemed to be in deep thought about something. you didn’t want to bother him when he was like this, but the voice in your head told you to stay.

you silently kneel next to him and gather your hands in your lap. your eyes automatically move to focus on sukuna again. two of his hands are supporting his weight as they rest flat on the wooden surface. the other set rests limply on his thigh.

your gaze falls on his bottom left hand. the one he uses to kill, but also the one he uses to hold and caress you. you could easily recall its feel without having to touch him; rough, callused and warm. you reach your hand out towards his without hesitation.

sukuna’s eyes dart over to your small stature next to him. he allows you to grab his hand, to pull it over to your lap and let it rest palm up on your thighs. it’s almost funny. how big his hand is in comparison to yours.

the comfortable silence continues. the rustles of the leaves and the water movements in the koi pond in the yard are soothing to the soul. your finger traces the lines on sukuna’s palm, following them until they end before switching to the other.

the king of curses watches you play around with his hand. still with that stoic expression on his face. however, feeling your delicate touch on his skin and seeing you smile to yourself for whatever reason makes the corners of his lips curl up. for a split second.

a faint, amused grin. you sure are an interesting creature in his eyes.

“sukuna, can i ask you something?” you break the silence with a question. there is an unknown feeling in your chest; one that makes you restless at night. your smile slowly drops into a small pout when you think about what you want to ask him.

not a single action goes unnoticed by the man next to you. he lifts an eyebrow, but other than that, there’s no reaction visible. he answers you with a hum of approval, “mmh.”

you lift your head and look up at him. sukuna was already staring right at you—his piercing eyes catch your soft ones. he squints. there is something wrong with the way you are looking at him. normally, the smile you give him would reach your eyes. now it doesn’t.

that same smile completely disappears over time.

“do you.. are you..” you stammer. you don't know how to articulate your question. it’s probably dumb. to both you and him. sukuna watches you struggle to ask him whatever is on your mind. he firmly grabs your wrist and squeezes it. not too hard. he doesn't want to inflict any unneccesary pain.

sukuna sighs. a heavy sigh. one thing he dislikes is when you leave him in the dark. it isn’t the first time you did so during the past week. asking him if you could ask him a question and when he grants you the permission to, you back down or change topics.

it’s getting tiresome.

“spit it out.” sukuna grumbles. he pulls your body closer to his by your wrist, your arm stretched upwards with your hand hovering near the side of his face. his breath hits your wrist, causing goosebumps to form on your skin.

crimson orbs stare right into your soul. you gulp and feel your body warm up. when you try to avert your gaze, one of sukuna's free hands grabs you by the jaw and steers your head to face him. his thumb presses down on your chin. he’s not letting it go today. he needs answers.

before sukuna could add to his words, you breathe in sharply. like you’re ready to ask him what had been weighing on your mind ever since a couple days back. oh, stupid it sure is. you know. you’re probably making it too big of a deal. when it isn’t. not in the slightest.

your eyes water. you blink the tears away. you don’t want to embarrass yourself any further by sobbing. your bottom lip trembles as you finally muster up the courage;

“do you love me?”

there it goes. you try to squirm away from sukuna’s grasp after that. you feel flustered. embarrassed. you just want to crawl into a hole and rot.

sukuna does not tighten his grip on you. instead, he loosens them. your wrist slips from his hand. your chin no longer restricted by his fingers. he lets you go.

a painful sting in your heart. you secretly hoped that he’d resist. pull you closer maybe. you don’t know why you expected that. you learnt not to get your hopes up around him and yet you always wish for him to do something.

a silence falls between the two of you again. you act like you didn’t ask him anything. you try to ignore the way sukuna clenched his jaw. how he subtly clicked his tongue. how he let you shuffle away from him.

you clear your throat. with hesistance this time, you gently grab one of sukuna’s hands again. that he allows you. you appreciate that. at least it means he isn’t completely upset. you know sukuna does not allow just anyone to touch him so without permission.

you hold tightly onto his hand like it’s your last hope. his fingers don’t close around yours, though. you don’t mind.

“what a foolish question.” sukuna scoffs and looks the other way. his voice was hoarse. probably from not speaking for quite what time. you silently nod. an expected answer, at last.

you stay silent after that. it hurts. more than you want it to have hurt. maybe it was too early into your relationship to ask such a question. you got into it, knowing fully well how harsh the man next to you could be sometimes.

what you can’t deny is that soft spot sukuna has for you. you see it. uraume sees it. the maids see it. sukuna probably.. knows of it, but doesn’t speak on it. he does not speak up about his feelings much anyway.

but it’s visible in his actions. the king of curses allows you to say and do whatever you want around him. he makes sure his subordinates treat you well. he looks at you with a hint of softness hidden in those red eyes. when he touches you, it’s firm but gentle. like he desperately craves to touch you, though knows not to make that yearning accidentally hurt you in any way.

the latter is what you love most about his soft spot for you. sukuna handles you with utmost care. even uraume had told you that it surprises them greatly whenever they witness the way their master treats you in general.

especially at night. you can’t count the amount of times you quite literally melted into his arms. those four, beefy arms that know just how to make you feel protected. you never sleep in unease. you know that nothing could hurt you when you’re laying against his chest.

sukuna’s actions speak volumes. despite all of that, you wish he’d at least tell you with his words. how much you mean to him.

“my apologies.” you give up. for today, you’ll let him be. the slight irritation in his voice earlier nearly made you cry. he needs more time and you’ll give him that. you slowly detach your small hand from his big, warm one, “i won’t ask you that again.”

sukuna frowns and grumbles something under his breath. you think it’s still because of your previous question, yet his gaze tells a different story. he narrows his eyes as he glares down at his now empty hand. you connect the dots once you see the man take a glimpse at your hand on your lap.

your touch. the sudden abscence of your touch.

“i didn’t say you could do that.” sukuna murmurs. his tone low and maybe even upset to a certain degree. you blink a few times and freeze on spot. the king of curses starts to get grumpy the longer you fail to take the hint.

he kisses his teeth out of impatience. sukuna tightly gets ahold of your hand again and softly yanks it towards him. you squeal as your body stumbles closer to his.

sukuna holds eye contact with you as he brings your hand to his mouth. his tongue wets a spot on your palm—specifically the area that connects your thumb with your wrist. your lips part, your tummy doing flips from the sudden touch.

“don’t let go again,” he bares his teeth before slightly sinking them into the soft flesh. it isn’t a hard bite. more a nibble that leaves a faint mark. what you didn’t expect was for sukuna to kiss that same place after marking it. his thumb runs over that exact spot as well, “got that?”

you nod. you’re unable to refuse him. those feelings of disappointment from earlier long forgotten. you intertwine your fingers with sukuna’s and unlike the previous instant, his fingers do curl back around yours. your skin is still tingling from the feeling of sukuna’s kiss.

the king of curses keeps your entwined hands on his lap this time. he stares off into the distance for a couple seconds before returning his gaze to you. he scans your face and finds what he had been missing;

that tender smile of yours. it was back, tugging at your lips. one of your fingers resumes its soothing motion on his rough skin again. sukuna’s face relaxes. his jaw unclenches.

“good.” sukuna nods at the sight. he turns to watch the night sky again—secretly (yet not so secretly) enjoying this moment of peace.

you’re content with how that ended. and, you’re sure that you don’t mind if it takes days, weeks or even months for your relationship to fully blossom. when you’re with sukuna, one thing is clear: actions do speak louder than words.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #sukuna fluff #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk angst #sukuna angst

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luna-azzurra · 1 year ago

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Exploring Character Backstory

1. Start with the essentials: Begin by outlining the basic information about your character's past, such as their family background, upbringing, education, and early experiences. Consider their cultural, social, and economic background, as these factors can shape their worldview and values.

2. Identify key events and milestones: Determine significant events or milestones in your character's life that have had a profound impact on them. These could include positive or negative experiences, such as the loss of a loved one, a major achievement, a traumatic incident, or a life-changing decision. These events help shape your character's personality, fears, and aspirations.

3. Examine formative relationships: Explore the relationships your character has had with their family, friends, mentors, or romantic partners. How have these relationships influenced them? What role models or influences have shaped their values, beliefs, and behavior? Relationships can provide insight into your character's vulnerabilities, strengths, and emotional attachments.

4. Dig into their beliefs and values: Understand what your character believes in and values. Examine their moral compass, political views, religious beliefs, or philosophical outlook. Consider how their beliefs might clash or align with the conflicts they encounter in the story. This will create depth and authenticity in their character development.

5. Uncover secrets and hidden aspects: Delve into your character's secrets, hidden desires, or aspects of their past that they prefer to keep hidden. Secrets can create internal conflicts, fuel character growth, and add intrigue to the story. They can also reveal vulnerabilities or flaws that make your character more relatable and complex.

6. Consider the impact of societal factors: Explore how societal factors such as gender, race, class, or historical context have influenced your character's experiences and identity. These factors can shape their struggles, opportunities, and perspectives. Understanding the societal context in which your character exists adds layers of depth to their backstory.

7. Connect the backstory to the main story: Once you have explored the character's backstory, identify how it relates to the main story. Determine how their past experiences, relationships, or traumas influence their present motivations, conflicts, and goals. This connection will ensure that the backstory serves a purpose in the narrative and contributes to the character's growth.

8. Use backstory selectively: While backstory is essential for understanding your character, avoid excessive exposition or information dumping. Introduce elements of the backstory gradually, through dialogue, memories, or subtle hints. This helps maintain reader interest and allows the character's past to unfold organically throughout the story.

Remember, not all aspects of the character's backstory need to be explicitly mentioned in the narrative. It's important to choose and reveal elements that have the most significant impact on the character's present circumstances and development.

#writing #writer on tumblr #writerscommunity #writing tips #character development #writer tumblr #writblr #writing advice #oc character #writing help #character backstory

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romugh · 1 month ago

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BUTTONED UP, LET LOOSE- NR

ROMUGH’S KINKTOBER

october 16th — car sex, innocence

DAY TEN || kinktober masterlist || 2024.

pairing- nerd!natasha romanoff x g!p!reader

cw- 18+!!; top!reader, bottom!natasha, loss of virginity, slight corruption?, fingering (n rcv), handie (r rcv), slight exhibitionism (?), praise kink, unprotected sex, soft & rough emotional sex (again??? kinda?? cheers!), library sex?, car sex, breeding!!, creampie (not specified tho, but i'm a slut so imagine it.)

wc- 10.456k of filthy goodness. goodnight LMAO!

a/n- wrote this with my little anon's thought in mind, say "thank you"!! anyways, the end was quite rushed in editing as i've been bedridden with stomach flu BUT hey! no cute glasses mention in this is a crime though, i apologise </3

synopsis- innocent natty. library. car. SEX.

taglist?- @lost-mortemanghel ♥︎, @idkwhatever580, @elliecoochieeater, @left-and-right-up-and-down, @deadlesbianwitches - comment or dm to be added :)

The library's usual hush enveloped you both as Natasha sat across the table, a determined expression on her face while she explained the astrophysics equations you were supposed to be studying. Her voice was steady, the kind of quiet confidence that came from knowing the material inside and out. It was in moments like these, with her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose and her attention fixed on the formulas, that Natasha was at her most self-assured. She had always been this way—composed, focused, and resolutely serious about her academics.

But as she went on about gravitational waves and complex integrals, your thoughts were miles away from the numbers she was scribbling down. You had been at this game for months, pushing her boundaries little by little, enjoying every flustered reaction and breathy response she gave you. The way her cheeks flushed pink whenever you leaned in a little too close or said something teasing had kept you entertained more than the equations ever could.

Today, though, you could feel a restlessness in you, an urge to take things further. Natasha had a crush on you—she didn’t need to say it out loud for you to know. It was in the way her eyes lingered on you when she thought you weren’t looking and the extra effort she put into her explanations, as if she was hoping to impress you. Her timid glances and nervous smiles betrayed her feelings, even if she tried to act like they didn’t exist.

You leaned back in your chair, stretching your legs out under the table until your foot gently brushed against hers. Her head snapped up at the contact, her wide green eyes meeting yours. A faint blush spread across her cheeks, and she quickly averted her gaze back to the textbook, her voice faltering for a moment as she continued explaining. “A-and so, the gravitational constant… it’s, um, important for—”

“Careful, princess,” you interrupted, letting your voice drop to a low, teasing murmur. “You’re sounding a bit distracted there. You sure you’re not the one who needs help focusing?”

Natasha’s brow furrowed slightly as she tried to steady herself. “I’m not,” she said softly, though there was a tremor in her voice. She turned the page in her notebook, pointing to another equation. “You… you just need to pay attention more. This part is essential for understanding the exam material.”

“Right,” you drawled, letting your gaze drift down to her lips for a moment before meeting her eyes again. “But it seems like you’re the one who’s a little off track. You’ve been going over that same equation for the past five minutes.”

She blinked, glancing down at the textbook as if she hadn’t realised. Her cheeks reddened further, and she quickly flipped to the next problem. “I’m just making sure you understand,” she said defensively. “These equations are really complicated, and I know you’ve been struggling.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Maybe I’d understand better if you helped me in a different way,” you suggested, your tone deceptively casual as your fingers brushed the edge of the textbook, inching closer to her hand. “You know, something more... hands-on.”

Natasha looked up, her brows knitting together in confusion. She tilted her head slightly, her innocence showing as she tried to piece together what you were suggesting. “Hands-on?” she echoed, her voice soft and uncertain. “You mean like... working through more practice problems? Or... showing you the step-by-step process again?”

Your smirk widened. She was just so naïve, so wrapped up in her own world of equations and theories that it hadn’t even crossed her mind that you could be implying something else. You leaned in a little closer, lowering your voice to a near whisper. “I was thinking of a different kind of help, princess. Something a bit more... intimate.”

The pink flush on Natasha’s cheeks deepened, her eyes widening as she tried to process your words. “I-I’m not sure what you mean,” she stammered, looking down at the book in front of her as if it could somehow provide an answer. “We’re… we’re supposed to be studying this, not... I mean, what else would we even be doing?”

You chuckled, a low, quiet sound that made her glance up at you nervously. “Oh, come on, Natasha. You’re a smart girl—you can figure it out,” you teased, letting your fingers graze her hand ever so slightly before pulling back. “Unless you really are that innocent.”

Her breath hitched, and she bit her bottom lip as if debating whether to press further. “I just… I think we should focus on the equations,” she insisted, her voice shaky. “The exam is only a few weeks away, and you said you needed lots of help understanding this chapter.”

You could see it—the way her fingers fidgeted with the corner of the page, the way her shoulders tensed as she tried to keep her composure. There was a part of her that understood what you were implying, even if she wasn’t ready to admit it to herself. The dark desire was there, buried beneath layers of shyness and self-restraint, and you wanted to pull it to the surface, to make her confront it.

Natasha's innocence was almost palpable. She was the kind of girl who had never even dared to watch porn, the idea itself making her blush furiously. The few times she had tried to touch herself had ended in shame, her own inexperience and embarrassment overwhelming her before she could explore anything further. It was like she’d always stopped herself just short of pleasure, afraid to give in completely, and you could sense that hesitation now, see it in the way her breath hitched as your words hung in the air.

But there was also a spark of something else—a curiosity she couldn’t suppress, a craving she didn’t fully understand. And you were determined to feed that curiosity, to coax her deeper into this uncharted territory.

“Sure,” you said lightly, leaning back in your chair. “If that’s what you want.” You let the silence linger for a moment before adding, “But you know, there’s more to life than just studying equations. Don’t you ever wonder what else is out there, princess? Don’t you want to experience something... different?”

Natasha looked at you, her eyes wide and uncertain, as if she was torn between following her instincts and sticking to the safety of the academic path she knew so well. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered, her blush deepening as she glanced away. “I just… we’re supposed to be here to study. That’s what we agreed on.”

Your gaze lingered on her, the playful smirk on your lips fading into something darker, more predatory. “Studying doesn’t have to be the only thing we do, though,” you said softly. “Sometimes, the best lessons aren’t found in textbooks.”

Natasha’s breathing quickened, her fingers curling into tight fists on the table as she struggled to maintain her composure. There was a glimmer of something in her eyes—an unspoken conflict between the shame that told her to stay focused and the desire that tempted her to give in, to let herself be led astray just this once. She was so naïve, so innocent in her understanding of the world, and you could see how much that innocence was starting to weigh on her.

You reached across the table, this time letting your hand rest over Natasha’s on the textbook. The contact made her stiffen, her breath catching as she glanced up at you, wide-eyed and uncertain. "You know," you began, your voice dropping to a husky murmur, "I can tell you’ve got a lot of things on your mind, princess. But these notes don’t seem like one of them right now."

Natasha tried to pull her hand back, but you tightened your grip just enough to keep her in place, your thumb brushing gently over her knuckles. Her gaze flicked down to where your hand touched hers, then back up to meet your eyes, as if she was trying to gauge your intentions. She swallowed hard, the movement almost imperceptible, but you noticed how her breath seemed to catch ever so slightly.

"I-I don’t know what you’re talking about," she said shakily, her voice betraying her nerves. "I’m here to help you study. That’s… that’s all."

But even as she said it, there was a part of her that didn’t quite want to pull away. The warmth of your touch sent a tingle up her arm, a sensation she wasn’t used to—something that made her want to inch closer instead of retreating. She liked the contact, craved it even, but didn’t know how to reconcile that need with the proper, composed person she was trying to be. The more she tried to focus on the study materials in front of her, the more aware she became of the way your thumb kept tracing gentle circles against her skin, soothing and igniting her all at once.

It was confusing and exhilarating, and the conflict showed in the way she bit her lip, as if trying to stop herself from admitting just how much she wanted this—even if she didn’t entirely understand what this was. Her fingers trembled slightly beneath yours, a subtle surrender hidden behind her protests, a silent plea for more contact that contradicted the words that left her lips.

"Is it?" You tilted your head slightly, your lips curving into a smirk. "Because it seems like you’re trying awfully hard to avoid looking at me. And I can’t help but wonder… what are you so afraid of, Natty?"

She swallowed, her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red at the nickname. "I’m not afraid," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I just… we should get back to the equations. There’s still a lot to cover."

You could hear the desperation in her voice, the way she clung to the pretence of tutoring like it was a shield against the confusion swirling in her mind. It was adorable, really, how hard she was trying to keep things professional when her reactions betrayed her so easily. You let go of her hand, leaning back in your chair and watching as she quickly pulled away, her fingers trembling slightly as she picked up the pen.

"Alright, then," you said with a shrug, though there was a glint of mischief in your eyes. "Let’s get back to it. Show me that equation again."

Natasha nodded quickly, grateful for the reprieve, and flipped back to the previous page in her notebook. Her voice was steadier now, though still a little breathless as she resumed explaining the formula. "So, um, as I was saying… the gravitational constant is—"

Before she could finish, you made your way around the table and sat down next ot her, this time placing your hand on her thigh. Her words died in her throat, and she froze, her pen clattering onto the notebook. Her gaze snapped up to meet yours, her eyes wide with shock and something else—a flicker of excitement, perhaps?

"You were saying?" you prompted, your fingers tracing slow circles on the inside of her thigh, just above the hem of her skirt. The fabric felt warm against your skin, and you could feel the slight tremor in her leg as she struggled to compose herself. "Come on, Natasha. Don't stop now. I was really starting to understand the gravitational constant."

Her breath hitched, and she glanced around nervously, as if checking to see if anyone could see the two of you tucked away in the corner of the library. The quiet space was deserted, and the only sounds were the faint rustle of paper and the distant hum of the air conditioning. Still, the sense of vulnerability lingered in the air, amplifying the heat rising in Natasha’s cheeks. "You… you’re close…" she stammered, her voice barely more than a whisper. "This isn’t… we’re supposed to be…"

"Studying? Yeah, I know," you said casually, your hand sliding a little higher on her thigh. "But you know, sometimes you need to take a break. Clear your head, focus on something else for a while. It might even help you concentrate better." You leaned closer, your lips just inches from her ear as you added, "Besides, I think you could use a little distraction."

Natasha’s breathing quickened, and she bit her bottom lip, glancing down at where your hand rested so dangerously close to her. Her mind was spinning, torn between the urge to push you away and the shameful curiosity that kept her rooted in place. "But… someone might see," she whispered, her voice shaky. "We… we shouldn’t…"

"No one’s going to see us, princess," you murmured, your tone soothing yet insistent as you let your fingers slip beneath the hem of her skirt, brushing against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. "It’s just you and me." You paused, letting your hand hover just below the edge of her panties. "Unless, of course, you want me to stop."

Her gaze darted up to meet yours, her expression a mix of panic and something darker, more primal. There was a hunger in her eyes that she couldn’t quite hide, a longing that had been building up for weeks, fueled by every teasing remark and lingering touch. She didn’t want to admit it—not even to herself—but she was curious, desperate even, to know what it would feel like to let herself be led astray. Her hand trembled as she placed it over yours, but instead of pulling you away, she hesitated, her fingers curling loosely around your wrist.

"That's what I thought," you breathed, a dark satisfaction settling in your chest as you slipped your hand higher, your fingers gently pressing against the thin fabric of her underwear. Natasha gasped, her grip tightening around your wrist as if to stop you, but she didn’t push you away. Her cheeks burned with shame, but there was a small part of her that was curious, that wanted to know what it would be like to let go, to surrender like this for once.

You didn’t give her time to think about it. Your other hand reached up to cup her chin, tilting her head back so she was forced to look at you. "You’re so tense, princess," you whispered, your thumb brushing over her bottom lip. "Relax a little, will you? Just let yourself feel it."

Then, with deliberate slowness, you slipped your fingers beneath the fabric of her panties, finding her wet and warm. Natasha’s breath hitched sharply, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before snapping open again, as if she was afraid of what might happen if she gave in completely. She gripped the edge of the table with her free hand, her knuckles turning white as she fought to maintain her composure.

"W-oh, we should get back to the equations," she managed to say, though her voice was breathless and strained. "This… I don’t know what I’m doing…"

You could hear the conflict in her voice, the way she tried to cling to her sense of propriety even as her body responded to your touch. "Oh, come on, Natasha," you murmured, your fingers sliding against her slick folds, teasing her just enough to make her squirm. "You don’t really want me to stop, do you? I can feel how wet you are. You’re curious, aren’t you?"

She shook her head quickly, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and longing. "No, I… I’m not… I don’t think like that…"

"Shh," you whispered, your hand moving to cover her mouth as you pressed a finger inside her, slowly, letting her feel every inch. "Just let yourself enjoy it, princess. No one has to know."

Natasha’s muffled whimper sent a thrill through you, and you continued to work your finger deeper, savouring the way her walls clenched around you, how her breath quickened beneath your hand. Her eyes squeezed shut, and you could see the struggle on her face, the war between shame and desire, the urge to push you away and the need to cling to the sensations coursing through her.

Your finger pressed deeper, coaxing a breathy gasp from Natasha that she couldn’t stifle beneath your hand. Her eyes darted around the library, half-lidded and unfocused, as if desperately searching for a way out—or perhaps hoping no one would stumble upon the two of you tucked away in the shadows. The thought of being caught seemed to send a jolt through her, a reminder of how wrong this was. But her hips moved into your touch, a subtle, instinctive motion that spoke louder than any words. She wanted this—wanted you—even if she didn’t quite know how to ask for it. Her breath hitched, cheeks flushing as she met your gaze, letting the unspoken desire hang between you.

"That’s it, princess," you whispered against her ear, your voice thick with dark amusement. "You’re starting to relax now. Doesn’t that feel better?" You added another finger, her tightness evident as you worked them in carefully, each movement deliberate, savouring the way her body tensed and then yielded. Her breath hitched again, a soft, desperate sound that made your pulse quicken. You could feel her trembling against you, every bit the inexperienced girl, struggling to reconcile the sensations overwhelming her.

Natasha’s hand gripped the table tighter, her nails digging into the wood as if it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Her thighs quivered, parted even more for you to reach between them, but she didn’t dare look at you—didn’t dare acknowledge the shameful truth that she was letting this happen. "I-I don’t… I don’t know…" she stammered, her voice muffled by the pressure of your hand still covering her mouth. "We… we can’t…"

Your smirk widened, a dark, knowing gleam in your eyes as you leaned closer, your breath hot against her flushed cheek. "Can’t?" you echoed, your tone dripping with mockery. "Or you don’t want to admit how much you like it?" You crooked your fingers inside her, brushing against a sensitive spot that made her cry out—though the sound was lost beneath your palm. Her hips bucked, her legs squeezing together instinctively, but it only served to trap your hand there, her body clinging to you in a way that was far more honest than her words.

A wicked thrill shot through you as you watched her crumble, every twitch and tremor betraying how little control she had left. You could feel her slickness increasing, coating your fingers as you moved faster, your thumb brushing lightly against her clit just to see the way she would react. Her head tilted back, her eyes squeezed shut as a whimper escaped her lips—a sound so full of desperate need that it sent a shiver of satisfaction down your spine. She was already unravelling, and you hadn’t even properly started.

"I think you’ve got something mixed up, princess," you murmured, letting your lips graze her ear as you spoke. "You keep saying ‘we can’t,’ but I’m pretty sure you’re telling me otherwise."

Natasha shook her head, tears welling up at the corners of her eyes as she struggled to stay composed. "Yes… please…" she breathed, her voice shaking with confusion and desire. "I-I don’t know what… I’ve never…"

"Shh, I know, I know," you whispered soothingly, though there was no real comfort in your tone. "You’re so innocent, aren’t you? Never felt anything like this before." You pulled your hand away from her mouth, letting her catch her breath as you kissed the spot just below her ear, soft and lingering. "But that’s okay, princess. I’ll teach you. All you have to do is trust me."

She looked at you with wide, watery eyes, her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but no words came. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and arousal, and her breath came out in ragged gasps. "W-we shouldn’t… I’m—You’re… I’m supposed to be helping you with your coursework…"

"And you are," you replied smoothly, letting your fingers drag slowly out of her before thrusting them back in, earning a sharp gasp. "You’re helping me a lot, actually. Think of this as extra credit, princess."

Natasha whimpered, her body responding despite her mind’s weak attempts to resist. You could feel the way she squeezed around your fingers, could see the glazed look in her eyes as her walls fluttered helplessly. Her voice was barely a whisper as she finally pleaded, "Please… not here…"

Your smirk widened as you relished the sound of her desperation, and you withdrew your hand completely, leaving her panting and needy. "Alright, then," you said, voice low and dangerous. "We’ll save the rest for later." You stepped back, adjusting your stance as you took in the sight of her—Natasha, the model student, the academic prodigy, now reduced to a trembling mess in the library’s dark corner.

You licked your fingers clean, savouring the taste of her arousal on your tongue, before leaning down to whisper, "Come on, princess. Let's get you home."

You led Natasha toward your motorcycle, but instead of grabbing your helmet, you tossed the keys into the air and caught them with a mischievous grin. "You’re coming with me," you said, nodding toward her car parked nearby. Natasha blinked in surprise, her confusion momentarily cutting through the lingering haze of arousal.

It took her a moment to register the fact that you weren't heading for your bike at all. Her eyes darted to your hand—clutching her car keys. When had you...? She remembered then, how you had been ‘adjusting’ her skirt just a minute earlier, your hands lingering at her waist. You’d slipped the keys from her pocket without her even noticing.

"You’re leaving your bike?" she asked, glancing back at your motorcycle as if it were the only thing grounding her in reality right now.

"Just for tonight." You walked to her car and opened the passenger door, gesturing for her to get in. "Go ahead, princess. I'll drive."

She hesitated for a moment, but the vulnerable look in her eyes betrayed her longing for you to take control, to lead her down this path she’d never dared tread before. She climbed in slowly, her fingers fumbling with the seatbelt as if her mind were still struggling to catch up. You slid into the driver’s seat, your hand settling on her thigh almost instinctively as you started the engine.

The ride was quiet, the tension thick in the enclosed space, your touch resting warmly on her leg. She squirmed beneath your palm, her gaze flicking to you every few seconds as if waiting for you to do something, anything to break the silence. But you kept your focus on the road, pretending not to notice the way her breath quickened whenever your fingers flexed.

"Adress, princess?" you asked casually as you reached a stoplight, your eyes meeting hers in the dim light.

She gave you the directions, her voice trembling slightly, and you hummed in acknowledgment, continuing the drive. But when you reached her street, you didn’t stop in front of her house. Instead, you pulled into a dark side street a few houses down, parking the car under the shadow of some trees.

"W-why did you stop here?" Natasha asked, her voice small and unsure as she looked around the familiar but spooky area.

You turned off the engine and leaned back in your seat, your hand still resting on her thigh. "I didn’t hear a ‘thank you’," you said, your tone teasing, though there was a dark edge beneath it.

She flushed, her fingers gripping the edge of the seat. "T-thank you," she mumbled, her voice filled with embarrassed confusion.

"Oh, that’s it?" you scoffed, arching an eyebrow. "First you forget, and then you don’t even mean it? Not only did I drive you home, but I also made you feel good. I think I deserve a real ‘thank you’, princess."

The tension in the air thickened as Natasha looked at you, her expression caught between shame and a reluctant understanding of what you were implying.

Natasha's breath came out in shallow pants, her face turning a deeper shade of crimson. She squirmed in her seat, her fingers tightening on the edge of the cushion as if it were the only thing tethering her to reality. Her wide eyes met yours, glistening with uncertainty. “W-what do you mean?” she asked, her voice a hesitant whisper, though a hint of something more—something darker—flickered in her gaze.

You chuckled softly, a low and dangerous sound that made her shiver. “Come on, princess. You’re smarter than that. I’m sure you can figure it out.” Your hand slid up her thigh, fingers inching toward the hem of her skirt. Her breath hitched as your touch lingered there, applying just enough pressure to make your intention clear. “Why don’t you start by thanking me properly?” you murmured, your voice dripping with amusement. “And then we’ll see where that gets us.”

Natasha bit her lip, her eyes darting to the darkened street outside. The shadows seemed to close in, emphasising just how isolated you both were. There was no one here to witness this, no one to interrupt. Her pulse raced at the thought, a mixture of fear and something else—something she didn’t want to admit to herself. She looked back at you, her gaze faltering. “I… I don’t know how to…,” she stammered, her voice barely audible. “I’ve never… done anything like this before.”

Your smirk widened, your fingers trailing up to tease the soft skin of her inner thigh. “Again, princess, I know,” you said, the dark satisfaction in your tone unmistakable. “That’s why I’m going to show you. Just do exactly as I say, and I promise you’ll enjoy every second of it, as will I.” You leaned in closer, your breath ghosting over her cheek as you whispered, “Now, say thank you like you mean it.”

Natasha swallowed hard, her whole body trembling with nervous energy. “Thank you…” she whispered, her voice breathless and uncertain. You arched an eyebrow, your fingers slipping higher, grazing the edge of her underwear. “That’s better,” you said, your touch growing firmer. “But I’m still not convinced.”

Her heart hammered in her chest as you moved your hand back to her skirt, lifting it just enough to expose the pale skin beneath. She let out a soft gasp, her hands instinctively moving to cover herself, but you caught her wrists, pinning them down gently but firmly. “Ah ah, none of that,” you murmured, your gaze locked on hers. “Keep your hands to your sides, princess. I want you to be good for me.”

Natasha's chest heaved with each ragged breath, her body betraying the deep shame and twisted desire pooling in her belly. Her hands clenched into fists as she fought against the overwhelming urge to obey you, to give in to whatever you demanded of her. It felt wrong—so terribly wrong—but the heat flooding her veins made it hard to care.

She wanted to be good. She wanted you to approve of her.

Your grip tightened on her wrists, and you gave a little nod toward your lap, the unspoken command clear in your eyes. “You know what to do,” you said, a hint of a challenge lacing your voice. “Don’t make me wait.”

Natasha hesitated for a fraction of a second before she reached for the button of your jeans, her trembling hands struggling with the metal clasp. Her skin burned with embarrassment, but beneath it was something else—a sense of reckless freedom that made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t before. The sound of the zipper seemed to echo in the small space of the car, and when she finally freed you, her breath caught in her throat at the sight of Big You straining against the fabric.

Her eyes flickered up to meet yours, as if seeking approval—or perhaps reassurance that this was really happening, that you were pulling her into this dark, exhilarating world she’d only ever glimpsed in her fantasies. But there was no familiar softness in your gaze, only a sharp, predatory gleam that sent a jolt through her. “Go on, then,” you encouraged, your tone growing lower, more commanding. “Show me how grateful you really are, princess.”

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the waistband of your boxers, hesitating for a moment before tugging them down just enough to free you from the fabric. She drew in a shaky breath as you sprang free, her eyes widening at the sight before her. The size, the heat, the sheer reality of it left her stunned, and she swallowed hard, unsure of where to begin.

Tentatively, Natasha wrapped her hand around you, her touch feather-light at first, as if afraid to grip too tightly. The unfamiliar weight and warmth against her palm made her pulse throb in her ears, and you couldn’t help but grin at the way her grip faltered. It was clear she was utterly lost and overwhelmed, unsure of herself in this intimate moment.

With a small, teasing thrust, you pushed into her hand, guiding her rhythm. The sudden movement made her flinch, her fingers squeezing reflexively around you. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but there was something else too—something deeper and more eager beneath her shyness.

“Good girl,” you murmured, leaning back against the seat as you watched her. “Just like that.”

Natasha’s hand moved awkwardly along your length, her inexperience showing in the hesitant, uneven strokes. The look in her eyes was a mixture of uncertainty and curiosity, her cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. You watched her for a moment, savouring the sight of the usually composed and reserved tutor and classmate unravelling under your touch. Her breath hitched each time your hips rolled against her fingers, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at how adorably naïve she was.

You reached out, catching her chin between your thumb and forefinger, tilting her head up so that she was forced to meet your gaze. “You can do better than that, princess,” you murmured, your voice laced with dark amusement. “Put some real effort into it. Show me that you’re grateful for everything I’ve done for you.”

Her lips parted as though to respond, but the words seemed to catch in her throat. Instead, she gave a small nod, her movements becoming a little more purposeful, though there was still a clumsy innocence to the way she touched you. It was endearing, really, to see someone so smart reduced to a flustered, trembling mess in your hands. Her fingers tightened around you, a little more pressure now, and you rewarded her with a low groan of approval.

“That’s better,” you said, your thumb grazing over her lower lip as her breath stuttered. “But I still think you owe me a real thank you.”

Before she could question what you meant, you grabbed her wrist and tugged her closer. With a swift, effortless motion, you pulled her over your lap, her skirt riding up to expose the pale curve of her thighs. Natasha gasped, her body stiffening with shock as she found herself sprawled over you, her cheek pressed against the back of the cool leather seat. “W-what are you—?” she stammered, but her question died in her throat when your hand slid under her skirt, cupping her through her dampening underwear.

“Quiet,” you ordered, your tone taking on a more authoritative edge. “We’re not done yet, princess. I want you to thank me properly… and I think you need a little example of how to do that.”

Her breath quickened, and she let out a small, muffled whimper as your hand slipped beneath the waistband of her panties again, stroking her gently. “I… I don’t…” she began, her voice a shaky whisper.

You smirked, lifting your hand away from her just as she started to press back against your touch, her body instinctively seeking more. “Count for me, Natasha,” you said, your palm hovering over the curve of her rear. “And don’t forget to thank me after every one.”

The first spank landed with a sharp, resounding smack that echoed in the enclosed space. Natasha cried out, her fingers digging into the seat as she instinctively tried to push herself up. “One… t-thank you,” she gasped, her voice barely audible. The sting was sharp and hot, blossoming across her skin, but there was a curious thrill that came with the pain—a strange mix of shame and excitement that made her head spin.

“Good girl,” you praised, your hand rubbing over the spot where you’d struck, soothing the burn before delivering another firm spank. “Two,” she whimpered, her voice trembling. “Th-thank you…”

You grinned at the way her body jerked with each spank, at the breathless little sounds that escaped her lips despite her best efforts to stay composed. Her skin grew pinker with each strike, the marks of your hand painting her pale flesh. By the eleventh spank, she was trembling, her breaths coming out in ragged gasps. “Eleven… thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely holding together.

You turned your head slightly, your breath hot against her ear as you murmured, “You’re doing so well for me, princess. But I think you can be even more grateful.” Your fingers slipped between her legs again, teasing the dampness that had soaked through her panties. “Maybe this will help you find the right words.”

Natasha’s entire body tensed at the intimate touch, her thighs clenching together in a futile attempt to close herself off. But you were relentless, your fingers slipping past the thin barrier of her underwear to stroke the slick heat between her legs once more. Her breath hitched, and she bit her lip to stifle a moan. “P-please…” she whimpered, though she wasn’t even sure what she was begging for.

“Please what?” you taunted, your voice a low purr. “Do you want me to stop?” You knew the answer before she even said it, but you loved the way her hesitation made her feel even more vulnerable. The way she struggled with her own desires, torn between her shame and the undeniable pleasure coursing through her.

“I… n-no…” she finally admitted, her voice so small it was almost a whisper.

“That’s what I thought,” you said, slipping a finger inside her, savouring the way her walls clenched around you. “Now, keep counting, princess. I want to hear every single thank you.”

Natasha’s voice trembled with each counted number, her thank yous becoming softer and more breathless as you continued to spank her, your hand firm and unrelenting. Her skin was hot and flushed beneath your touch, a vivid reminder of her growing submission. With each strike, her body seemed to sink deeper into the haze of sensation, and a part of her—small, hidden—found herself longing for it. The way you touched her, the way you controlled her pleasure, it was like nothing she had ever felt before. It both thrilled and terrified her.

“Ah–Seventeen… th-thank you,” she whimpered, her voice cracking. There was an unmistakable note of desperation in her tone now, a vulnerability that made your pulse quicken. Her knees trembled, and she shifted on your lap, unable to find any position that didn’t make her feel even more exposed. When the seventh spank landed, she let out a choked little cry, her fingers curling into the seat. “Eigh–Eighteen, God, thank you…”

You leaned closer, your breath brushing over her neck as you whispered, “That’s my good girl… So obedient. I think you’re really enjoying this, aren’t you, Natty?” You punctuated your question with a slow curl of your finger, pressing deeper inside her. Natasha’s breath hitched, and she squeezed her eyes shut, as though she couldn’t bear to admit the truth.

“N-no… I…” she tried to protest, but her hips involuntarily rolled against your hand. Heat flooded her cheeks, and a tingle coursed through her spine, confusing and thrilling her all at once. Her body responded to your touch in ways she didn’t understand, her pulse quickening at the tone of your voice.

You could feel the shift in her, see the way her resolve was weakening. “Don’t lie to me, princess,” you murmured with amusement. “Your body’s telling me what you really want.” You added another finger, stretching her tighter, and she gasped, the sound barely muffled by her bitten lip. “You can ask for more if you want, you know.”

For a heartbeat, she hesitated, her breath coming out in shallow, uneven gasps as you moved your fingers inside her. But then, to her own surprise as much as yours, Natasha’s voice broke the silence—small and trembling, but there. “M-more… please…” she whispered, her eyes fluttering open to meet yours, a glimmer of need reflecting back at you. The moment the words left her lips, she felt her heart skip in her chest, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

A shiver ran through you at her plea, the sound of her voice, so hesitant and desperate, fueling a dark satisfaction within you. “Oh, my Natty baby,” you praised softly, letting your fingers curl and press into her sweet spot, earning another soft cry. Her nails dug into your shoulders, and her breath shuddered as she rocked herself against your hand, her movements tentative but growing bolder with each second.

“I… I didn’t know…” Natasha murmured, her words barely audible as tears began to spill down her cheeks. The emotions overwhelmed her—shame, desire, the thrill of doing something so forbidden. She had never known it could feel like this, like fire and ice, pain and pleasure all at once. Her body trembled, torn between surrender and disbelief. Yet she found herself craving more, surprising herself with how much she wanted to feel you deeper, to push her limits.

“You didn’t know what, princess?” you whispered, your voice filled with dark amusement as you stroked her cheek, brushing away the tears. “You didn’t know you’d like being touched this way? Or that you’d be begging for more?”

She shook her head, another tear slipping free. “I… I didn’t know it could feel so…” Her words trailed off as a sob escaped her throat, her body arching closer to you, seeking the source of her own undoing. “So good… I—please, I need more…”

Your eyes darkened at her confession, at the way she was finally giving in completely to the desire coursing through her. You tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet your gaze as you spoke, your voice laced with satisfaction. “That’s what I like to hear, princess. Don’t hold back… let yourself feel it. I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

She whimpered, nodding as her breath quickened. Her inexperience was obvious in the way her body hesitated, her movements uncertain. But you guided her, coaxing her to sink further into the feeling, the shame and tears only serving to intensify the pleasure. You shifted, positioning her so that she could feel your hard length pressing against her entrance through the thin barrier of her soaked panties, a low groan escaping her lips at the sensation as your fingers steadily kept pumping into her.

Her face flushed darker, a mix of embarrassment and anticipation as she realised you were really planning on giving her exactly what she needs. “But… but…” she stammered, the words stumbling from her tongue. She wasn’t sure what she was even trying to say. The thought of you touching her like this, pushing her to the edge—it made her feel so dirty. But she didn’t want you to stop. “Please…” The word fell from her lips again, almost involuntarily, her body betraying her.

“There’s my good girl,” you murmured, stroking her cheek. “Just keep asking nicely, and I’ll make you feel even better.” You moved your fingers in a rhythm, coaxing small, breathless moans from her. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she rocked against you with a quiet desperation, her tears glistening on her flushed cheeks.

Natasha’s innocence, her struggle to reconcile the shame and pleasure, made every little gasp, every plea for more, that much sweeter. She had never felt anything so raw, so consuming, and despite the tears, despite the unfamiliar—but very much welcomed—sensations coursing through her, she found herself wanting to drown in it.

Natasha’s body was trembling, every nerve alight with a mix of lingering embarrassment and overwhelming need. Her tears had stopped flowing, but her eyes remained glassy with a desperate kind of longing. She was moving on instinct now, her hips grinding against your fingers as they pressed deeper inside her. Her skin was hot to the touch, flushed from both the heat of the car and the intensity of what she was feeling.

You could see it in her eyes—the shift from uncertainty to a raw, unrestrained desire. It was as though a switch had flipped inside her, and whatever hesitation had held her back was now crumbling away. “Please… I don’t… I need it…” Natasha’s voice was breathy, the words barely coherent as she clung to you, her nails digging into your shoulders. The way she asked for more, with such a mix of innocence and desperation, sent a thrill down your spine.

You tightened your hold on her, feeling a surge of possessiveness rise within you. She was yours now, even if she didn’t fully understand it yet. The way she looked at you—eyes wide, cheeks flushed, lips parted in a soft gasp—only made the feeling stronger. “You need me, do you?” you murmured, your tone low and possessive as you moved your fingers in deeper, harder, feeling her tighten around you. “Good girl… that’s what I like to hear.”

Natasha let out a choked little moan, her body responding to your touch and words without hesitation. Her legs trembled, her thighs quivering against the leather seat as she tried to move closer, needing to feel every inch of you against her. “I… I don’t know why… I want you to keep touching me,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need as she buried her face in your neck. She couldn’t bring herself to look you in the eyes now, couldn’t bear the intensity of what she was feeling. “Please… don’t stop…”

You chuckled softly, a dark satisfaction curling in your chest as you leaned in, pressing your lips against her damp hairline. “Don’t worry, princess,” you murmured. “I’m not going to stop. You’re mine now.” Your words were possessive, almost a growl, as you let your free hand cup her cheek, guiding her gaze back up to meet yours. The way she looked at you—so needy, so desperate—made something inside you tighten. “And I’m going to take care of you. You want that, don’t you?”

She nodded quickly, her breath coming out in shallow pants as your fingers continued to work her. “Yes… yes, please,” she whimpered, her voice hitching with every curl of your fingers inside her. There was no room left for shame, only the all-consuming need to feel more, to have you claim every part of her.

The way she responded to you now, without reservation, made your primal instincts flare. You wanted to shield her from everything, but you also wanted to keep her trembling beneath your touch, completely dependent on the pleasure you were giving her. “That’s my girl,” you whispered, kissing the corner of her jaw, just above the pulse that raced beneath her skin. “Look at you… so beautiful when you’re needy. So perfect.”

Natasha’s breath hitched at your praise, and a soft whine escaped her lips. She could hardly think straight anymore.

(not that she was, anyway)

All she knew was the way you made her feel—alive and burning, like she was drowning in you. Her fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt as she clung to you, her tears and fears completely forgotten, replaced by an ache so deep she couldn’t even put it into words. “I want… I want to feel you more…” Her voice broke on the last word, her cheeks flushing an even darker shade of red as she realised what she was asking for, begging for.

“I don’t… I don’t know what to do, but I want it…”

You paused for a moment, your gaze darkening as you absorbed her words. It wasn’t just need; it was a yearning for more than just the physical. She wanted you, wanted the way you made her feel like nothing else mattered but this moment. “You don’t have to do anything,” you murmured, your voice softer now, but still laced with that possessive edge. “Just let me take care of you, princess. I’ll give you everything you need.”

You shifted her slightly on your lap, your fingers sliding free from her wet heat, drawing a quiet whimper of protest from her. You could see the need in her eyes, the way she bit her lip, trying to hold back from asking for more but failing miserably. “Shh,” you whispered soothingly, tracing a finger over her swollen, flushed lips. “I know you want more… Give me a second, baby.” You reached down, sliding her panties to the side as you guided her legs further apart. “You’re going to have to be my good girl again and show me how much you want it.”

Her breath shuddered out as you positioned her over your hardened length, letting her feel the thickness pressing against her soaked entrance. Her eyes widened, a mix of nervousness and desire flashing across her features as she realised just how much more there was to take. “I… it’s… it’s so big…” she whispered, her voice trembling as she hesitated.

You couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips. “You can take it, princess,” you encouraged, your voice a low purr as you held her hips firmly. “I’ll help you. You’re safe with me.”

Her fingers trembled as she gripped your shoulders harder for support, her body shaking with both anticipation and need. She didn’t know if she could handle it, didn’t know if she was ready, but the look in your eyes made her feel like maybe she could. Maybe she wanted to. She began to lower herself slowly, her breath catching in her throat as the head of your cock stretched her inch by inch. It was overwhelming, much bigger than your two fingers, and her tears returned, but not out of shame or confusion this time—just the raw intensity of it all.

“You’re doing so well,” you murmured, your hands steadying her as she sank down further, taking more of you inside her. The possessive part of you revelled in the way her body clenched around you, in the way she bit back the whimpers and moans that spilled from her lips. “That’s it, princess… let me fill you up. Take it all.”

Natasha’s breath was ragged, her forehead resting against her left hand on your shoulder as she tried to adjust to the unfamiliar fullness. The stretch was unlike anything she’d imagined, an ache that made her shudder. But the way you whispered encouragements, the possessive grip on her waist, it all made her feel so… needed.

Wanted in a way she had never been before.

“Please… don’t stop,” she breathed out, surprising herself again with how much she was asking for. Her hips moved of their own accord, rolling slightly as if trying to coax more of you deeper inside her. “I… I need all of you…”

Natasha's breaths came in quick, desperate gasps as she struggled to take you completely. Her body shook, the stretch bordering on unbearable, but she physically couldn’t bring herself to stop. She needed more—needed to feel every inch of you inside her, to be filled in a way that left no room for anything else. Inch by inch, she kept sinking down, her legs trembling as her hips rolled against you in an effort to take you deeper.

You gripped her waist, steadying her as you watched her struggle, your breath hitching at the sight of her determination. “It’s okay, princess,” you murmured, voice strained as you fought to keep control. “You don’t have to—”

But she shook her head, her brows furrowed in concentration as she cut you off. “No… I need to,” she whimpered, her voice breaking on the last word as she bit down on her lower lip. The heat between her legs was almost unbearable, the stretch making her feel impossibly full, but she was so close—so close to taking you all. “I can… I can do it. Please… don’t… don’t stop me…”

A shudder of pleasure ran through you as you watched her fight for it, your grip tightening on her hips as you guided her down a little further. “God… you’re so stubborn,” you groaned, the sensation of her clenching around you almost enough to drive you mad. “But you feel so damn good.” You could see the tears in her eyes, the way her cheeks burned as she struggled to adjust to your size, but she didn’t give up. She kept moving, kept pushing herself.

With one final, trembling motion, she sank all the way down, seating herself fully in your lap. Her breath hitched, her whole body going rigid as she felt you buried inside her, deeper than she’d ever thought possible. The sensation was overwhelming, a sharp mix of pain and pleasure that sent a jolt through her entire body. Her eyes fluttered shut, her head falling back as a soft, shuddering moan escaped her lips.

The sight of her finally taking you completely for the first time, her very first time, her body trembling and her chest heaving, was enough to make you lose control. A deep groan rumbled from your throat as you clutched her hips tightly, your fingers digging into her soft skin. “I’m going to show you, baby,” you slurred, your voice thick with desire as you began to move her, lifting her up only to sink her back down onto your cock. “I’m showing you… y’feel so good, princess–Fuck…”

Your words came out in a heated mess, every thrust making it harder to speak clearly. The way her body clenched around you, squeezing you with each roll of her hips, made your head spin. You could barely focus, could barely think beyond the feeling of being inside her, of her warmth surrounding you so completely. It was as if she had been made for you, every inch of her fitting so perfectly around you that it almost hurt.

That look in your eyes—wide, dark, and feral—was what pushed her over the edge. She saw the way you were falling apart because of her, how your breath hitched and your words came out in broken gasps, and it sparked something wild inside her. For the first time, she felt powerful—felt like she had you at her mercy, even if she was the one trembling. Her hands clung to your shoulders, her fingers digging in as she let you take her completely, riding you with an intensity that shocked even her.

“More…” she breathed out, her voice ragged as she clung to you. “Please… More.” There was no room left for shame or doubt; there was only the need to feel you, to be filled over and over until she couldn’t think of anything else. She tightened her legs around you, pulling you in closer as you kept moving her up and down in a steady rhythm, each thrust making her see stars.

You couldn’t hold back anymore. The sight of her—so desperate, so wild—drove you closer to the brink. Your hips bucked up against her, meeting her halfway as you quickened the pace, your hands guiding her movements with a rough, possessive grip. “God, Natasha…” you groaned, your voice barely coherent as you felt her tightening around you, her body squeezing you so tightly it actually did start to hurt. “You’re mine… mine…” The words spilled out in a heated rush, your breath fanning against her ear as you buried your face in her hair.

Natasha’s nails raked down your arms and neck, her breath hitching with every roll of her hips. The feel of your possessiveness, of the way you claimed her, sent a shiver through her entire body. She buried her face in your neck, her lips brushing against your skin as she let out a broken moan. “Yours… I’m yours…” The words left her before she could even think about what they meant, before she could question why it felt so good to say them.

The rhythm quickened, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through her, until it felt like her whole body was on fire. She couldn’t get enough, couldn’t get you deep enough. Her thighs trembled, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she clung to you, letting you move her in whatever way you pleased. She didn’t care anymore—didn’t care how needy or desperate she looked. All that mattered was the way you filled her, over and over, until she felt like she would break.

You could feel her losing herself, could hear it in the breathy moans and half-whimpers that spilled from her lips. It was like she had given herself over entirely to you, her body yielding in a way that made something primal inside you go feral. “My perfect girl,” you whispered, your voice rough as you praised her. “That’s it… take it all, princess. You’re perfect… perfect for me.”

Her body shuddered at your words, and a sob tore from her throat as she felt herself unravelling. She was so close—so close to the edge that it scared her, but she didn’t want it to end. She buried her face against your neck, her voice muffled against your skin as she cried out. “Please… Don’t let go—Don’t let go…” Her voice trembled with the intensity of it all, her nails digging into your shoulders as she held on for dear life.

You didn’t let go. You kept moving, kept taking her, holding her against you as if she might disappear if you didn’t. The possessiveness, the need to make her feel everything, consumed you entirely. And as you felt her tighten around you time after time, her whole body going taut as she cried out in pure ecstasy, you knew you had her completely.

Natasha's cries echoed in your ears, mixing with the sound of your own breaths as you thrust harder, feeling the heat pooling in your core. The way she clung to you, the way her body quivered above you, only heightened your desire. “That’s it, baby, just like that,” you encouraged, each word a reminder of how utterly lost she was in this moment with you, how perfectly aware you were in this moment with her.

Her orgasms rolled through her like a tidal wave, crashing over every thought and leaving only pleasure in its wake. You watched, enthralled, as she writhed against you, her body contracting and pulsing around you, squeezing you tighter and tighter as her cries turned into soft whimpers. The way she surrendered to the feeling made your heart race, igniting a deep-seated need to protect her, to hold her through this storm.

“Please… please don’t stop,” she gasped, breathless and desperate. The sheer need in her voice sent a jolt of electricity through you, igniting an even deeper hunger. You increased your pace, each thrust more frantic than the last as your body took over, driven by instinct rather than thought. You were focused solely on the pleasure radiating from her, on the way she fell apart around you, and how you could make her feel even better.

“Never stopping, princess,” you murmured, your voice a low growl as you leaned closer, wrapping your arms tighter around her. “M’gonna to fill you up... make you mine.” You thrust into her with a newfound urgency, chasing your own release, the heat pooling in your belly threatening to boil over.

With each thrust, you felt the tension inside you building, drawing you closer and closer to the edge. You could see the look on her face—the way her eyes fluttered shut, the way her lips parted in silent cries of pleasure. It was intoxicating, and you couldn’t get enough. “You feel so good, Natty. So fucking good,” you grunted, the pleasure blurring the edges of your mind.

Natasha nodded, eyes glassy with need, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “I—oh god… I can’t…” she whimpered, her hips instinctively meeting yours, driving you both deeper into this carnal dance. The world outside faded into oblivion as you lost yourselves in one another.

“M’gonna fill you, baby,” you groaned, your voice rough with desire as you neared your peak. With a final, powerful thrust, you felt everything snap, the pressure inside you bursting forth as you released into her, filling her completely. The sensation of it was almost overwhelming, the heat of your release mixing with the intoxicating warmth of her body.

Natasha’s eyes widened as she felt you release, and the combination of pleasure and sensation sent her spiralling into yet another climax. She cried out, her voice a mixture of surprise and ecstasy as her body quaked around you, milking every last drop from you as you filled her. The world faded away, and all that remained was the two of you—lost in a whirlwind of pleasure, need, and an undeniable connection that had ignited between you.

You held her tightly, feeling her heartbeat beneath your hands, her breaths coming in shuddering gasps as you both rode the waves of your releases. In that moment, the weight of the world melted away, leaving only the two of you in your own private universe, a place where nothing else mattered but the blissful entanglement of your bodies.

But as you gently slipped out of Natasha and the haze of pleasure began to lift, her eyes glistened with an emotion that caught you off guard. A shadow of doubt crept across her features, her expression shifting from blissful surrender to uncertainty. She looked at the fogged window, her cheeks flushing with a mix of vulnerability and confusion. “Was… was I just a quick fuck to you?” The question slipped from her lips in a whisper, a tremor of vulnerability lacing her voice. She looked down, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, the weight of her words heavy between you. “I mean… I know how you are with girls, and I can’t help but feel—”

She hesitated, biting her lip as if to swallow the flood of insecurities threatening to spill out. Her gaze flickered to the side, avoiding your eyes, and you could see the fear in her expression. The last thing she wanted was to be another notch on your belt, a fleeting moment in the wake of your reputation for sleeping around and toying with girls who had dared to fall for your charm. The thought made her heart race, and she quickly added, “I thought maybe… maybe I meant more to you than that.”

Her voice wavered, each word wrapped in doubt, and the way her hands fidgeted in her lap betrayed just how deeply this fear cut. She needed reassurance, a confirmation that she was not just a passing fancy but something far more significant in your eyes. The innocence she had shown moments before was now tinged with trepidation, and it left you with an ache in your chest as you realised the impact your actions had on her, feeling your heart sink at her words.

Her eyes searched yours for reassurance, wide and vulnerable, and you could feel the weight of her uncertainty. “But… you could have anyone you want,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Why would you choose me?”

“Because I want you,” you replied, sincerity pouring from your words as you continued, “I’ve liked you for a while now. I just didn’t think I was deserving of someone as pure, beautiful, and smart as you.”

A sad smile tugged at her lips, tears shimmering in her eyes. “I’ve liked you for years, you know,” she confessed, her voice trembling with emotion. “Like that time I first bumped into you and let go of that stupid telescope… I thought you were going to hate me for making you pay so much to reimburse the university.”

You let out a soft laugh, the moment turning bittersweet as the memory flooded back. “Honestly, I was frustrated at first, but I couldn’t stay mad at you. You were just… so cute.”

A small smile broke through her tears, hesitantly blooming on her lips. “I don’t want to be just… just a distraction for you.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “Not even close. You’re everything I didn’t know I needed. Just being with you, hanging out with you, it feels right.”

Her smile grew a little, and you could see the flicker of hope in her eyes as she absorbed your words. “Really? You really mean that?”

“More than anything,” you confirmed, your heart swelling with the connection building between you. “You’re my choice, Natty. Always.”

Her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and delight, and you couldn’t help but smile at her. “Can I… can I kiss you?” you asked gently, your voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha's breath hitched slightly at your words, her wide eyes reflecting the gravity of the moment. It struck her that, despite everything that had just happened between you, this kiss would mark a deeper connection—one that transcended the physical.

That realisation settled between you, making the air feel charged and electric. You could see how much this meant to her, how special it was that your first kiss would be a shared moment of emotional intimacy and vulnerability. It wasn't just an act; it was an acknowledgment of the bond you were forming.

She nodded, a spark of hope lighting her eyes, and you leaned in slowly, your lips brushing against hers with a tender hesitation. The kiss was soft at first, a gentle exploration, but it quickly deepened as you both melted into it, the warmth of your earlier intimacy blossoming into something even more profound.

As your lips moved together, you felt the last remnants of doubt fade away, replaced by a connection that felt unbreakable. You pulled back, searching her gaze for any lingering uncertainty. “See?” you murmured, your forehead resting against hers. “You’re so much more to me than just a quick moment. You always have been.”

Natasha smiled softly, the tears in her eyes now replaced by something brighter, something hopeful. You knew that whatever lay ahead, this moment would always be the start of something deeper, something beautifully complicated that neither of you had anticipated.

#romugh's kt '24 #romugh's nerd!natty #romugh's ☘️#romugh slays #romugh writes #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff reader #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff smut #nerd natasha #smutty natty :o #nerdy natty forever my love #bottom natasha romanoff #wlw smut #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

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aventurineswife · 19 days ago

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Hey !!! How are you?? I love what you write so much so ure so talentedd !!

Also could u do an aventurine x reader where like they started dating not long ago and like aventurine notices self harm marks on reader’s arms ?? (If ure comfortable w/ that ofc)

“You Drew Stars Over My Scars”

Summary: In the early stages of your relationship, Aventurine notices scars on your arm. With quiet compassion and understanding, he addresses it gently, offering his support without judgment. As you share a vulnerable moment, he reassures you that he’s there for you, bringing lightheartedness and warmth to ease the conversation.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Emotional Support, Fluff and Angst, Healing.

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm, References to past emotional struggles

A/N: HELLO!!! I'm doing alright and I hope you are doing alright as well!! Thank you for appreciating my work! I put my best effort into writing each character as accurately as possible, even while balancing my personal life, so your support means a lot to me! 🤭💖🫶 Don’t worry about your request—I’m comfortable with it. But for anyone struggling with something similar, please reach out to someone you trust completely. It may not seem like much, but sharing is better than keeping everything to yourself. If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here! Don’t hesitate, and remember to love yourself more! ❤️

It was one of those rare, quiet evenings. Aventurine had cleared his typically packed schedule, something he was only too willing to do since the two of you had started dating. After a whirlwind start, tonight felt like a pause – a chance for him to simply be with you, away from the risks and wagers that often defined his world.

You sat beside him on the couch, your arm resting casually against his. Aventurine noticed a faint change in your body language – a hint of self-consciousness, a slight turn of your wrist. The faint movement caught his eye, and he saw them – the small, faded scars along your arm.

He glanced up, meeting your eyes with a gentle look, saying nothing at first, allowing you the space to choose whether to share or to stay silent. But his hand reached out, fingers brushing along your forearm. The gesture was soft, free of judgment or expectation, just a comforting presence.

"Can I ask about these?" Aventurine asked softly, his tone inviting but unintrusive.

You hesitated, not used to this level of openness, especially when it came to scars from a part of your past you were still trying to make peace with. You shifted slightly, averting your gaze, but Aventurine’s hand gently anchored you there, his thumb brushing softly over your wrist. His eyes, usually so full of confidence, held only a quiet, calming sincerity.

“It was… it’s something I went through,” you whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. “It’s… something I still struggle with, sometimes.”

Aventurine listened, his hand never leaving yours, his gentle touch reminding you that he was there, that he was listening and would wait as long as you needed to feel safe in sharing. After a beat, he spoke, his voice thoughtful and warm.

“You know,” he began softly, “I can’t pretend to know exactly what you’ve felt, what led you here. But… I do know about hiding things that hurt. I’ve got my own scars – maybe not the kind you can see,” he added, his smile faint but real, “but they’re there.”

The weight of his words settled around you, and you felt something shift – a wall you’d kept up out of habit, slowly lowering. You exhaled, feeling a bit of the tension release, as though you were finally in a space where you didn’t have to hide this part of yourself.

He leaned closer, his hand now holding yours firmly but gently, grounding you in the moment. "I'm here with you, okay? Whatever you’re going through, I want you to know it doesn’t make me see you any differently. You’re… important to me." The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable, and it softened something deep within you.

“Thank you.” you said quietly, squeezing his hand back.

Aventurine tilted his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “How about this – every time you feel like you’re slipping, like things get too much, you let me know? We can talk, or… not talk,” he said, a hint of his usual humor breaking through, “or we can find some ridiculous way to distract ourselves. I’ve got these mooncake cats I haven’t introduced you to yet.”

That earned a soft laugh from you, breaking the lingering tension in the room. He caught the sound, grinning as he pulled his phone out and showed you a photo of his silly, mooncake-shaped cats. He held it up with a playful smirk.

“These little guys reminds me every day not to take life too seriously. So, any time you need them, They're just a text away.” he added with a wink.

The lightheartedness lifted the weight from your heart, and you looked at Aventurine, grateful for his presence, his understanding, and his unspoken promise to be there, both in laughter and in the moments that were hard.

And as he pulled you into a gentle embrace, you felt it – the quiet assurance that, whatever scars you both carried, you didn’t have to bear them alone anymore.

#hsr #honkai star rail #x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #hsr aventurine x reader #hurt/comfort #established relationship #emotional support #fluff #angst #mentions of self harm #references to past struggles

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keepthedelta · 5 months ago

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scenes that should be included in the brad pitt f1 film

(for legal purposes this is a joke, no one should support this film)

60 year old brad pitt has to do the mandatory driver fitness test and almost collapses at the cardio. 28 year old carlos sainz does it next to him without hesitation or struggle two weeks after an appendectomy whilst wearing a mesh shirt

alex albon’s radio message calling brad pitt an ancient fuck after cutting the corner to smash the williams out of the way

leo leclerc and/or roscoe shitting next to brad pitt’s feet

damson idris’s character saying fernando’s “I knew he would brake because he has a wife and two children at home” quote. the wife and children will never be mentioned again or seen on screen. the romance will be exclusively between 60 year old brad pitt and the engineer woman half his age

damson idris’s character tweeting ocon’s my teammate tried to kill me but I survived tweet before getting drunk with a billionaire’s son

brad pitt attends a team principal’s meeting that goes oddly silent the moment that he walks in and three of the other team bosses immediately begin speaking to each other in italian. zak brown gives a sympathetic look but turns away, andreas seidl sniggers in german

four drivers call out brad and damson idris for their bullshit driving during the drivers’ briefing romain grosjean head of the gpda style. george russell ends the meeting with a powerpoint explaining to them why they are assholes

brad and damson idris have an emotional bonding moment where 60 year old brad reminds 32 year old damson idris that he is still young, still a rookie, and he has plenty of time to develop as, I assume, the lewis hamilton character insert despite lewis actually being in the film??? in the background kimi antonelli scooters past on his way to get a bath and bottle because it’s nearly his bedtime

k-mag hands over his stewards room loyalty card to brad pitt who gets a race ban

triumphant moment where the team finally scores a podium but the post-race inspection reveals that their car is wildly illegal and they are disqualified

stefano domenicali enthusiastically welcomes the american audience that brad pitt’s team brings, ross brawn is sat next to him listing off the many ways that their car does not comply with the fia’s safety standards

brad pitt and damson idris are battling for their lives at the back of the grid, max verstappen laps them

the engineer woman describes speed in kilometres. brad pitt tells her to explain it in “english”

a hilariously corrupt Italian businessman who bears absolutely no resemblance to flavio briatore none at all says something hilariously corrupt at a sponsor meeting. brad pitt nobly rises above it

fernando alonso sniffing plants in the background of every other scene

a blonde reporter/presenter has sexual tension with damson idris. when brad pitt asks who she is, he simply says “a girl I used to know” and looks longingly in the distance

michael and/or mario andretti with an axe demanding to know why it’s okay for brad pitt to have an 11th f1 team but not him, even though the andretti name is incredibly well respected in the motorsports world

#formula 1 #formula one #brad pitt f1 film #abuser pitt's horrible f1 film

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 10 months ago

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H̵̩͋o̸̹͒l̶̢̑ď̸͕ ̵͔͛T̴̲̄h̶͙͋e̶̤͘m̵͍̋ ̷͓̈D̵̯͛o̶̡̅w̵̖̃n̵͝ͅ

Get in the Water AU: Original Post Ruthlessness

Ghosts were physiologically different from humans.

It was something Tucker and Sam didn't understand. They saw Phantom as "Danny with superpowers," not as a fundamentally different being.

Sometimes, Danny didn't understand either.

But his parents did. Utter disregard for the scientific method aside, the Fentons were the ones who learned how inhuman ghosts were: "Just emotions and electricity imprinted on ectoplasm, Danno, nothing to be scared of!" Snapshots of people at the moments of their deaths. The past and the present, incapable of contemplating the future.

And with his duality, Danny struggled to understand either of his halves.

As a human, Danny could move past his nightmare of a childhood, compartmentalize and think to the future, when he was fully healed and his past couldn't hurt him anymore. So when Dora, first elected Queen of the Infinite Realms - long may she reign - asked him to collect all the resurrected humans for a health check and assessment... when he'd noticed Damian Al Ghul-Wanye on the list... He'd thought up a little prank to pull on his long-lost brother. A cruel one, perhaps, but nothing harmful.

As a ghost, Danny couldn't move on. He could never forget that Sam led him to his death, that his parents negligence allowed for the stage to be set, that the lab they loved so much held both his home and his grave. Just as Danny would always be that fourteen year old, caught in that moments, he was still the 7-year-old Danyal Al Ghul who trusted his brother not to hurt him... and ended up poisoned.

Phantom wanted his murderer to suffer.

And Danny, much to his shame, had allowed it.

For a few weeks, Danny managed to ignore it. He'd gone after Damian first, so there were tons of resurrected on his list. He started with the more extreme cases first, like Constantine, but soon enough the next on his list was Ra's Al Ghul.

He'd asked Queen Dora to send someone else, anyone else. That he wouldn't be able to control himself if he saw his grandfather again. Instead of relieving him, she'd given him a knowing look and told him to follow his core's desire.

She never mentions it, but Queen Dora had been a murder victim too.

There was no showmanship, no dramatic reveal. Just Danyal, his grandfather, and the Pit.

Despite all Ra's Al Ghul's power, he was no match for a spirit hellbent on drowning him.

That's what Danny did to his grandfather. He'd thrown up afterwards, once he was human before. But the ghost in him relished the act; he could still feel Grandfather's throat under his hands, pulse fluttering against his palm as Danyal held him down. He struggled and shook as the Lazarus waters filled his lungs, burning away healthy tissue. Fingernails morphed into claws that sliced through the tender skin, blood leaking into the water, and water leaking into the blood.

It took a long time for Grandfather to die. Deep within Danny, next to his core, he knew it was what was deserved. That the murdered finally had justice. He was content with never speaking of it again, a secret between him and the waters.

And now it was going to happen again as Phantom's impulsive mind overtook Fenton's tactical one.

He'd known Damian was looking into him. Knew another confrontation was inevitable, what with two more of his siblings needing their health checks. But as Danny was stalking their mother, searching for the best way to abduct her (she was still his mother after all, he didn't want her dead... yet), Damian and his family confronted her.

Relief washed over him as only a normal amount of rage bubbled up at the sight of Damian, instead of the overwhelming, all-consuming fury he'd felt. Danny laughed at their arguments, at Constantine thinking he could put a living ghost to rest, at his siblings-unmet and his father-unknown, until...

Damian confessed.

His murderer confessed, yet as he continued to speak, to explain, the fury rose in him again. Because it wasn't a betrayal. He'd always thought Damian betrayed him, but no.

Through his own ruthlessness, Damian gave him the only mercy he could manage. And there was only one thing Danyal wanted now.

""̸̲̈́T̶͘͜ä̵̢li̸a̶̬̓ ̴̬̐A̵̛̪l̸̲̚ G̸̛̫h̶̺̏u̸̢̚l!̴̳̈́ D̷̩̕o̸͛ͅ ̶̝̍y̴͙͘o̵̙͐u̵̬̓ ̴̤͂k̸̡̑n̵͓̈́o̷͈͝w̷͖͂ ̷͓͑w̴̧̄h̵̲͌o̴̮̔ ̵̼́Ị̷̂ ̷̣̽a̵̳̓m̷̩̓?̷̝͒"̷̧͠"

It was her fault. She was the reason why he was dead, nothing more than a coward who couldn't go against her father for the sake of her children. She abused them, she struck his brother, it was her fault-

"Danyal," she answered. And Danyal grinned, fanged and sharp.

He approached, the waters of his birthplace lovingly brushing against his legs, consoling him the only way they knew how. They whispered revenge into his ears, madness into his heart, just as they had when he'd confronted Damian, when he murdered Grandfather. "You have much to answer for, daughter of the Demon Head," he said, voice echoing around the room.

Unrestrained greed filled her gaze. "You've returned to me, my son."

Danyal laughed, brutal and rough. "I've returned for you, Mother," he corrected. "Don't think this reunion will end well for you."

"You mean to hurt me, Danyal?" she crooned, all false hurt and fake love.

"I mean to kill you."

Genuine anger flashed across her face. "My son would never-"

"Y̵̺̆o̴̩͂u̸͉̕r̷̰͝ ̴͔͝s̵̡̉o̶̡̎ň̵̞ ̶̗̈i̴̘̍s ̸̦̐d̴̯̚ê̶͚á̶̩d̷̻̈́," he snarled, and Damian flinched. He was too close to Talia. "You wanted me dead... for being weak. For having mercy." He stared up at his mother's shocked form. "I killed Grandfather. Tell me, is that ruthless enough for you, Umi?" Talia flinched with just her eyes. He hadn't been allowed to call her Umi since he was three.

Their father stepped forward, the naked distress on his face contrasting with his battle armor. "Danyal," he plead. "You don't have to do this-"

"Stay out of this, Baba." The man's breathing hitched. "This doesn't involve you."

Constantine tried to talk him down next. "It does, kid. A Siren on your level can't stay around for long. It's time for you to rest."

Danyal threw back his head and laughed. "As if you could stop me, exorcist." No more delays. It's time for action. "I will drown you all before you can."

Danyal lunged. And despite his mother's decades as an assassin, she couldn't kill what was already dead.

He held her down by the throat, the attacks from Damian's family bouncing off him. "This is mercy," he cooed as she desperately clawed at his hands. "For me. For Damian. For everyone you will try to hurt in the future. Ruthlessness is the only mercy I can give you now." Her face turned red as she gaped for air and Danyal-

Was thrown back into the water.

Reorienting himself, he found John Constantine standing over his mother, protecting her from him. "̷̪͂E̷̺͐x̷̝̑ŏ̶̺ȑ̴͉c̷̟͘i̸͔̋s̶̮̀t̶̯͝."

And the Pit's water began to rise.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #c: danny fenton #c: danyal al ghul #c: ra's al ghul #c: talia al ghul #c: damian wayne #c: john constantine #Danny is just using the lazarus pits as portals to the Ghost Zone without realizing they're poisoning him with Pit Madness #the pits are sentient and love him #the pits also love jason that's why he has permanent pit madness #with the amount of murder victims dumped in there it really cares about fellow victims the most #anyway with the circe saga out i thought of a sequel to Storm so that'll be fun #get in the water au

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proudfreakmetarusonikku · 9 months ago

Text

Anyway, while people are discoursing about men and not sharing Shubble points, here’s the actual advice I got from watching the stream bc I think that probably needs to be spread more. Shubble elaborates it much better but if you can’t watch it’s better than nothing.

Physical abuse is not just hitting or kicking, anyone causing physical pain intentionally to you without consent is physically abusive, regardless of how that manifests or if it seems silly.

Pressuring someone into using a safeword on something that’s not, like, a mutually agreed thing and is just something one partner wants is controlling and creepy.

Partners who push at the edge of your boundaries and avoid safewords are abusive.

A partner insisting you’re remembering things wrong and making you seem crazy is abusive (specifically, it’s gaslighting)

Grand romantic gestures from the beginning can very easily be a sign of abuse, as abusers use it to endear themselves to their victims.

Controlling behaviour and refusing to break up while also refusing to make changes is possessive and unhealthy at best.

Abusers will manipulate things to make it seem normal to those outside of their victims- by being kind and helpful even as they neglect their victim, by pressuring their victim to treat their abusive behaviour as a joke, ect. It’s often very hard for an outside observer to know if something is abusive, and making assumptions off of what you know in front of closed doors isn’t helpful.

It’s very hard to tell that you’re being abused, and you'll often still retain affection for your abuser for a long time- this is normal, and this isn’t your fault if you wanted to stay friends.

Even if an abuser is struggling with their own problems, taking it out on you is not acceptable. People can be bottling up their emotions and struggle with depression and past trauma and that gives them no excuse to hurt you.

If your partner relies entirely on you to take care of them, and support them financially, that’s financial abuse one way or another.

Abusers tend to hurt more than one person, and their actions escalate without outside influence (be it intervention if possible or something that keeps them away from victims if not.)

Listen to your gut, if you think a relationship is bad. Even if you’ve been through this before, sometimes you can’t realise in it, but you’ll feel it subconciously.

Also, Shubble is being supported by friends who helped her cope and went through different but similar things. She's specifically mentioned right now keeping the stories anonymised, but she might change her mind, if I interpreted the last bit correctly. She's doing alright, she's healing, and it sounds like she's being believed by her friends, at least most of them. I wish nothing but growth and healing for them, and wish them the best moving forward.

#Shelby shubble #I will not say I’m not guilty of this but I’m genuinely suprised I haven’t seen anything summarising this #I get it the immediate response is anger after denial innit #But I think this is far more important

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sinkovia · 11 months ago

Text

Consequences

-Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Angst, mention of miscarriage, mention of death, blood.

Alternative ending

You sat on your bed, a book in hand, your other hand gently resting on your stomach. The room was filled with a warm and serene atmosphere as you flipped through the pages. You were reading about first-time parents and tips on what to do when you first bring your baby home. It was a moment of quiet joy, and you couldn't help but smile.

You were happier than ever, your face radiant with the anticipation of the life growing inside you. After a string of painful miscarriages, you had made it past the usual time period of uncertainty. You were now six months pregnant, and the relief of reaching this milestone was evident in your expression.

You and Ghost had been trying for a baby for the past two years. Each time you got pregnant, you miscarried around the three-month mark. His deployments often left you feeling lonely in the house, and it was time for you to expand your family. The idea of having children had always been a shared dream, and you were now well on your way to realizing it.

Ghost had just returned home, his hands full of grocery bags, which he placed on the table with a heavy thud. He was in the midst of a heated phone call, and you could hear his loud, strained voice from the adjacent room. Closing the book, you set it down on the nightstand and slowly made your way to the kitchen, your footsteps filled with a sense of anticipation.

His voice grew louder as you approached, you strained to listen as you heard his words spill from his mouth, the tension and frustration evident in his tone. He cursed in exasperation, abruptly ending the call and slamming the phone down on the kitchen counter, the resounding noise echoing in the room.

"Is everything okay?" you asked him, walking up slowly, your voice filled with concern. He took a deep breath, his gaze heavy and tired, and then turned to face you.

"Price is deploying me," his words landed like a heavy blow. Your heart sank, and your eyes began to well up with tears.

"What do you mean Price is deploying you? You told me that you talked to him about not sending you on missions while I was pregnant," your voice shaking with emotion. You took a step closer, desperation creeping into your tone.

"You did talk to him, right?" searching for any sign of reassurance. But he wouldn't meet your gaze, his eyes fixed on the counter. Your heartache deepened, and a single tear escaped, tracing a path down your cheek.

"Simon!" you cried, flinching as he slammed his fists down onto the counter. He raised his voice, his frustration turning into anger.

"For fuck's sake, Y/n! No, I didn't talk to him!" he shouted, and you were stunned into silence. The words he spoke were a painful betrayal. You remembered vividly that he had assured you he'd spoken to Price about this.

"I never got around to it, okay? I didn't think you would make it this far. I assumed you would miscarry again, so I didn't bother telling him. I'm sorry, okay?" he admitted, his voice laced with guilt. The room felt heavy with the weight of his confession, and disbelief washed over you as you struggled to comprehend what he had just revealed. Your heart felt as if it had been torn in two. The man you loved and trusted had let you down in a way you never thought possible.

"Are you serious, Simon?" The disbelief and pain in your voice was thick as you confronted him. "This whole time, you were just pretending to be happy, but in reality, you were just waiting for me to miscarry again?" The weight of your words hung heavily in the air, and you fixed your gaze on him, waiting for his response.

He couldn't even bring himself to look you in the eye as you spoke to him, and his voice was heavy with guilt as he admitted, "Yes." Your tears were now falling freely, and your chest ached with the pain of betrayal. He moved past you, grabbing his keys from the counter, his actions leaving you bewildered.

"Where are you going?" you asked, your voice a mixture of confusion and hurt. You moved closer, positioning yourself between him and the door, your determination to address the situation clear in your eyes.

"I'm going out; I need a drink," he responded, his words sounding callous and uncaring. You scoffed in disbelief, feeling the need to get to the bottom of this situation.

"No, you're not. We need to talk about this—" You reached for his hand, but he forcefully ripped it away, turning to glare down at you, his anger laid bare.

"There's nothing to fucking talk about, y/n. I'm deploying in two weeks, and nothing will change that!" He raised his voice, his frustration evident.

Your heart ached as you took a step back, struggling to understand his behavior. "Why are you acting like this? Why are you yelling at me?" you asked, your voice trembling as tears continued to fall.

"Because I'm fucking stressed, y/n. I didn't think you would make it this far into your pregnancy. Now, I'm getting deployed, and I don't know when I'll be back," he snapped, his own frustrations and anxieties taking over.

"Why are you taking it out on me?" You couldn't hold back the pain in your voice. "It's not my fault you didn't tell Price. You should have told him. I'm six months pregnant, Simon! How long were you going to wait until you told him?"

"Did I say it was your fault?!" he shot back, his anger flaring. "I know what I should have done, but I didn't, and now we are here. Now, get the fuck out of my way."

The harshness in his words cut deep, and you looked up at him in disbelief. He had never spoken to you like this before. While you knew his temper could be volatile, he had never taken it out on you in such a way.

"No, I don't want you to leave," you pleaded, trying to keep him from walking out the door. "We need to work this out, Simon. You know how I feel about things like this." You were insistent on resolving conflicts, always wanting to talk things through.

"I don't care how you feel; I don't want to talk about this right now," he retorted, his voice filled with frustration. "I need a fucking drink, so get out of my way." The desperation in his words hung in the air, and you couldn't believe the person he was becoming in this moment.

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. "No, I won't let you leave." Your resolve was strong, and you were determined to keep him here until you could address the issues at hand. His frustration had pushed him to a point where he was leaving the house in anger, but you couldn't let that happen. You would never let him leave the house when you guys were upset with one another. It was always something you were insistent on.

His hands went to your shoulders, and he harshly moved you out of the way. You stumbled, almost losing your balance, but you steadied yourself. He walked out the door, slamming it behind him, leaving you alone with a heavy heart and a whirlwind of emotions. You couldn't hold back the overwhelming flood of emotions that consumed you, and you collapsed onto the floor, your body wracked with deep, wrenching sobs.

In all the time you had been together, he had never laid his hands on you in anger like that. His temper was known to flare, but this was an entirely new level of intensity, especially considering he was the one at fault for the situation. You remained on the floor for what felt like an eternity, weeping into your hands, your heart heavy with a mixture of pain, betrayal, and despair. It was an hour of solitude in your sorrow before you mustered the strength to get up.

Getting up to your feet, you made your way to your room, your phone in hand, desperate to reach him. You attempted to call him, your fingers trembling. But just as you were about to press the call button, a sharp and agonizing pain coursed through your stomach, stopping you in your tracks. You were begging, repeating the words, "Please, not again," as you made your way to the bathroom, tears filling your eyes. You were in agony and feared for the well-being of your baby.

You collapsed on the bathroom floor as the pain became nearly unbearable, unlike anything you had experienced before. It felt as though your insides were being torn apart, and you couldn't bear it. With trembling hands and tears streaming down your face, you pressed the dial button and called Simon, your voice choked with pain and desperation.

You cried out as the agony radiated through your body, each moment feeling like an eternity. The phone rang and rang, but there was no answer from him. It eventually went to voicemail, leaving you with a sinking feeling of abandonment and despair. As the pain intensified and your vision blurred, you set the phone down on the bathroom floor, your sobs echoing through the empty room.

Your trembling hands moved between your legs, coming away soaked in blood. Panic and fear gripped your heart as you propped yourself up against the toilet, leaning over it for support. Desperation consumed you as you reached for your phone once more, this time dialing 911 in a desperate attempt to get help.

But the blood on your fingers made it difficult, and the phone slipped from your grasp, landing with a sickening splash in the toilet. Your heart sank as you watched the screen turn black, your lifeline to assistance lost in the crimson-stained water.

Tears streamed down your face as you sat on the bathroom floor, gripping your stomach. You watched as the blood began to pool beneath you, and you cried out in anguish. You mustered all the strength you could, attempting to get up from the cold, hard bathroom floor. You needed to get help. Panic and agony coursed through you as you struggled to rise.

The pain was unbearable, and you knew something was terribly wrong. This was beyond the point of a typical miscarriage, given how far along you were in your pregnancy.

As you moved, a searing, relentless pain tore through your body, causing you to scream out in sheer agony. You lay on the bathroom floor, helpless and writhing in pain, your body refusing to cooperate.

An hour had passed, and in your hands, you held your stillborn baby. You sat against the bathroom wall, surrounded by a growing pool of your own blood. Emotions swirled within you, leaving you feeling numb and empty. You asked yourself what you had done to deserve this.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring the world around you as you sat there, grappling with the reality of the fifth baby you lost. Your body was supposed to be nurturing new life, but instead, it had betrayed you once again. It felt like a cruel and never-ending nightmare.

With great pain and effort, you retrieved a small box from under the sink. You had experienced miscarriages so often that you'd prepared for such moments, stashing the small boxes under the sink. Gently, you placed your baby inside and closed the lid, tears still silently falling.

You lay on the cold, tiled bathroom floor in a growing pool of blood, your body trembling with exhaustion and pain.

In your arms, you cradled the small, delicate box, the weight of grief pressing heavily on your chest. Every passing moment seemed to drain you further, and the relentless flow of blood showed no signs of stopping.

Each breath became more laborious, your vision blurred, and you could feel your strength waning with each passing second. Your sobs and cries were replaced by an eerie silence as you struggled to hold on, the world fading around you as you clung to the precious, heartbreaking reminder of the life that would never be.

Ghost, sitting at the bar with Soap, had been sharing the situation he was in. It was late into the night, and the bar's dim lighting seemed to reflect the weight on Ghost's shoulders.

He ended up calling Price again, explaining that you were pregnant, and the conversation had been a long and tense one, going back and forth as they argued about the deployment. Finally, Price made the decision not to deploy Ghost on the mission.

With a deep exhale, Ghost felt a mixture of relief and guilt. He knew he had to make things right with you for the hurtful words he had spoken. For the way he treated you when you only wanted to talk it out. For breaking the promise you made to each other to never leave the house when one was upset with the other. Soap patted him on the back, offering his support and reminding Ghost that he really needed to make it up to you.

They ordered a few more drinks, and as the night wore on, they both realized they were in no condition to drive. It was then that they decided to walk to Soap's house, which was conveniently located only five minutes from the bar.

Their plan was to return in the morning, and whoever was in better shape would drive to the store to pick up the things Ghost needed for you.

Morning came, and they walked back to the bar to retrieve Ghost's car. Ghost ended up driving to the store where they selected a variety of items, ultimately deciding to make a basket filled with things you liked.

In the passenger seat Soap arranged the items in the basket while Ghost took a quick detour to the florist, picking out the largest and most beautiful bouquet of flowers he could find before going home.

Soap followed close behind Ghost as they entered the house, he placed the gift basket in the kitchen, and Ghost slowly made his way to the bedroom. He slowly opened the door, and noticed that you weren't in bed so he started to walk over to the bathroom.

He stopped dead in his tracks as he noticed the blood that had seeped from under the bathroom door. Panic surged through him as he rushed to open the door.

His heart dropped, and his breath caught as he found you lifeless, lying in a pool of blood. Your gaze was far away, and you held a small box beside you. He recognized it immediately – the same small boxes you used for the miscarriages.

With a rush of emotions, he took a hesitant step forward, but his balance wavered as he almost slipped on the blood-soaked floor. Rushing to your side, he carefully set the small box aside, his trembling hands unsteady. Ghost cradled your cold face in his hands, tears streaming from his eyes as he sat on the floor, your blood seeping into his clothes.

"Y/n baby look at me, please look at me, love. You're okay, it's okay, it's going to be okay."

He called out for soap, who was in the kitchen. Soap attempted to approach you, but Ghost, his voice strained with grief and guilt yelled at him.

"Johnny just call 911!" he hurried to the kitchen to make the call, leaving Ghost alone, cradling your lifeless form, lost in a world of anguish and guilt.

He called out to you, his voice a desperate plea, but there was no response. Ghost's cries of anguish filled the small bathroom, echoing the unbearable pain in his heart. Tears streamed down his face, and he continued to rock back and forth, cradling you against him.

His voice quivered as he muttered, "I'm so sorry, y/n... It's all my fault... I should have told Price… I should have told him…" he breathlessly whispered against your cold cheek. The weight of his regret was crushing, and the burden of knowing that his actions had led to this moment was almost too much to bear.

Simon held your lifeless body in his arms, the weight of your cold form pressing on him physically and emotionally. The room felt suffocating, and the air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and grief. As he cradled you, all he could think about was the what-ifs and the guilt that gnawed at his conscience.

His mind tried to replay the scene of your final moments over and over. The thought that you were in pain, alone, and scared haunted him. He pictured you suffering, reaching out for help, and he wasn't there for you. The echoes of laughter and clinking glasses from the bar where he was drinking seemed deafening in his mind. While he was having drinks with Johnny you were here, alone and dying.

His eyes wandered to the toilet, where he saw your phone lying there. A chilling realization struck him — that missed call he ignored. Did the phone slip from your weakening grasp after calling him for help? Did you wait for a lifeline that never came? Guilt, heavy and consuming, pressed down on him, making every breath a struggle.

In that heartbreaking moment, Simon felt the weight of the consequences of his actions. The regret and sorrow mingled with the deafening silence of your absence, creating a painful symphony of remorse that would echo in his heart forever.

The memory of his last words to you, spoken in anger, haunted him. Those words, "I don't care how you feel," echoed in his mind like a relentless mantra. He wished he could turn back time, go back to that moment, and change everything.

He longed to take back the hurtful words he'd spoken and to be there for you in your time of need. He wished he had never stressed you to the point of pushing you into another miscarriage. But it was too late, and the reality of the consequences of his actions had come crashing down on him.

Grief enveloped him as he clung to your lifeless body, your silence an agonizing reminder of the happiness he had let slip through his fingers. The guilt and regret were insurmountable, and Ghost's world had shattered into a never-ending nightmare of his own making.

Alternative ending

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